I never realized that when we adopted a shaggy mongrel puppy or when I caved in and brought home that tiny, little kitten from the shelter that my life would become a Disney movie.
I am Snow White. I am Cinderella. I am Amy Adams in “Enchanted.” The animals are my friends. The cat follows me into the bathroom and sits in rapt attention while I unfurl the toilet paper and brush my teeth. The dog trails me from room to room – up and down the stairs. He licks the dirty dishes that I load into the dishwasher – a thoughtful, but not very helpful gesture. He watches me while I fold the laundry and I almost expect woodland creatures to scamper through the windows and make the bed or bluebirds to come perch on my shoulder and help me pick out my outfit for work. Alas, we live in suburbia where the only woodland creatures we have are squirrels. Once, one did get into the house, raced around in a panic and pulled down the drapes in the living room.
Harris caught it in a Hav-a-Hart trap and escorted it to a better neighborhood with nicer window treatments.
Just now, the goldfish practically jumped out of their tank for joy when I came into the room. It’s just like that song by The Carpenters: “Why do birds suddenly appear…every time you are near?”
Okay, so maybe my life is more Hitchcock than Disney.
I read in this morning’s Boston Globe that they are building a playground in London just for senior citizens. It will focus on low-impact activities that will help tone under-used muscles and improve flexibility and balance.
This is great – but what we really need is a playground for parents.
And by parents, I mean moms.
I imagine a park with an area for mental gymnastics to tone up the brain cells that have gone to mush from talking to toddlers, plenty of balls to improve crucial juggling skills and, most importantly, a bar to help us achieve some balance.
My son was up late working on a school project – a poster about the evils of text messaging and driving. This morning, the project still wasn’t done. There were pieces of construction paper that needed to be glued, photos that had to be printed off the web and scissors that just mysteriously disappeared into the the chaos of what is our house in the morning.
First of all, let me register my complaint that kids in high school are still asked to do projects that involve colored pencils, construction paper and me running out to Walgreen’s at 10pm for poster board. Second, let me say that without those type of projects, I probably wouldn’t have been able to graduate from high school.
Anyhow, I took pity on my son who was assembling his project on the dining room table, before breakfast, in his pajamas.
“Is there anything I can do to help you?” I asked.
He handed me some construction paper to trim, a few images to glue and in minutes, the project was complete. I wrapped the poster board in a plastic garbage bag, dug around in my purse for lunch money and handed him a bagel as he went out the door.
With the poster – but without his backpack.
Which I delivered to the school at 8:15am.
Note to the School Department: Crazy-looking women carrying backpacks and wearing bedroom slippers should not be able to just walk into the school.