Sometimes I want a life of smallness, barely scraping by, and I imagine I would be the happiest girl alive trying to make it all work. Other times, I dream of my life in a large house, a strong business woman of some sort with all the oohs and ahhs of modern life.
Honestly, when it all comes down to it, I just want to be me. Bright Miami-colors, snapping photos, organizing when I want, mis-matched place settings, cooking, reading, writing, kids running in and out of the house, homework that needs to get done, projects that are never quite done, quiet moments after all of them have fallen asleep, moments where I shake my head in unbelief that something this wondrous could really be my life. I don't want or need it to be perfect--it just needs to be mine.
Fall-time in Rexburg was my favorite. The leaves on the trees were changing colors, harvest had been brought in, corn mazes and haunted houses were weekend activities, but one of my favorite moments was driving through the neighborhoods looking at the houses and imagining what was going on inside. Kids would run out of a white clap-board house, slamming the deep red front door, jump on their bikes and ride across the street to the park after coming home from school.
I would imagine their mothers yelling after them to do their homework before they went out to play, but silently shaking their mom-bob haircuts and smiling because they realized the days of play are short. Moms would then begin working on dinner, maybe making lasagna and cutting apples for a French apple pie that would be served for dessert. Later, kids would be called to wash up, and six sets of hands would be folded as the food was blessed. After the meal, homework would be pulled out, maybe a few tears would be shed over difficult spelling words, or a math problem or two, baths would be drawn and showers taken, and dads would have a fire crackling in the fireplace. Good Night Moon would be read while the younger ones snuggled close, and a chapter of Harry Potter ended with the older ones begging "just one more chapter, PLEASE," as the lights were turned off. Stepping away from the children's bedrooms, I imagine hearing the drowsy chatter of siblings, sometimes arguing, but usually filled with dreams and plans for the next day. Dads would make sure the house was locked to keep all the "bad guys" away, and always be armed with a can of Monster Spray, just in case an over-active imagination took the reins to lead children off to DreamLand. While the fire died down, Moms and Dads cuddled close to take a minute to themselves to discuss the day, the children, or whatever came to mind, and then headed up to bed themselves.
That's what I want. The little melodramas that happen to the kids at school that day, I want to hear them. I want little Danny to come running home for a band-aid and a kiss from his mommy when he falls off the swings. Charlotte will drop her backpack at the doorway and head to the kitchen just so she can explain how Jake asked her best friend to the dance and not her. Sure, it's not going to always be so picturesque, but a girl can wish, can't she?
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