Shel, my two-year old, loves earrings, but he’s no jeweler.
When Grandma visits, he touches her pearl adorned ears, calls them “ear balls”, and refuses to be corrected. We laugh.
|Photo of the fascinating “ear ball”|
It’s a classy term for those luminous miracles from the bottom of the sea…right?
Maybe I do that sometimes. Maybe I see something completely amazing and beautiful, and my little mind names it something ridiculous.
Maybe when I say my day is “bad” I’m naming pearls “ear balls”, like a confused two year old who doesn’t know what he’s seeing.
Today was…hard…for me.
I lost count of Time Outs. I was shot in the bottom multiple times with rubber suction cup bullets. I made a delicious and healthy dinner that no one under 18 would eat. My bathroom has been through a lot in the name of Potty Training. People threw fits (not me) and threw toys at walls, and cried for whatever they DIDN’T have, and did other things that I shall not mention here. The city shut my water off for two hours. My clothes are mysteriously sticky.
There’s a rubber bullet stuck to my window sill, a remnant that testifies to today’s battle.
But, maybe today wasn’t a war. Maybe it was something beautiful, something I’ll miss when I’m alone and eating my vegetables in peace.
I keep looking at that rubber bullet. It’s not glamorous, but it’s sure hilarious.
I’m naming today “wonderful”.
*and YES, I do amuse myself when I name my blog post something ridiculous.