Twenty Minutes with 1/3 of the Mayhem
The youngest, by one minute, comes into the kitchen this morning and crawls on my desk. She finds a bookmark her big sister made with fall leaves cutout and a clever saying she wrote.
“Mom, what does this say?”
“It says; ‘Leaf me alone so I can get into a great fall book’.”
“Okay.” She plays with it a little while, repeating the word fall and trying to poke her fingers through the leaf cutouts.
“What should I write about Mercy?”
“A green slide with handles”
“You mean a sled?”
“Yes, the sled slides down the hill really fast and falls off a cliff into a crocodile lake. But I’m big mom so I beat up the crocodiles and eat them with my sharp teeth. Justie and Marshall aren’t there. I do it all by myself. Then I go back home and watch for cars so they don’t get me. And the snow is tall so I be lost and I can’t find my mom again.”
“And then what happens?”
“Duh mom, I’m right here.”
“Yes! But don’t the crocodiles scare you?”
“No mom!” Deep dramatic sigh “I said I’m big.”
She then hops down, her pajamas stripped off and she’s running outside in just her purple undies. It’s 40 degrees so I tried to discourage her but she was headed for the trampoline and nothing I could say would slow her down.
While on the trampoline she was a sight to see with her arms and legs flailing about. She was doing what looked like old style calisthenics. Cherry picking and windmills, she even did a crab crawl or two. As the husband and I watched from the back deck with our hot cups of coffee and me in my sweater, I was amazed at how she wasn’t freezing. But I’m assuming with all that movement she was staying pretty warm.
She jumped for ages, lifting her legs instead of pushing off from the canvas. The results are funny, to say the least. Her body stays in nearly the same place while her legs do all the work. I try to tell her how to use gravity to her advantage but she’ll have none of it. “Not fun mom!”
And she’s probably right. Lifting your legs takes more work than using your weight, but watching her gallop and cartwheel the way that she does, it’s so much funnier. And that’s her ultimate goal; to make the observer laugh. She’s there to have fun, but she wants to make sure you’re having fun as well.
She finally crawls off and heads our way, breathing heavy and smiling. “Did you see all my tricks? I’m good.” She doesn’t wait for us to respond, she’s confident in her statement and walks inside. I can hear her grab a cup of water and slam it down on the counter when she’s done.
She pops her head out the French doors and looks at us and requests her favorite show on Netflix. Thankfully this week the twins agree, so no fighting.
“Mom?” I pause while turning the TV on.
“Yes Baby Girl.”
“Thanks for watching my tricks.”
“Thanks for showing me your tricks.”
“I’m pretty good.”
“Yes you are.”
“You can write about that.”
And so I did. Just twenty minutes into 1/3 of my Mayhem.
Christine C. Moore
Moore Organized Mayhem http://mooreorganizedmayhem.blogspot.com