What is normal in a house with kids? In the late spring, it’s hard to determine what might be “normal.” School, winding down, is in flux. The yard is in constant need of attention, with a thousand and one things calling out — berry bushes need covering, hedges need trimming, tomatoes need staking, peas need something to climb on.
So what is “normal”?
Ironically, with a now-three-year-old, it’s a first around every corner. A first time bouncing the ball repeatedly and catching it. Not a first time watching it roll down the hill. But a first time walking down alone, with Tata standing watch at the edge of the driveway.
And it’s a day of not-firsts leading to firsts. The Girl cleaning her room, alone in the house, semi-fine with it, semi-fussing about it as everyone else works outside.
“You’ll hear everyone outside from the window,” I reassured. Well, not everyone. I was back working on the car — another “normal” when you own a Volkswagen is that there’s always something going wrong — but everyone else was in the front yard. Eventually the fussing subsided, the room got cleaned, quite well, and the Girl joined us. Them.
Afternoon: washing the cars. The Girl didn’t want to “help” until she found out she could get wet. And so she came bounding out of the house in her old swimsuit and helped wash the car. Sort of. A bit more playing.
Well, total playing. I wanted to do it all myself because my normal hasn’t been so normal until recently. But that’s normal.
The Boy joined us. Again, normal. He squealed — literally — every single time he got a shot of water.
“Daddy, squirt me again!”
Finally, normal again.