April 19, 2012- Step by Step

"Wow, Mama,  you be the best builder ever!"  

This comment came from my four year old son as I painstakingly built his one million part matchbox race car set this afternoon.  

You see, after we opened it and after I realized I had gotten myself into something far more than I had intended with this set, I began to break the news to him that we should probably wait until his daddy came home to finish this project.  

But then, the look in his eyes instantly showed his disappointment, upon which I knew what must be done.  I changed my afternoon plans and hunkered down with pages of directions and nothing more than the will to somehow or other turn these little baggies full of plastic parts and sheets of coordinating stickers eventually into something that resembled a race track.

And it was then, as things were starting to take form, that he leaned over, hugged me and offered the above compliment.... and funny enough, it was then too, that I'd forgotten what my previous afternoon plans were after all.

~K

April 17, 2012 - I Spy

This is the view from my front door today.   If you look closely you will see what the camera didn't pick up as well as I'd like but is crystal clear on my glass.   Do you see it?  Four little sun screened hand prints, about 3 feet up from the floor.   

Can you imagine what I did when I found these there next to a wet bathing suit clad boy?

If your guess is kiss that baby boy, take a photo and most definitely not clean the glass... then you're right. 

Moments in time today.

January 10, 2011 - Nana

That's it for today.

Nana.

As in, "Mama can I pweese have a nana?

As in, "I weally wuv nanas"

I know soon, he'll  realize that it's not a
nana and really, he's leaving the all
important 'ba' out of it.

But until then, my smile for today came from
nana.   It's a little thing, but one of those everyday
moments I am grateful to have and one that I want to
notice, take in and then let sit for as long as I possibly
can.

January 7, 2012 - Saturday morning

I sit cross legged on the floor of our main room and can't help but to notice
the dust coating everything so clearly as the sun shines through the blinds
behind me.

It's ten am Saturday morning.  The kids have just eaten breakfast, far too late.
The dog decided to poop on the floor before we woke and my daughter
has inadvertently stepped in it.   I'm using brown sugar in my coffee as a last
option for sweetener because we need to go to the grocery desperately.
The floor around me is covered in matchbox cars and fire trucks.   An unopened marker
sits on the fabric of my footstool and construction equipment flash
cards have spilled and are scattered down the stairs while he whines
noisily for someone to help him pick them up.

It's so loud.  Along with his pleas coming from the stairs,  the sounds of bad
cover music for already bad music is blaring through a wii dance video as she
stomps and sings with glee, lyrics she shouldn't know but is still reading along
to happily and far too well.

And me?   I'm still wearing my pajamas.   I smell like carpet
cleaner.  And I'm sitting on the floor, overwhelmed at the dust and the
disarray around me.

And then something inside quietly tells me to stop.  To take notice of the sounds,
the dirt, the toys, the voices.   Because this something tells me that as
disorganized as it feels right this minute, one day, long from now,
I will remember this spot on the floor and this chaotic Saturday morning
and realize it is probably one of the best moments of my life.

~K