One Part Glitter, Two Parts Dirt

The too warm water runs over my hands as I scrub another dish and the ketchup remnants fall into the sink.  I hear the cardinal in the crepe myrtyle across the way chirping and I see his red feathers flash as he makes his way closer to my window.  I think about how I wish I had a zoom lens for my camera so I could capture his crimson down.

Behind me I hear her protests as her brother tries to take a toy from her.  Over and over he tries to convince her that it is his turn, the whine coming more into his voice with each plea.  I listen, hoping they can work it out, but probably knowing better.  I could count to a million how many times I’ve told him that the best way to get what he wants from her is to offer her something different.  But in the moment he wants what he wants NOW and all my suggestions are for naught.

I wipe the table of milk from cereal and toast crumbs and yogurt splatters.   And I find so much more to wipe since it’s been a few meals since I even did this.  But even so, at this point in my life I feel like a professional wiper.

The harsh but still cute tones from the living room have subsided and I smile to myself, happy they got past it themselves but knowing the next confrontation could be only seconds away.  They are just little children after all.  And in a sea of toys they always want the same.

Next I sweep the floor, which is full of both little pieces of dirt and tiny specks of glitter.  And so as I pour it all into the trash the dirt sparkles and I realize that this is my life, pretty dirty at times, but with a little glitter to make it shine.