“Do you want to come into the kitchen with me and help me make dinner?”
“No… I’m busy.”
“Oh? What are you busy doing?”
“I’m drinking my waaater. And I’m picking up my baaaaby. And I’m pushing her in her stroller. So you make dinner for yourself.”
She said it so seriously. Like a pint sized adult. I couldn’t help but giggle to myself as I walked back to the kitchen.
Like mother, like daughter, I suppose. I, too, am always doing at least three things at once. Making dinner while packing lunch and catching up on her day. Checking my email while talking on the phone as I rush home from work. Making breakfast as I put dishes away while saying goodbye to M. That’s how things get done.
I don’t feel like I ever tell her that I’m busy. I don’t feel like I turn her away with that excuse. I don’t ever want to appear to be too busy for her. I am never to busy for her.
But she is still a a tiny mirror. She reflects everything I do. The good and the bad. And this must be just another reflection. And now I’ll have to look out for it and catch myself before I continue to pass this busyness down.
Not a minute has passed before she comes running into the kitchen. A huge smile is spread across her face.
“Hello! Are you not busy anymore?
“I’m not busy anymore!” She tosses her hands up in the air in excitement and dances around the kitchen.
I toss my hands up too. Let’s be not busy together.
*I’m linking up with Heather at the Extraordinary Ordinary for Just Write. Join us!*
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