I woke up about an hour ago, the second round of waking, the first came at around 8 o'clock this morning as children discovered that the fertility Bunny/chocolate lunatic had been in the house and left treats for them. I don't know what that Bunny was thinking with the Justin Bieber CD in Mimzy's basket, she must have momentarily lost her bunny mind?
I have spent the last hour or so listening to the sounds of my life in gratefulness. There was the vacuum (and I wasn't pushing it, yessssss)- there was the stereo blaring, first Jason, then Dave, then Ben, now Maroon 5 (I just need a little of your time, a little of your time...)- there was Mimzy's voice every ten minutes or so, like the best snooze alarm ever, "MUMMA GETTTTT UPPPP" - there was Willa barking his ever loving head off at the little birdie that has constructed a beautiful masterpiece of a nest in my Nana's plant on the front porch - there were the birds outside of my open bedroom window gossiping amongst themselves, chirp chirp here chirp there - the coffee machine brewing and the repeated slam of the front door, then the back door - six feet running up the steps across the porch, front door open, front door slam, feet across the living room rug pound pound, on the linoleum in the kitchen slap slap and then to the back door, open, slammmmmmm laughter, yelling more laughter REPEAT....
I am okay with all of it. In fact I can think of nothing better than to listen to Jason discuss the merits of kissing off a smile, the kids in active play, the birds in chorus of productivity with me stretching beneath cool sheets, under the constant whir of the ceiling fan while in a contemplative post dream state.
I love Sundays.
I always have big ideas for all the shit I will accomplish on my ONLY day off. I will run important errands, or go on grand excursions to make up for everything I miss all week long, finally shave my legs.... I always plan to drag my ass out of bed bright and early to get a jump start on all my big plans - and every damn Sunday I push the limits of reasonable delay and instead lay on my tummy looking out my bedroom window, chin on my hands, and do a whole lot of NOTHING.
I love it...
The whole fam damn circles about me "Is this what you are gonna do today?" contempt and disgust for my laziness evident in the sting of their accusations - sometimes I wish they would shut the hell up, are they blind to what I go through every week? - but most Sundays like today, on some appreciative level I am thankful that I am the old woman in the shoe... Their needy voices mean that I am needed and that's an okay state of affairs.
(when I have the pre-menstrual rage later this month and want to make them all drink tainted kool-aid, someone please make me read this)-
And with that,the Justin Bieber CD is thumping from the living room.
Is it sad that I am actually enjoying it?
And so, with that I will close the box and get upright since I believe I am seconds away from total familial melt down.
But before I do, I will say one more important thing... How very much I miss the place of a child's perspective.
Remember when mud puddles just called out to be jumped in without any regard for consequential clean up?
Mimzy is in the front yard in a bikini with the hose, she looks like she has spent a weekend at a music festival hula hooping and hurting boys with her beauty....
She is covered in the elements - she is laughing freely with her head thrown back.
Ahhh childhood, Ahhh Sundays, Ahhh to have had my own childhood and now watch theirs.
Upright here I come, sigh, smile.
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