Simple Gifts

They tell you that having children reminds you of the simple pleasures in life. They. The immortal, elusive, omniscient They. If they men that having a teen-ager in my household would make me appreciate clean bathrooms, peace and quiet, no TV, and the right to dictate my own home's rules and spend my own money however I see fit, then They're right. As Chaka says, "You never miss the water til it's gone."

Perhaps They were referring to the wonder and joy of early childhood. Perhaps something in the toddler-hood-ish range. Where slugs get hugged and kissed and dirt is a gourmet delicacy. Yeah, I'd rather appreciate Club Med, thank you.

I think my son might have hit it on the head with me (literally and figuratively. I still have a big bump from the firetruck using Mommy as a driving course.) You want me to stop and smell the roses? Puh-lease. Who do you think bought those roses? Then soaked, trimmed, planted, fertilized, watered, weeded and mulched them. You want me to quietly appreciate the birdsong? Do you have any clue how early those s-uckers start singing up here? Slow down and gaze at the beauty all around me? You mean the half-painted house, six inch lawn and Himalayas of Laundry in my bedroom that hasn't been a boudoir in...oh, hell, like I know. I could appreciate a calculator right now.

But, as I said, there's hope for my spiraling cynicism. My son understands the true, really honest-to-God pleasures of life: Samurai Jack. Running around the house naked while wearing a good hat. Enjoying food to the point it also becomes a facial for fresh and glowing skin. Hugs for your Mommy when you're soaking wet and covered in Purple Schmerple Bubble Bath. Peeing whenever and wherever the hell you feel like it and not wondering if your bladder will ever be the way it was pre-pregnancy. Dancing like a madman cuz the beat is good. And having a good cry when you really need one.

I wonder if They know about those simple pleasures? Or were they too busy watching the six inch lawn grow?