We’re getting ready for a walk. We have to run through a pre-walk checklist, like a pilot’s pre-flight checklist. All three children are present, conscious and accounted for? Check. All three children have on shirts? Hmm. One moment. I’m digging up play shirts from drawers when Simon comes bounding in, and lands on the bed behind me, jumping gleefully. “I’m ready! I’m ready!”
I know he’s not ready. He hates getting ready, and we’ve only been getting ready for about ten seconds. So I turn around, just to see what “ready” is in Simon’s book.
He’s stark naked, except for his shoes. Dear boy. He found his shoes and put them on! He is jumping up and down, up and down, in his shoes, stark naked, on the bed, watching himself in the dresser mirror.
Wrestling shoes off sheets, and shirts on torsos. The sacred work of raising children is utterly mundane.