Meanwhile, I was drawn to the happy chatter of a four year old, one room over.
She. Was. In. It!
There was a whole world in her room. Voices of all the different characters floated through the house. Lego Hello Kitty and crew, were fraternizing with Barbie, who all appeared to be trying to crash a BBQ at the Fisher Price Dollhouse. I walked over to her door. Lorelei had dressed herself, again in something mismatched, yet surprisingly it worked.
The floor in front of her dresser, looked like "backstage at fashion week'.
While I could have been bothered that all the work to sort the toys out, to carefully fold those clothes, was wasted, I just couldn't muster up the frustration.
It all melted away as I reminded myself what a beautiful thing it is to have a child that knows how to play. That is the magic of being mom to such different little humans. I learned years ago, that not all children instinctively know how to play, and so I celebrated. I celebrated and I reminded myself that clean rooms do not make memories. I listened quietly for a few more minutes, letting her happy dialogue float past me, and quietly walked away.
I went into the kitchen and started the coffee, looking up in time to see hubby walking down the hall. Turning on his cellphone, without missing a beat, he smiled at me saying,
"Just in case you are wondering, Lorelei is in Japan right now."
"Japan huh? Nice!" I laughed.
I started unloading the dishwasher, and soon our little girl walked into the kitchen to join me. Sister loves a good dishwasher unloading session. I am her captive audience as we put away the dishes and reload, and I'm happy to listen to her chatter as we do it, knowing soon enough the shine of this job will wear off and it will become a chore instead of a treat.
Today though is different. She grabs a spoon that needs to go in the bucket on the counter and heads over. I snicker quietly to myself, waiting, anticipating the request for help in reaching that I know is coming.
Yet, nothing. I look over and I'm stunned to see her reaching up and putting the spoon away all by herself, still chattering, oblivious to the fact that her momma just had a reality check that time does not stand still. She grabs a few more and I just stare, wondering, when did this happen? When in the four years of life, and amazing, and insane, and exhausting and blur, when did she grow into this young girl? I snapped a quick shot and looked on the screen to see in the bright light of the morning, that in her facial features, the baby was all but gone, replaced by little girl.
Today, the weekend hung over me. So many balls in the air, so much to do to prep. Balance had it's bags packed and was heading out the front door. I was about two steps behind it, ready to run from all that needed doing, in favour of playing outside in the sun with our youngest. I reminded myself, balance.
I raced around the house, getting out stuff for dinner, throwing a load of laundry on, hanging another load on the line to dry. I washed the counters, ran a broom along the floor, checked and sent emails to teachers and commitments, and ran a cloth over the bathroom surfaces.
In between, Lorelei and I sat on the deck and had a chat over breakfast (her and I) and coffee (me). We enjoyed the musical thrum of a hummingbird that came past for a sip from the feeder.
We marvelled as we managed to spot that same hummingbird, perched, in our tree. Such a balanced contrast to it's normally constant motion.
Momma saw a lot of Herons, a frog, some birds.
Lorelei saw the cat that lives at the reserve. She and the cat; it was all about them today.
I sat and watched her talk to the cat. I watched her say hello to a couple and then charm them by telling them that she lived in Canada.
I followed her lead as we left and walked down the road to a farm where the horses seemed even more interested in her, than she was in them.
I took in the day, the sunshine, our girl. I forgot all the things I thought needed doing, the places I expected I should have been, and I breathed in that moment, in the only place I needed to be, in that now. I balanced.
It feels like this is the motto for my life, my lesson for my time on this earth. I'm the all or nothing girl, or at least I used to be. Becoming a mom, an adult, learning to love the skin I'm in, has given me the gift of learning balance. Balance in my day, my heart, my life. I fall down, I get back up, I try again.