I wanna be a fly

My kids are the two most adorable, lovable, "awwww!" inspiring kids around. 

No really. 
They really are.  ;) 

They are also the neediest, whin-y-est, all consuming things I've ever met.  haha!  From the minute I wake up, it's endless questions.
"Hey, Mom, come look at this dead mouse with one hand dangling almost all the way off!  Do you think if I hit him hard enough with my shovel that he'll explode on my new school pants?"

"Tan I havvuh waffuh, puh-WEEEESE, momma?  Waffuh, momma? Waffuh, Momma? WAFFUH, MOMMA...PUH-WEEEEEEEESE???!!!  MOMMA....WAFFUH!!!!!!!!"

"Mom, did I tell you that I'm supposed to be at school early today...like at (5 minutes from now)?"

I am not a morning person.  At 7am, it doesn't matter how cute, how innocent, or how happy Ms. Manners might become at hearing all the "pleases" and "thank yous"...I just want absolute silence until I've had my first cuppa joe and the morning paper.  I'm like an 80 year old Nantucket man trapped in the body of a stay-at-home mom to a small litter of incessently brilliant, creative, pint-sized minds.  Minds attached to mouths that like to talk...A LOT...especially before the coffee has even had a chance to start dripping.

My poor kids.  It usually doesn't end well for them...all my groaning, complaining, and...some days...virtually frothing at the mouth.  I've been known to repeat....with gusto...phrases like "How many hands do I have?" My son usually states like a robot..."Two".  "How many things can I do at once?"  "One." 

Or... "No I will not hold one more (fill in the blank, useless object)!  I AM NOT AN OCTOPUS!!"

Granted, these little phrases barely make sense when you are in your thirties, are in the situation, and are empathetic enough to gather that this one momma is dying a slow death of lack-of-caffeine.  I'm sure my kids are absolutely clueless as to what I'm going off about...something about "octopus arms...not caffeinated enough...why is my creamer all lumpy?".

Whatever. 

Our little verbal dance works for us in the A.M.  They take a couple bunny hops my way, I dodge to the left to fill their plates, they allamander right for the sneak attack, I say random phrases that they translate as "gimme a sec!", I caffeinate (and...on a very terrible day...apologize), and we are off on our day...all smiles.

In the way that only the most trying things can do, I've begun to realize that sometimes I need to approach the world in the very same manner as my unrelenting kids.  They dare to dream, selfishly pull any innocent bystander into their reality, and are willing to yell/scream/plead/cajole until their desires are fulfilled.  This isn't anything new.  Ok, it is freakin' OLD NEWS that the "squeaky wheel gets the grease", but I never really felt brave enough to apply it to my own life...to my dreams...both big and little.  I'm so busy dodging the unanswerable questions, re-covering the unmentionable body parts, and trying to survive that I often can't even make it into the ballpark of the basic question:

"What do I want?"

Do I still have those pieces of my heart that dare to dream, and have the guts to make those dreams a reality?  If so, where are they hiding?  I'm pretty sure they might be found most quickly by searching for those red flags of irritation, the feelings of entrapment or betrayal, insecurity, reasoning, etc.  These negativities have long acted as a time-worn camoflauge.  Buried beneath these opposite emotions lie the remains of those fanciful dreams.  Hope has been deferred by the more "adult" understanding of the way the world actually works.

Am I safer that way?  Is it easier to live life with a constant TO DO list (of the heart) that can/may never be accomplished?  Or is that just an eternal torture...a painfully slow, yet optimistic death?  Since those hopes and dreams won't go away, is it better, then, to cover them with the opposite emotion...fear covering fearlessness...knowledge destroying the superhero? 

Speaking for today only, I am daring to unearth a few of those dreams.  For one splendid night, I am unfurling every fragile wing and letting the slightest breeze carry my heart to a lighter place.  I will dream in a thousand trillion colors, shimmering with the joy that only Hope can bring. These anemic dreams may not have much strength or power at the moment, but I'm pretty sure they can carry my full-sized adult body for one gleaming, spectacular night.  I'll take it.  Not only that, but I'll soak it up, revel in it, and allow it to expand my heart once again.

And, tomorrow, when my reality comes crashing in on me long before my java does, I will close my fist around one sparkling handful of my dreams and hold on for dear life. 

Maybe, just maybe, with one hand holding tightly to Hope and my heart beating frenetically, this momma octopus can worry a little bit less about growing another virtual arm and, instead,

...try to grow a few more pairs of discerning eyes.