Snapshot of a Perfect Life

My three little angels.

I'm sitting at the computer.

I haven't had breakfast, but I've had half a banana. And I'm not really a breakfast person, anyway. I'll make some juice once the moment has passed.

But then, the moment might not pass.

It's been going on half an hour of perfect, domestic bliss.

I sit at my computer, catching up on my favorite blogs, answering my email, updating my calendar.

DD and SI sit peacefully at their little table, playing with the activity books Grandmommy brought them from South Africa. They're identifying vegetables, coloring trucks, making up stories about all the little chicks in the pictures.

RH is on the floor, a wooden spoon in each hand. She crawls around the room, tentatively tapping them against everything. Tap tap on the laundry basket, still full of clean bibs. Tap tap on the floor, and a pause to eat a forgotten Cheerio. Tap tap on the door of the toy oven. She rolls onto her back, tap tap on the hanging straps from the back of her high chair. Tap tap on the coloring books, which she takes the time to pull off the shelf, as though as an afterthought. She stops as she passes by her sisters, sitting up on her knees to peer onto the table top, to see what they're doing. They coo at her, and go back to sharing their crayons.

"Thank you, DD."
"Thank YOU, SI."
"Say 'you're welcome' to me!"
"You're welcome! Say 'you're welcome' to ME!"
"You're welcome!"
"Mommy! We are SHARING!"

I'm afraid that if I get up, I'll break the spell.

"We are sharing!"

They are smiling and laughing, playing. Despite the fact that I am not a participant in their games, I am an essential element.

Every few moments, somebody calls for me. To see what they're doing. To see what somebody else is doing. Everybody is happy, and they need me to be here to see it, as though it's not happening if I'm not documenting it.

RH, pulling herself up onto their table, DD showing her the eggplant in her book. SI giving her a princess coloring book to look at while they play.

They hand her books to distract her, peel the paper off their crayons, and take the paper to the garbage can.

"Look, mommy! I gave RH a coloring book!"

"Look, mommy! I put it in the garbage!"

"Mommy! RH is next to your chair!"

"Mommy! SI and I are sharing!"

Not every day is like this. Not every moment is like this. This moment is going to end, and there will probably be tears, and there will be shouting, and there will be banged elbows and spilled potties and fights over throw pillows. But right now?

Just add a cup of tea, and life would be perfect.

...who am I kidding? Life is perfect anyway.



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Linking up with Motivation Monday.