This afternoon I boogied around our home picking up piles of animal hair-crusted socks, forks, crayons and cookie cutters. Despite my efforts to include Margot in my scene she sat, like a yogi, naked and wrapped in a purple quilt.
“Mama, what are you doing?”
“Cleaning up,” as I breathlessly scraped dried peanut butter and alphabet stickers off the floor. She watched me labor and didn’t move or speak.
I added cheerily, “It really takes no time at all to make our space clean! Especially when everyone chips in and helps!”
She flattened her brow and put her hands on her hips and plainly stated, “Mommy. Sometimes it’s really hard for little kids to chip.”
And we both folded our hands at our hearts, bowed our heads and said namaste in unison.
Really, I stared at her as she nodded in agreement with her own assertion and then she laughed and asked for half apple juice, half water in the silver bear cup and the pink twirly straw.
Since she was a babe I have used the word fiery to describe Margot. I looked into other words and they work but none as completely as fiery. Burns strong and bright; a full or exuding emotion or spirit.
We’ve entered chapter 714 of Parenthood around here where Margot’s will is wonderful and exhausting. I wrote a bit about it in mama digs: two humans trying to figure out life.
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all photos taken with a Canon Digital SLR from Vanns.com
