I unplugged this afternoon. Really and truly unplugged myself from everything but my daughters. We played in the backyard. Round after round of, “Mom, you be the shark and I’ll be the mermaid, ok?” It was incredible, but you know what happens when you play a game of mermaid and shark with two children? You, as the shark, receive a writhing 30 pound barnacle to manage as you try and bite the tail of the squealing (and surprisingly swift) mermaid in a wading pool too small for your 70 inches and so you pull yourself (and the 30 pound barnacle with breathtaking ringlets) by your arms, your poor, quivering triceps to be exact.
I remember looking up at one point thinking, “Shit, I’m not taking any pictures.” And just as a lump began to snake its way up my throat, the tell tale pinprick sensation hit my eyes heralding tears making their move, Avery leaned her head around and said, “You sharkin’, mama? You still sharkin’ me?” And I was. It was bliss. Mercy, me, it was true bliss.
I gotta do this more often.