It was a hot Vegas evening, my mind whirling with the days events, searching for a place to insert some laughter. The golden sun was sinking behind the westward mountains faster than usual and I was drenched in some fine air conditioning, half-moon eyed from the comfort of my favorite chair, counting down the seconds in which I had left to take my beloved brother to the dreaded airport.
From my thoughtless gut I bellowed, "I'm going to the airport!" Before I could finish the last word of that sentence, I wished I could've sucked the magnetic phrase back in my mouth so I could have remained above reproach, but it was too late. One very short, pleasingly round three year old broke into a foot-slapping-trot from across the other side of the house. Those indulgent, Shredded Wheat Biscuits with toes pummeled the ground, which she ran upon as her inviting, plump, juicy cheeks rode with the bounce of her body.
I tried to make a desperate dash for the front door when she dove in a single, heaping leap for my tired, swollen, overworked ankles and held on for dear life, screaming, "I wanna go!" The bags under my eyes sagged a little more and the front door flung open on it's squeaky hinges. I winced as the doorknob flew toward the screaming drywall and thoughts of my alone time clouded over.
"Go where?" my handsome, over active son spurted at me, like one of Spider Man's sticky, wristed webs. I stood there entrapped in his verbal snare, blinking as my husband intercepted him like a football on a mission. I bent down, risking excruciating back pain, and scooped up my pride and my joy from the floor and strapped her into her car seat, planting a honeyed, little kiss on her mouth as if I were about to pluck a decant chocolate morsel from a box.
The ride home was thankfully boring yet tranquil. As the quiet passing minutes drooped my fair lady's eyelids to a blessed close, the look of love oozed from my tired eyes and a smile of contentment crept up the sides of my mouth. I steadied the steering wheel as my eyes darted from road to child in the rear view mirror, being careful not to crash this captivating moment; her pudgy, plugged in marshmallow-like arms casually folded behind her head, her lips slightly ajar. What could she be dreaming through her aqua-blue eyes, I wondered?
My thoughts, abruptly interrupted by a burst of laughter when I heard, "Momma?"
"Yes."
"You sleepin' too?"
