Family Matters: The Toy Box

There are these things that lay around the house that make me smile.  A space shuttle that zooms nose up, all willy-nilly, across the floor at mach speed giggles.  A dinosaur sticker stuck to the bottom of my foot as I cross the floor to go make late night tea.  Is that T-Rex poking his nose around the corner of my big toe?

What is it that we look at, but never see?  What is it that we will often look at as a nuisance, but is really the fabric of our life?  The race track pokes its nose out from under the couch, the baby doll cries from the toy box, as UNO uncrosses its legs to relax.  We ought never forget that we have these beautiful reminders of the memories that we are building every day.  Yes, it would be nice if the kids picked up their toys, and the blankets, and shoes were all put in their places.  Would I love it if the shelves and corners dusted themselves?  Yes.  But, really, what I see every day are the reminders of the most important parts of my life.

Eventually there will be no more Matchbox cars, Mickey Mouse trains, dinosaurs or dragons.  The toy box will be replaced by empty space, and it will not be feng shui, it will be nostalgia and a sense of loss.

Every day my kids leave tracks of who they are, and what they love.  Their footprints are scattered around the house like drips of melting icicles, who too soon will be evaporated into time.  They will drive their cars, and build their dreams, and the scattered items that once frustrated me will become the relics of a time that I will feel I should have cherished like it was my last.  I should have drank in every stuffed toy, and piece of cretaceous era triceratops on paper.  I should have bathed in the blue, green, and grey shopping cart filled with train tracks, and Hot Wheels.  

Staying in the day is a wonderful start to appreciating the moment.  However, true appreciation comes from recognizing the minute details of many of the things that often cause frustration.  Why can't they pick up after themselves without being asked a hundred times? They will pick up, and they will leave; but, not now.  Right now is my time to dive head first in the swimming pool of their fun and fantasy, into their puddles of joy, and I'll teach them a thing or two about picking up.

More importantly, I'll teach them a thing or two about appreciating the details.  I will try and help them see the beautiful dust-bunnies in the corners.  I know they will reject my crazy appreciation of the minor things, but it is in the minor things that everything major is built.  The house isn't popped open from a box, it is every swing of a hammer, every bead of sweat from the builders; it is the copper welds, and the solid foundation.  It is every nail, every bumped head, every curse word uttered by a contractor on a time schedule.  It is the boxes moving in, and out, and every trash bag sitting on the curb.  It is the skinned knees and stubbed toes.  The laughter and tears.  It is every granola wrapper left on the floor that should be picked up with purpose, and remembered as the time I was alive, and appreciated my every breath in this world.


Thank you for reading.  Be well, and live inspired!

Michael
My 5min Tour
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