I’m always laughing.
I’m always smiling.
It’s so funny really, perhaps it’s the smiles and laughter of someone saying under their breath “if I wasn’t laughing, I’d be crying” but for whatever reason I’m getting dozens of tiny little wrinkles around my perpetually crinkled eyes.
At a doctor’s appointment with the boys I was told by him, “I can always tell which families are happy ones, their kids smile and laugh a lot, they mimic their parents” and I’m so happy that in spite of my sometimes insanity and always doubting that I’ve managed to raise happy kids.
I love the beauty of it all; the sticky floor, the small feet, the blonde curls of the boys that I’ll keep long until they request a hair cut, the mess of little kid toys, the smear of food around their mouth after a meal, the busyness, the laughter and the screeching.
It’ll be gone soon.
I’ll be able to shop at Walmart without people staring at me and my screaming kids.
I won’ t have to scrape up smashed food with a razor to get it off my tiles.
I laugh and I smile because why shouldn’t I?
