the mail arrives

To a child, it's all entertainment...

The morning January sun melts the tiny bit of bite left over from the few hours of morning frost. As I write, the left side of me is in shadows--still cool--while my right side feels the beginnings of a sunburn. This is January in St. George at 11am.

It's also perfect weather to be outside. The kids play basketball on their makeshift court--the driveway is the pine, the stucco above the garage is the hoop.

It's been a nice arrangement for my sister-in-law and I...she watches the kids on Tuesdays while I run errands, and I do the same for her on Thursdays. It makes it so I can go to the store without resorting to carrying a 2 year-old and cajoling a 5 year-old while pushing a full cart of groceries to my car. There are few things I dislike more than taking my kids into a store.

Evidently, the other thing that happens at 11:00 on Thursday mornings in January (besides the sun mocking whatever winter we have here in the desert southwest) is the arrival of the mail. And as the white, boxy vessel of goodness pulls up to the mailbox, one would have thought Santa himself had just arrived to divvy out gifts to all the deserving boys and girls on the street. The basketball, discarded to bounce dejectedly away, bowed in defeat to the stacks of junk mail deposited into the mailbox, which by now had become surrounded by 5 hovering, fidgety children, eyes glinting, mouths grinning, with visions of coupons and credit card applications dancing in their heads.

As the mailman pulls away, the kids begin greedily sifting through the mail, arguing genially about who will bring it in. Alex shouts, in an arguably more excited tone than I heard all Christmas morning,

"LOOK A BILL! AND HERE'S A MAGAZINE!"

If I'd known this was all it took, Santa might have re-thought that Power Wheels truck you got for Christmas and taken you on a Field trip to the post office instead.

But that's how it is with kids. It's the homemade--the adventures they create themselves that spark the most fun and enjoyment, and we adults take it all for granted. This is what my children are continually teaching me--how to appreciate it all over again. Sometimes (most of the time) I'm at a loss about what to do with my kids, but I think it must be the simple things--mail, mealtimes, playing pretend--that really make the most difference. I wonder if I'll ever really get it right; capturing the joy and goodness in their eyes and translating it into better parenting, but I appreciate the fact that they keep trying.