I wish things were simpler

Some days I wish that life were as simple as having nothing more to worry about than whether or not my Mom was going to be mad at me for wearing my new shoes in the sandbox again. (Why couldn't she just accept that this was what was going to happen?) But I don't think I'll get my wish.

I don't think life will be simple - or that simple - ever again. I don't think there will ever be days when the most crucial problem I have to is to figure out how to make the mud the exact proper consistency so that I can load trucks with it and dump it out again without having it all run out the sides or just melt into a puddle.

I'm not convinced that I will ever enjoy doing the dishes solely because it meant that I would be able to play in a sink full of warm water with loads of bubbles in it and use all the soap I wanted under the disguise of 'doing work.' And I'm pretty sure that I won't ever have the opportunity to drink so much water that when I jump up and down I'll be able to hear it sloshing around in my stomach - just for laughs.

Instead, I have other simple pleasures now. I can walk into my sons' rooms and see them sleeping - or not arguing.

I can call my sister and talk about a memory from a past life that nobody but she will understand and or identify with. I can take a great deal of comfort in the certaintly that at least one person knows I am not entirely insane or ruined. My children are not convinced of this.

And . . . . I can remember the joy that I found in wearing my new shoes in the sandbox because I knew it would irritate my Mother.