Today I had a moment.
I was sitting at my daughter’s dance practice holding a balloon and a grass caterpillar and it dawned on me that (what feels like) just the other day I was sitting at the uni bar watching “Something For Kate” and holding a beer. And I thought, is watching only moderately rhythmic dance whilst holding a grass caterpillar really what I want to do with my life?
But then the other mums and I had a laugh and joked about maybe finishing the end of year dance performance with a quick bit of us doing ballet in pink leotards. And I laughed again on the way home about the fact that the dance teacher has kindly asked for our input into the routine which means it’s peppered with Jane Fonda tributes, some sprinkler and a good old lawnmower move.
When we got home I observed my little girl take her bear’s temperature with a chop stick and announce, “He’s a bit sniffy, I’ll have to get him something to clear the snostrils”, which is funny because her bear’s nose fell off about 6 months ago and rolled into a mouse hole. He has no sniffy snostrils. I laughed and felt all awwww and wondered at how amazing my little people are.
At bedtime I read them a chapter of “The 52 Storey Treehouse” by Andy Griffiths and Terry Denton and we all laughed, particularly at the part where it’s Andy’s birthday and Terry has forgotten:
“What’s special about today?” Says Terry. “That’s what I want you to tell me”, I say. Terry thinks for a moment and then says, “Is it underpants-changing-day?”
Then I laughed again at how undies and farts and poos and wees always make us laugh. Well almost always. Dog poo is never funny. The dog is though, especially when his lip gets caught on his teeth and he switches from designer dog to dork.
Then my girls gave each other an impromptu cuddle goodnight and my son reminded me how he will give me a hug every day even when he’s a spotty sullen teen and later my little one climbed into my arms when she had a bad dream and all I had to do to fix it was hold her.
And I thought, well maybe tomorrow someone will wallop someone else and there’ll be crying and manners forgotten and broken somethings and my phone will go missing and I might roar and wish I was in Paris aged 29.
But right now, when I should be asleep and there’s some god-awful tripe on telly featuring Tory Spelling and her husband screaming at each other, I reflect on the day and my dear family and I think, well actually, right now, this mothering caterpillar-balloon-holding thing is exactly what I want to do with my life. Oh yes it is.
There is so much joy everywhere, from the big dance hall to the tiny mouse holes.