The house is quiet, and I revel in a few minutes of “me” time.
The prudent side of me urges: Check on John! Quiet is bad, very bad!
The self-indulgent side of me counters: Chill!
Inevitably self-indulgent wins the battle, but prudent wins the war. I eventually look for my sweet toddler and find that five minutes of alone time doesn’t come free.
Of late, peanut butter has been John’s partner in crime. Their favorite victim? The couch. Not the old, battered couch that could brave an encounter with Peter Pan and emerge with little to show for its troubles. Oh, no, no, no. John goes for the nice couch.
Hope triumphs over experience when it comes to finger food as well. Sliced cheese and grapes are usually safe bets, but why- oh- why do I continue to give John dry cereal in a bowl? Oh, the sound of Crispix underfoot!
This morning John and I sat down at the table to paint with water colors. We had great fun coloring Spiderman and Doc Oc. I stepped away for just a minute and, sure enough, heard a gushing sound as the water we were rinsing brushes with sloshed all over the dining room.
I have often reflected on how my children lead me to be detached from created things. There’s the son who has a tendency to lose items, the toddler who leaves his mark on everything and anything, and the infant who outgrows clothes in the blink of an eye.
“Store up for yourself treasures in heaven,” Jesus tells me in the Gospel of Mathew, “where moth and rust (and two-year-olds) will not destroy.”
Thanks to Tim, Kolbe, John, and Ainsey-girl for reinforcing the message.
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