Who needs lego?
The house is pretty quiet lately; proof of the next season of life. Our adult children are busy about their lives leaving us and our hairy boy, Micah, to fill the quiet rooms of our home.
Here's a little trip down memory lane. When I submitted it to a writing course I was taking I called it "Who Needs Lego?"
We had received a letter from the government implying my husband had worked and not reported his earnings while collecting unemployment insurance. Given a very short deadline, the official document wielded power, affecting our heart rate. Fully aware of the consequences of not satisfying their audit, we spread the file folder of receipts over our bedroom floor and focused on finding the proof of our integrity.
As we concentrated, we lost track of time and our adventure-seeking two year old.
Neither of us paid any attention to the noise in the bathroom down the hall. Nor did it register that Timmy was the only other body capable of flushing a toilet and shouldn’t even have a need since he was still in diapers. It wasn’t until I heard little feet sloshing and slopping through water that I finally tuned in and decided to investigate.
As I stood in the doorway, my socks were instantly soaked. The mat in the middle of the floor, held down by the weight of the rubber backing, was covered by a mix of water and mushy Purex, a discarded pair of black sweat pants lay in a soggy heap by the wall. Poised over the toilet, chubby fist clenching a fresh wad of toilet paper ready for the flushing stood our little man. He had discovered the joy of what-happens-when-you-flush-a-plugged-toilet.
Before I had a chance to say a word, Timmy realized he was no longer alone. His blue eyes, dancing with the thrill of the adventure, quickly dropped to the floor. His smile of delight changed to a frown, then a pout.
“I found it.” My husband called from the floor of paperwork.
Letting loose a giggle, I scooped up a soggy-diapered adventurer, tickling his exposed tummy. “I found something, too.” I mumbled into a mop of damp, blonde hair then planting a noisy, teasing kiss to the nape of his neck.
With Timmy in his daddy’s sight, I soaked the pool of water up with towels. As I rung them out over the tub, two nuggets of wisdom rose to the surface of my mind: First and most obvious, don’t leave fun-seeking two year olds unattended and expect them to stay out of trouble.
Secondly, whenever possible take the fun-seeking-two-year-old approach to life: Find delight in simple, available pleasures, like toilet-bowl waterfalls.
“So I recommend having fun, because there is nothing better for people to do in this world than to eat, drink, and enjoy life. That way they will experience some happiness along with all the hard work God gives them.” Ecclesiastes 8:15 NLT
Here's a little trip down memory lane. When I submitted it to a writing course I was taking I called it "Who Needs Lego?"
We had received a letter from the government implying my husband had worked and not reported his earnings while collecting unemployment insurance. Given a very short deadline, the official document wielded power, affecting our heart rate. Fully aware of the consequences of not satisfying their audit, we spread the file folder of receipts over our bedroom floor and focused on finding the proof of our integrity.
As we concentrated, we lost track of time and our adventure-seeking two year old.
Neither of us paid any attention to the noise in the bathroom down the hall. Nor did it register that Timmy was the only other body capable of flushing a toilet and shouldn’t even have a need since he was still in diapers. It wasn’t until I heard little feet sloshing and slopping through water that I finally tuned in and decided to investigate.
As I stood in the doorway, my socks were instantly soaked. The mat in the middle of the floor, held down by the weight of the rubber backing, was covered by a mix of water and mushy Purex, a discarded pair of black sweat pants lay in a soggy heap by the wall. Poised over the toilet, chubby fist clenching a fresh wad of toilet paper ready for the flushing stood our little man. He had discovered the joy of what-happens-when-you-flush-a-plugged-toilet.
Before I had a chance to say a word, Timmy realized he was no longer alone. His blue eyes, dancing with the thrill of the adventure, quickly dropped to the floor. His smile of delight changed to a frown, then a pout.
“I found it.” My husband called from the floor of paperwork.
Letting loose a giggle, I scooped up a soggy-diapered adventurer, tickling his exposed tummy. “I found something, too.” I mumbled into a mop of damp, blonde hair then planting a noisy, teasing kiss to the nape of his neck.
With Timmy in his daddy’s sight, I soaked the pool of water up with towels. As I rung them out over the tub, two nuggets of wisdom rose to the surface of my mind: First and most obvious, don’t leave fun-seeking two year olds unattended and expect them to stay out of trouble.
Secondly, whenever possible take the fun-seeking-two-year-old approach to life: Find delight in simple, available pleasures, like toilet-bowl waterfalls.
“So I recommend having fun, because there is nothing better for people to do in this world than to eat, drink, and enjoy life. That way they will experience some happiness along with all the hard work God gives them.” Ecclesiastes 8:15 NLT
posted by Bonnie Derksen @ 11:28 AM
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