There's a permanent stoop to my back and a new texture to every plane in my house. We like earth tones now, because sooner or later all things will muddy. You might recognize the crud on my windows about two feet off the ground as the precious, sticky fingerprints of a toddler. Everything I own is marked indelibly with his whims, his snacks, and yes, his boogers. In his exploration of this world, he loves everything he sees...for a split second before it lands nowhere near where it started. He is one deranged interior decorator. His design sense is an alternate version of the universe we've tried to create.
Like a cross between Sisyphus and a fish with no memory, I circle through the rooms and sunken treasures of this tank with my cordless vac and my rags and sprays -- spraying, wiping, sweeping, disinfecting. Yesterday, I swept and mopped the kitchen floor. Today the floor mocks me with its crumbs and bright stains. Yesterday, I walked through the house to see it looking okay. Today, scores of tiny two-year old tracks have been made, crumbs have been spread like fairy dust off his sweet little piggies and every shiny bauble has been tossed without a care onto the floor. I write this post and let the whole thing go to hell.
This started as an online journal in early 2006. At the time, it was a carefree spot for silly diatribes and the occasional photo. Since then, I got pregnant with mono.amniotic mono.chorionic twins, learned one of our daughters had a heart defect, spent 11 weeks in a hospital room and 29 more days with Eva in the NICU and PICU before losing her. We have two children who are alive and thriving and one who didn't make it. For me, this has become that place in between.
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