To Be a Child

I love how childrens' minds work (not that I pretend to remotely understand them - it's just that the outward manifestation of whatever is going on in there is often so amusing). It's better than television.

For example, consider this scene . . .

To the mind of an adult, especially an overwhelmed adult who is in the middle of a move (this is from 6 weeks ago), this might appear to be just an 11' by 7' room packed wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling with moving boxes filled with our stuff, for which there is not enough room in our apartment. If that's what you thought it was, don't feel too bad, because that's what I thought it was too. We were both wrong.

To be sure, I knew that there was a tiny empty space in the middle. But that's all it was to me - an empty space, created so we could squeeze in there and hunt for boxes on occasion.

To the mind of a child, however - a mind unfettered by such mundane concerns as "where are we going to put all this junk?" - it is evidently much more.

Apparently what this space really is is a home appliance repair shop . . .

and a library, complete with easy-chairs. Who knew?

Matthew has clearly learned home-repairs by observing his father's technique - first you select the proper tools for the job;

then you carefully measure the item to be repaired;

gently take it apart;

and lovingly attempt to put it back together.

Finally you bang it with a hammer in frustration!

(I love that throughout the entire "repair" process, Austin remains thoroughly engrossed in his Mother Goose poems - heedless of the racket going on at his elbow)

As I stand here and contemplate these towers of our preoccupation, my frenzied eye falls upon my children, obliviously absorbed in this world that they have created out of our junk-heap. Today it is an appliance repair shop and a library - perhaps tomorrow a pirates' cove and a castle rampart. For just a moment I am transported back to a long-ago time when I, too, could effortlessly create magic out of chaos, untouched by the cares of the day.

Now don't misunderstand me - I love being an adult, and life with my Audrey just gets better and better each day. However, there are infrequent moments when, just for an instant, by a word, a touch, or (as in this case) just a glimpse of their quiet absorption in their own unreachable world, my children wrench from me the brief petition - "oh to be a child again!"