My ninth slice-of-life story...

A moving side effect...

I'll admit; boxes bury most everything at my house right now.
Our evenings are well-intended:
we're trying to pack the contents of our house into the scores of textbook boxes
rescued from my school's loading dock;
we're trying to give our toddler as much attention as possible
in the tiny window of fun between daycare and bedtime;
we're trying to cook a dinner that tastes like I spent an hour on it instead of a paltry ten minutes.

So, something's gotta give...right?
Currently, it's all the random items blanketing once clean surfaces around our house.
Flattened boxes piled high like pancakes, squatty candles lined atop the antique buffet,
misplaced napkin rings intermixed.

Little hands like mess.  It's a simple fact.
Especially the haphazard candle display in our dining room right now.
The other night, packing profitability birthed a new writing opportunity for Reid:
wax on window.

I wish I could've been watching from our front lawn
to see the look of writing joy in his eyes;
but the proud proclamations I heard from the kitchen
swept me away.

"R, E, I, D.  That spells name."  (giggle)

Pause: dinner, packing, (anger), mail, dishwasher.

Gliding over slippery floors, I made it to the living room to see.
Wax on the window; my child's first writers notebook.

"That spells my name," he announced...almost cooing.

"You're right, buddy.  There's an R, E, I, D.  Those letters work together to make your name."

I'll get the razor blade later to scrape off the superfluous window wax.
For now, I love seeing my little writer's work.
It's a moving side effect...

Write on,
b