Sometimes I'm the kind of mom who sees tiny little hand prints everywhere -- walls and chairs, light switches and white cabinets -- and I feel like I just cannot live one.more.single.second without scrubbing everything clean.
So I wet a rag and begin to scour all of the surfaces in the dining room as my 3 year old gives voices to toy fishies and my 16 month old food-finger paints with ketchup at the dining room table.
They giggle and my older son beckons me to abandon my work in favor of play.
"Look at my blue fish!" he exlaims. "They are the police officers."
I marvel over the brilliance of making the blue fishies police since they are, indeed, sporting blue.
"Look at E.!" he then says, switching gears. "He's eating his paints!"
While I'm explaining that the red paint is actually ketchup, I stumble into some made love with his chubby, red-coated fingers, remembering how quickly just how much I adore those little hands.
And I think to myself, I'd rather be the mom who thinks I just cannot live one.more.single second without enjoying those small hands --both sets.
So I kiss ketchupy fingers and giggle about toy fishies, taking a few more baby steps in the right direction.