As I was sifting through all the contents in my home, downsizing, ridding my home of junk, and looking at memories unfold before me, I came across this note I'd written a long, long time ago:
In the early morning hours, the Wiza home is still, except for the rustling sound in Mom's closet. There in all her splendor, is 4-year-old Lindsey, replete with a hat, necklaces, bracelets, rings, and earrings, rummaging through all of my shoes. She is trying to locate that one pair that will complete her ensemble. For some reason, she always chooses the same pair of shoes.
She makes her way into the family room where her brother, Greg, who is around 3, is busy pretending to repair all the furniture with his toy screwdriver. Lindsey speaks into her phone, "Hold on," then flings the phone over her shoulder and tells Greg, "We're going to play house and you're going to be the dad."
Greg places the screwdriver in his mouth and looks like a dog chewing on a bone. "I don't want to be the dad," he tells Lindsey. "I want to be the dog."
Brittney, the baby, hobbles into the room, sucking on her pacifier and clinging to her cloth diaper. She allows her older sister to place a hat on her head as Lindsey puts Brittney into the doll stroller. With the phone hanging over her shoulder, Lindsey complains to me, "Greg won't be the dad and I want him to be the dad."
Greg is now barking around Lindsey's feet, and Brittney is laughing, even with the pacifier in her mouth. I call out from the kitchen, "You can't make somebody do something he doesn't want to do."
Just then Keeley, their much-older sister, returns from high school and everybody hugs her and then follows her to her bedroom, which is a mess – mountains of clothes heaped in piles next to her bed.
I tell Keeley that I want her to clean her room.
Lindsey puts her hands on her hips and says, "Mom, you can't make somebody do something she doesn't want to do."
Everybody turns toward me to look for my reaction. After a long time, I say in my humorous sarcastic tone, "I KNOW! Let's throw all of our clothes all over the house!"
Keeley looks at me as if my brains had just fallen out of my head. Then Brittney picks up a pair of Keeley's jeans and places them in the hamper. Greg picks up a pair with his teeth and drops them into the hamper as well. Pretty soon, Keeley's room is straightened, and all of us helped.
Well, except for Lindsey who thought she might break a nail. I plop down on Keeley's bed and smile. "This room looks great!" Then Brittney climbs on my lap and smiles. "I comfortable. I could stay here forever and ever."
Greg nuzzles up to me, and Keeley and Lindsey sit down to admire the room.
Seems like all that happened a lifetime ago. And if you're reading this at the age of 27 or 28, I guess it was.
Thanks for visiting!