I wish I could adequately describe what a day in our house is like. I'm aware of the two "slices of life" that interact here: Nora's voice bouncing through each word as she sorts through her stuffed animals. "Oh, a raccoon." Pause. "Octopus." Pause. "Snake."
Snake? What's a snake doing in her stuffed animals? I'm in my bedroom folding laundry waiting for her to notice and jump on the pile, crawling into the warmth to hibernate until it diminishes one item at a time exposing her tiny curled shape beneath, each piece folded less carefully, I'm noticing, as I get older. A few wrinkles don't bother me so much anymore. And then...was I talking about the laundry or my face...? Well, anyway... I am learning, as I've said before, to abolish the concept of perfection from this house.
We each have projects we're working on: we build an island out of couch cushions for the "furrberries" to live on. We make a rainbow tree out of an old wrapping paper tube, taping balloons to the top and positioning it in the middle of the island. Nora builds tracks around the house that lead to the island with all the pillows from the beds. At the same time I am
Snake? What's a snake doing in there?
Footnote: This woman is not letting the sun set on her anger. And that's all I'll say.