I'm sitting in our family room watching my girls dance to the Music Man soundrack. Hannah is dressed in a swimsuit and a tutu. Rachel, who is usually the first one dressed in the morning, is still in her nightgown. They are running in circles, holding hands and swinging, until they fall down laughing. I'm getting deja vu. I have vague memories of falling down and laughing so hard my tummy hurt while my Dad played the accordian, or piano. But now, here I am, throwing things out like, "Not so fast! Someone is going to get hurt." Yes, I need to relax.
These days we are living in a bizarre little world of Music Man references. The other night, during dinner, as my husband and I were trying to follow Rachel's train of thought as she babbled on about something (non-stop talker that she is), Hannah, out of the blue said, "What da ya talk?" And we are perhaps the only family that listens to the Music Man enough to even understand that reference. And proud of it, baby!
I announced this morning that we would stay inside all day. I'm not sure if it's going to happen, but I made my point and set my intention for the day. After two days of running around to parties and such in 110 degree heat, I am craving a day at home. I am, at my core, a homebody, though I try to stretch myself and get out as much as I can. On a normal day, we're out and about by now. But today, I am indulging. I stayed in my pajamas until I digusted even myself. I did manage to clean the kitchen, water the plants in the back, and make playdough while wearing pajamas. Now you know why I was disgusted with myself. That's a little too much activity for fun pajama wearing. We don't want to sweat in our pajamas do we? When you've crossed that line, it's time to move on.
I am dressed now, sitting here, thinking of all I could be doing; laundry; sorting out the piles of papers, scrapbook scraps, and bills in my office; finishining clearing the garage out so I can park my car in it instead of letting it sit in my driveway and turn into a mobile sauna; figuring out bloglines so there is a method to my blog-reading and I don't leave anyone out; sorting out my e-mail inbox; doing some yoga. But here I sit, staring at navel, waiting for the next breakdown. But, hey, remember, my kitchen IS clean, my plants watered, and I'm dressed. Where's that medal when I need it?
If you know me well, you know that I am continually having a mental, when not physical, battle with the clutter in my office. My husband and I have the same battle with our garage. I find it interesting how much joy Rachel gets out of the very same clutter. My office is like a big treasure box to her. Stickers, pencils, paper, photos. It's all quite wonderful to her. To me it just looks piles of crap. Well, that's only partly true. There is a part of me that is in love with my office, too. I am mostly in love with what it could be, but also a little in love what it is, crap and all. I would trade the latter for the former, though. I do strive to be Flyofficelady. It could happen, right?
I'm sitting here now talking to Rachel. She wants to have a tea party. I've never had one before. Hmmmmmm. Parenthood does stretch a soul, doesn't it?
And that's my day, folks. There have been a few breakdowns, whining fests, and such while I've written this. Music Man is still blaring. Rachel keeps turning it louder.
"Lida Rose...oh won't you be mine....."
I love that song.
What's your day like?
