The library basket is restocked with freshly picked stories and last night John and Lauren and I curled up on the sofas and transported ourselves to bookish places. It was peaceful. The three little ones were off in another part of the house. I didn’t question this because they often disappear to their rooms in the evening for a round of pretend.
The keyboard sounded softly in the distance. The little ones can only play a few bars of music but it was really playing because somebody had flipped the demo switch. I pushed the music to the back of my mind and continued to thumb through the pages of my book. Gradually, the music began to get louder. And louder. What I didn’t know was that the threesome was acting out scenes from Zelda and that they were using the piano as background music. Background music that was most definitely in the foreground. The notes reached a deafening crescendo and then the children joined in with some shouting of their own. “Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy! Ship ahoooy!” For some minutes, this continued.
The polarity of these two scenes, the quiet one in the living room and the rollicking one down the hall, struck me as hilarious. The words in front of me began to blur and run together. All I could do was laugh, a great, deep-belly-laughing laugh. I’m usually too busy directing the traffic of this family to be much of a laugher. I walk on the serious side and this sidesplitting laughter set John and Lauren to giggling too. “It’s not that the kids are all that funny, Mama, but you are hysterical,” John explained with a wide, wide grin.
I want my kids to remember this day. The day when their ducks-in-a-row mama, for a few seconds, lost herself to the moment. And too, I want them to remember the day when a few notes of music flew them of the bedroom to the land of Hyrule where apparently there was a ship.