I'm woken up by screams and yelps. There is a fight: someone wants somebody else to do something; Someone has been unfair; Someone's turn has been skipped. High pitched voices fight to be on top.
And this has been my wake up call for a week.
I drag my (always) tired body down the stairs towards the coffee machine, and stumble into princesses and magic fairies on my way. My three year old –boy- is wearing a Snowhite outfit and high-heeled princess shoes. It’s his first sign of defiance, the more people criticize him for it, the more he seems to enjoy flaunting it.
Fighting continues. I am called upon as a reliable member of society to determine a fair outcome to the affront. I try to dig my way out of it mumbling some solution that appeases no one.
I quietly slip into a chair with my coffee and watch the world go by.
The living room has been under attack during the night. All the bombs have unexplainably exploded inside the toy chests, and the toys now lay scattered throughout the house. A giant monster has come into the kitchen, opened every drawer, half-eaten every (sweet or colorful) snack available, and then proceeded to vomit back half of it across the kitchen table.
There’s singing in the background. The kind that makes you believe that a cartoon character has escaped the TV set and is running around rampant. The floor has come alive. It moves and shakes and rattles as unidentified shadows run, skip or squirm back and forth.
Every now and then an angel passes and silence wraps the room. The children –all seven of them- magically agree to remain quiet for a minute, but before our ears get accustomed, before we can actually hear the silence, the moment passes and chaos reigns again.
It’s Christmas, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I thought about starting the year with reflections (more reverb10), or promises for the year ahead. But instead I decided to revel in the moment. The simple things. The important things.