I . . . I like it when my children make a mess of their room. There. I said it. I mean I love it. Their father can not stand the sight but it gives me life. The more it looks like a tornado hit it, the more exhilarated I become. Here me out now.
It's a growing trend in this nation for children to lose themselves in front of a television. Imaginative play is almost extinct among the youth. Once upon a time, I took some children to a park and since we had neglected to bring a ball, they literally asked me what they should do. We were in a park! Swings to the left, a jungle gym to the right and a mob of other children in the middle. Needless to say, I was extremely flabbergasted. I vowed right then and there that the future child that I would adopt (because that was the plan back then . . . lol) would be quite familiar with imaginative play. My childhood memories are flooded with games we played in my concrete backyard accompanied by no toys. Yes, that's right. Zero toys. And we had an unbelievably fun time.
I just love to walk around my children's messy room and breathe it all in. The simplest observations delight me. C loves that book right there. P parked her brother's car in the dollhouse bedroom. L.P combined his mega blocks to form an intricate design around a train set. To see that the day prior, my son decided to be a cook one minute and then a train conductor the next is enlightening. Make possibilities seem endless. Television cannot do those things. It's also indicative of what is needed to expand on a certain interest or thought process. It took me finding a bridge created with some hardcover books over a train set for me to realize that he needed a more sophisticated set. His father saw an intentional disarray and I observed the findings of an engineer that could use a new set of tools.
Not to go into a drawn out history lesson here however there was a time black women were not allowed to love their young. They weren't be concerned about their welfare past a week. The atrocities they had to endure are beyond anything I could ever imagine. A mother's love is a mother's love. No words to describe it. No instrument can ever measure. I think of my ancestors often and try to make my life a tribute to the very freedom that they could never breathe an air of. The love I have for my children is on acid. Or on steroids. Or whatever drug that can artificially enhance an experience. Whatever. I go in for my prodigies. I am a really hard worker. Everything I do is for them. So I fill their rooms up with everything and anything that interest them. It is for them so I find it disturbing when I pass by their room and see that their toys and books are neatly stored where I left them. These items were not intended to be show pieces. Get in there and play. Explore. Throw it, break it, ride it, read it, etc. Don't make me kill you. Get in there and feed your mind! *smile* And let Mommy join you sometimes. We can clean up later.
“If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?” Einstein
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