Today, while I was preparing dinner, I looked around at my rather...well, to be kind, let's just say lived-in kitchen. And as I looked around, I realized that even in her absence, you'd have no trouble figuring out that a little girl inhabits this place.
I'm not talking about the obvious tip-offs, like the pictures on the wall, or the play kitchen in the corner. No, my favorite signs are a bit more subtle. Like the traces of pink nail polish on the baseboards. The Disney princess boots sitting in the window. The stray sock under the blinds. The dried cereal and ramen noodles under one chair at the table. And if you happen to open the refrigerator, you'll see a plastic doll's bottle of milk carefully lined up next to a sippy cup of the same. The cuteness of which will hopefully distract you from the stick of butter that's been attacked by a butter knife or the string cheese that's been bitten in five places through the wrapping. And if you're really lucky, if you open the cupboard next to the fridge, you might find the little mischief maker herself, in all her sticky, smiley, guilty glory.
They told me to treasure moments like this, because they're gone all too soon. So I write about it and document it in hopes that it will make me smile instead of scowl. And what do you know, it really works. Until Madeline interrupts to show me the stack of papers she's pulled off the counter and scattered all over the kitchen floor. But even then, I'm grinning just a little bit.
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