It's well past 1 in the morning and I have:
A pile of dirty dishes waiting to be washed in the kitchen sink.
The kitchen in a state of mess, all visible surfaces covered with stuff to be cleared away
Groceries to be put away
Two of my son’s feeding bottles and his sippy cup to be washed and sterilized
All the sofa cushions on the living room floor
Two towels as throws on each sofa
Two plastic blocks and toy train carriage on the floor
Three photo frames thrown on the floor near their perch on the bookshelf
A kiddie hanger, a football, a drumstick, a drum and another soft ball and assorted play things littered around the living room, making a mini obstacle course
My husband locked in the bedroom asleep
My cell phone kicked somewhere under the sofa
And unwashed face
A ‘ctrl’ key missing from the laptop keyboard
The tv and receiver remote controls being shoved into my hands that I switch on the telly to Dragon Tales/Oggy and the Cockroaches/Dora the Explorer/Charlie and Lola/Arthur/Tweenies…
And…
I have my son, the fount of all late night hullabaloo, babbling away, banging on the bedroom door, dragging open drawers and emptying them, hit his face on my hand and cry murder ‘cuz it hurt him so much,
fighting with me over the laptop, climbing on the sofa and over me to reach the keys and type his own entry, crawling through the coffee table …
I tried and failed putting him to bed at his usual time, then hummings and rocking, pleadings and cajoling and even threats and well placed thwacks on the diaper-ed bum went unsuccessful, so living room lights ablaze I wait for Tyke to get realize that all those yawns mean that he is sleepy and the normal course of action when one is so tired, is to get some rest, sleep…as in lie down, close the eyes, breathe evenly and deeply…
I should be mad at him and I was, till I looked at him lying on the floor and giving me the most beaming of smiles soonest he catches my eye…ah well...he's now trying to rest his head on my lap to sleep...ooooooh, sweet dreams!
