I decided to check on the boys who were playing “School” in the spare bedroom. I knew they were playing with backpacks. I could hear Shel saying, “I GO SCOO” over and over, and I could hear Q telling him some elaborate story about what a slinky is for (it is for putting your hands in to drive without using a steering wheel) (I don’t know, he’s three okay).
Needless to say I dropped everything and played school for a good half an hour. I laughed almost the whole time and I felt guilty about being such a Crankenstein earlier.
When it was time for bed, Shel started crying hysterically because he wanted to actually go to school and was sorely disappointed. It was all we could do to get him to remove his goggles for bed, and I held him and kissed his tear stained, goggle imprinted face and promised him school…someday.
I held him and thought about all the days I waste wishing for something more, something different, something new. The days I waste wishing for naps or quiet.
It’s a chronic condition of the human race and it starts at age two, this “never satisfied” state. Shel wants to go to school and I want clean house and a hot cup of coffee. There’s always something.
I don’t want to miss anymore ridiculous costumes and hilariously imaginative ways to use a slinky. I don’t need sleep, I need perspective. I need to see what’s in front of my face. It’s wonderful…and it won’t be the same tomorrow.
This is the gift of Now, and I’m going to unwrap it, cold coffee and all.
For more of Shel’s impromptu costume changes (they’re good for a laugh) click on the costume label below (I’m nothing if not obvious).