Dancing on the Ceiling

5:50 am: Nothing like the present to work on my moves...

Against my mother's repeated advice throughout the past thirty some years, I can't stop fantasizing of perfection...

I can't stop fantasizing of a cozy and orderly home where a toddler lives always giggly and happy. No crumbs on the floors. Where lively family discussions (mom, dad, 2 year old) take place nightly over lovely dinners of grilled protein and veggies. Each bite placed neatly in the mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Green veggies sneaking into the mouth are greeted with appreciation and never spat out with disgust. Perfection.

I can't stop fantasizing of mommy getting a decent amount of sleep every night. Uninterrupted. When she can wake up ahead of the brood to meet the morning and herself with energy and time. Perfection.

But for the past week, this has been our mornings: "Mommy, Daddy, I want to go down stairs. I want to wear my ballerina dress. [I want to try on 20 pairs of different shoes to find the one I like the best in this light]. Mornings that start at obscene hours. 4:00 am. 5:00 am. Or at best 5:30 am.

Let me tell you that some days, no amount of parental strategy can change the mind of a determined dancer from getting her work done.

Humbling is when you live with someone who has her own ideas of a perfect world, and a will much stronger than yours...

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