Just another day driving the kids from thing to thing. Walmart, Walgreens, gas, soccer, contemplating vacations we can’t afford, the odd noise the engine’s making, talking myself into buying dinner out even though I know it’s healthier if I cook but who am I kidding I don’t feel like cooking and will create a great excuse not to tonight. I pay for the car wash and continue to rant in my head about old hurts and life’s mysteries like why do I have eight Tupperware lids and only one container? Why do I still call it Tupperware? Why must U follow Q? Who’s the genius that came up with Phonics when it doesn’t even start with an F? I check on the kids in the rear view mirror. Yep still there. Make sure all windows are rolled up. Feel a swift chug as our van is tugged into the car wash. Little murmurs start in the back as water splashes down on our roof. Then it begins…
“Ooo, whapping trees!” they squeal. Repeatedly. It’s their first time really noticing them. “Tree” after tree they scream and laugh and point, trying to get up from their car seats. Their tiny, little high-pitched voices. “Look mama whapping trees!” As if I’d never seen them, but in truth, I guess I hadn’t, not from their perspective. Our day instantly went from mundane to delightful. I saw the world through their eyes for a moment or two and it was amazing.
Where the whapping trees are. That’s where my mind goes when they walk down the stairs for prom. When someone breaks their heart. When they get a job, a degree, fired. Doesn’t matter. I’ll always hear that little voice; the root of all they are and wanna be.
The whapping trees. The simple delight, the wonder, the innocence. Nothing and no one can ever replace it.
