I need my kids more than they need me. And here's proof. . .
The county had a two-hour school delay. You know, three icy puddles or even a few shiny oil spots that Cletus left behind keeps us off the roads in these parts. Since we had some extra A.M. time, I made semi-homemade muffins this morning. (You know the trick where you add one or two "healthy" ingredients to a pre-made mix likely heavenly-laden in extra sugar, fat or some other delicious delicacy, I mean, ingredient). So as I sprayed the nonstick oil in the little circles in the baking pan, wondering how in the world I'll be cleaning the Pam residue off my walls and counter, my daughter looked up from her drawing at the kitchen table and says, "What nice music!? I love it, Mom!"
I whirled around from my stovetop stupor expecting to find her listening to her dad's Itouch (off limits!) or to simply confirm that something else isn't working quite up to par on this nearly 39-year-old body, because I did not hear any tunes tinkling. "What music, honey?"
"The music you made in the pan, as you sprayed each little cup," she said looking very confused, as if she too was wondering about my hearing ability. And sure enough, I took the Pam out of the pantry, held the muffin pan in the air, and resprayed each circle. This time not even considering the oily mess left on the wall and floor. And it did make a sweet little noise, a slightly different tone in each of the tin cups. And it was nice.
"Oh, I like that. Thanks," I said. My daughter smiled and went back to her drawing, probably a little curious why I thanked her.
So you see that's why I need my children so much. They are constantly helping me notice the beauty that surrounds me every day. Much like the paint marks my son left on his big sister's dresser that bled through his art paper last week, well maybe that's not a great example . . .