This weekend I found myself laying on the couch in a boo hoo emotional state after a friend returned home from New York.
She had a blast.
In a glass.
She told me tales of people who had few family obligations, stories of clean houses, talked about wine on patios, and how great it tasted to the sound of a guitar.
I was green with jealousy.
I looked around my house; the new Frozen busy book thrown on the floor, the laundry basket full of clean clothes begging to be folded, the dishwasher full of clean dishes and no one but me to empty it.
I closed my eyes and imagined what it would be like to live a carefree lifestyle.
To come and go as I pleased, make meals for myself (healthy ones that took hours to prepare, but that’s okay because I had the time), and lace up my shoes for a walk by the beach, or the park, or the forest.
Where ever I wanted.
I could hear the birds, feel the wind, and taste the divine foods I would savour.
Money wouldn’t be scarce in this life.
I was far into my daydream when I felt a small hand peel open my eyeball.
“Do you wanna build a snowman?”
Scooping her up I hugged her tight and tickled her sides. Her blond hair fell all over her face and her giggles lit up the house.
“Why were you sleeping, mom?”
She cupped my face in her hands and straddled my stomach, peering into my eyes as close as she could get.
“I was daydreaming” I answered, brushing her hair away from her eyes, resting my hands on hers.
“Was it a good dream?” She slid off and went to gather her book from the floor.
“It was, love.”
“How did it end?” She picked up her book and placed it on the table, flipping through the pages, humming her favourite song.
I could still see the overflowing basket of clothes but they weren’t yelling at me like they were before, the dishes could wait, and the book was occupying the mind of a child who was learning something new every minute.
This life, the one I had so badly wanted to escape five minutes before, didn’t seem so bad after all.
Looking at my daughter, I smiled big, “it ended Perfectly.”