It’s been a little while since I’ve found magic in sweeping the floor. Or stamping on bubble wrap. Or dancing in my pyjamas to Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Born to Run’ but one of the unexpected side effects to being a momma is the colour it manages (occasionally) to inject back into those small things.
Now, before you worry that I’ve lost all my ‘bullshit’ karma and that I’ve been bodysnatched by a cult of crunchiness, know this – mostly, sweeping is a pain in the ass. Every now and again though, I watch the Small grab the sweeping brush and lose herself. She doesn’t look at it and sigh, or silently weep on the inside as she remembers that she’s swept the floor seven times that day. She’s genuinely excited to get her hands on it, and GET THIS…she’s excited because she’s pretending to be me.
Now, if THAT doesn’t make you feel all warm and fuzzy about sweeping then I don’t know what will? Because, yes, today she’s copying me sweeping but tomorrow it might be a word, or a look, or a dance move (God help her). Later on, it may be my creativity, my obsession with reading, my brutal honesty (God help me!). The point is, I’ve come to realise that even the most mundane, boring and mind-numbingly shit stuff is all watched and copied and adored…which kind of makes it a little less mundane, boring and mind-numbingly shit.