Moments

(Remember when I wrote most of this a couple of months ago? Ah, well.)

There is laundry everywhere. On the table, on the counter, on the couch, on the floor. Breakfast is everywhere. Every carpet has been peed on within the last two hours. Toys have made their way to every corner of the kitchen, and there is milk, cereal, and other breakfast goo still oozing its way accross the floor, spreading farther and farther from the still overturned highchair. And in the middle of it all there is a mommy sitting on the floor hugging her perfect, chubby baby. He is giggling, having forgotten the sad incident with the highchair that made him cry. His big eyes look happily at the mommy, and she looks back adoringly at him, and it is simply the best. The mess around them disappears, and nothing else matters but the baby. Oh, how she loves him!

It's construction paper stapled into a circle, with crepe paper haphazardly attached. But when he holds it and runs, the streamers fly, and his eyes light up. "Look at my windsock, mom!" he exclaims as he passes by. The sun is shining, the grass is green, and the little blonde boy grinning at his homemade windsock makes me realize that happiness is a pretty simple thing, after all.

The lone man stands upright in front of the grave, his hands in front of him. Was it his wife? How long has it been? As I drive by on a busy day, this man seems to ponder the deep matters of life and death. The contrast seems so stark -have I stopped to truly appreciate my carload today?

 Painted rocks all over the back porch and kitchen, an abandoned mine in the living room. Another week of teaching preschool has passed, and remembering the smiles,  giggles, and amusing comments the activities brought makes me almost giddy, and for one moment I love the mess.
A little towhead in a soccer uniform and his small brother follow their father around the farmer's market, eager for their chance to carry a vegetable or two. The warm fall breeze just touches my face through the car window, and I lay my head back and change my focus to the infant sleeping peacefully in his seat. Content.

-we can run (I don't remember what moment this was supposed to remind me of. But I don't want to delete it, just in case.)