Dinner was chicken pot pie which I made too soupy but which surprisingly everyone enjoyed more than the usual version. Now David is washing dishes, and the kids and I have pulled out a few games, and it’s fast becoming one of those evenings when I am ready to hurry everyone up towards bed but they will not be hurried.
I take a deep breath, and settle in. Life, the good life, must not be hurried. My children show me the way.
So as Naomi spontaneously pulls out her purple Bible and begins to finish the book of Esther and as Quinn constructs complex mazes of dominoes; I grab a stack of white paper and start on my list. I write with sparkly crayons, one color per family member:
1) family bike adventures
2) write poetry
3) go fishing
4) learn to kayak
5) visit the Redwoods
6) tube the Sacramento as a family
I take contributions and everyone chimes in from their posts around the room, engaged in their solo activities. We each voice dreams for our summer; things we’d love to do during the longer, hotter days which are so far unclaimed.
The sparkly crayon writing flows down the page until I have started my third sheet and we are at number 32 . . . . .
Now the mood has shifted and Quinn is ready to be walked up for his shower and it’s time for teeth and jammies and cuddles and Huckleberry Finn read-aloud and bed.
And I walk back down for water and find the sparkly papers still on the floors, glimmering with possibilities. Dreams, spoken.