"Okay," she responded, her arms laden with stuffed friends. She was in the middle of a project of epic proportions, packing up all of her dolls and toys and stuffing them into dozens of plastic shopping bags. Little floor was visible during the construction of this project. Where there weren't toys there were crumpled up bags waiting to be opened and filled. It made the art mess on the couch seem rather insignificant.
She seemed quite focused on the task at hand and I wasn't sure that she had really heard me. I couldn't leave the scene without verifying that my words had indeed made it into the inner workings of her mind.
"What are we going to do when the timer goes off?" I asked her while fishing tiny broken crayon bits out from between the cushions.
"Wash our hands?" she offered with a smile.
So I repeated myself, making sure that she was fully aware of the plans. She soaked up my words, thought about them and then asked a few questions about the plans of the day. Success.
I put the crayons in a plastic bag and stacked the paper and stickers. I picked up the pile and went to the kitchen to put it away in the basket above the fridge. We keep all of the art supplies in that basket, in a place out of the reach of little hands to whom the whole world is a canvas. I won't mention the sharpie drawings on my couch pillows....
I set the timer on the stove. First for fifteen minutes then backed it down to fourteen. Don't ask me why. I think sometimes I need to live life a little outside the box. One minute outside the box, I guess.
A pad of paper sat on the counter beside the stove and I picked it up, along with a pen that I had pulled from the drawer below. Sitting down at the kitchen table I started a list of things that needed my attention. There were many things to put on that list and as I jotted them down I felt the familiar rush of anxiety. Most of those things, though needed and important, might not even get done and it feels so defeating to even try to hope that I might.
I lifted my eyes from the table and my gaze fell upon the blinking green numbers that counted down the minutes until shoe time. I began to dream a little, wishing that those numbers were counting down the time until Jesus returned. A brief thought of how selfish that was flitted through my mind for a second before I let my thoughts wander down the glorious path of how wonderful it would be. In the face of life as we've known it lately, my heart has longed for heaven.
Rising from the table, I packed up the things we would need for the afternoon, stopping often to glance at the clock. "What if?" I wondered knowing full well that it wouldn't, and yet with the tiniest inkling of wishing.
Evie hummed away in the living room. I peeked around the corner and observed her packings. She filled the bags to overflowing and then those bags began to migrate into the kitchen, filling the space in front of the door.
I finished up a few things and then I grabbed some pink socks from Evie's drawer. She stopped just long enough for me to snake them on to her chilly feet. "Can I bring all these bags?" she asked. I explained that only one bag could come with us.
The kitchen timer beeped a one minute warning.
Evie shifted into high gear and the pile of bags by the door began to rise like a bowl of bread dough on the back of the stove. I mentioned the one bag rule again. She stopped piling and began, with much difficulty, to try and pick just one bag.
Beep Beep Beep Beep. Fourteen minutes was up and there we were. Two girls in an entryway full of bags and some pairs of shoes that needed putting on.
I turned the beeping timer off. We put our shoes on. I grabbed our belongings and we stepped out into the chilly afternoon. It was time to go.
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