The sun is streaming through the windows, casting shadows of criss crossed lines on the floor which is now scattered with puzzle pieces and books and stuffed bears and a mermaid with glittering fins and long, black yarn hair. Her room gets the best morning light. It bounces off the pale purple walls and fuzzy white rug and illuminates their faces and everything feels soft and hazy.
I don’t know how we all ended up here. We wandered here somehow after breakfast. Did we even clear the dishes? I can’t remember. I do remember that my coffee is still down there. It’s getting cold and I want it before it’s too late. But I also don’t want to move.
So here we are, all four of us lounging around in her room. The baby is crawling and pulling up on everything that’s stationary and some things that are not. Sister is fluttering about, reading and chattering and imagining. We are talking about the day and what we might do with it. We talk of the things we need to buy. A new chair for the office. It’s probably time for a new computer. But today doesn’t feel much like day for dashing out the door and becoming a consumer.
Grandparents call and we Skype on the iPad. And that doesn’t feel strange until I type it out like that. Just ten years ago, just five years ago that sentence would have made no sense. But there it is. And the grandparents are elated over it. We show them all the new things in our lives this week. Big sister and her painted finger nails, purple and pink, and they remember those are her favorites. Baby boy parades around for them holding just one of my hands and halfway across the world, hearts swell.
M heads off to clear the leaves, again. And I suppose it’s time to be productive. But I’ve already organized her bookshelves, grouping like books together and setting stuffed animals among them to look nice. And there isn’t much more to do in her room, really. I could organize her closet now. Take out more clothes that don’t fit, make space for toys that need to be put away. But baby boy is trying, again, to climb on her stool so he can see out the window. So I curl up on the floor to spot him as he stands and right him when he teeters.
And I pretend to be a teacher in my girl’s game of school. Baby boy is one of the school kids. He likes snack time best, when his sister places imaginary pretzels in his hands and he gets to move his mouth in a chomping motion and pretend to eat. Oh the stories they’ll play out when he gets a little bit older.
This, I decide, is about as productive as it’s gonna get. Creating a human barrier and taking attendance amongst a collection of bears and baby dolls.
And, you know, that’s good enough for a Sunday morning.