Staring At The Walls

This happens almost every weekday.  The house falls quiet as my children slumber, their afternoon dreams taking them on adventures I'll never know of, and I gather a snack and a drink to sit with my laptop and write.  And then my mind goes blank.  Nothing.  Zip.  Zero.  Nada.  A blank page in front of me makes my thoughts retreat these days, and although I can think of a zillion good stories while the kids are awake and in need of my attention, I forget to write them down on a list and then I have nothing to offer you, my dear, faithful, starving readers.  Instead, as I do on most days, I sit here and listen to the wind blowing in the brand new leaves outside, and the faint tinkle of the windchimes that hang on my front porch.  I stare at the walls.  I look out the windows at the bright sunshine; I listen to the birds singing in the trees.  Occasionally a chipmunk will scurry past and I will think to myself that he seems far too busy for such a peaceful hour.  It's not that I have nothing to do, oh no!  It's that for this one hour I need to have some quiet so that I can find the ME that is hidden inside of my various roles all day.  The ME that is not labeled wife, mother, daughter, or friend.  In the quiet I can bring myself back to center, and I sit here thinking and taking stock of myself until I hear an irresistible cry coming from down the hall that tells me one of my babies is awake.  And when they wake up I snap back into place, my afternoon's reflections slipping away for another day, but I feel refreshed and ready to take on the pre-dinner hour, our witching hour in this house, when all is chaos and movement and loud voices. 
I remember my SIL telling me that she had a friend with a new baby, and that when the baby napped she didn't watch TV, get a head start on dinner, or work on a project.  Instead she sat and stared at the walls because she was tired and just needed TO BE. Until I was a mom I didn't understand that at all, but now I find myself staring at the walls, too.  I'm guessing we're not alone in this seemingly odd habit. 
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And because I don't want to bore you to death, I will taunt you with some little funny bits of Harry:
When he dropped his bowl of popcorn on the floor and Charlotte the Beagle started to eat it:  "Oh, Man!  No, no, no bad girl!  Give it back!"
Whenever he drops something, makes a mess, or does something wrong:  "It's ok.  Mommy clean it up."
We worked on potty training last week, and he said as I tucked him in for his nap: "Daddy a big boy, uses potty.  Mommy a big boy, uses potty.  Harry a big boy, too!"  That's right, we're all big boys in this house.
He was playing with bowls and spoons in the sand one day and I asked him what he was doing.  "Cooking!" he yelled happily.  What are you cooking, I asked.  He turned to me, rolled his eyes, and said, "Sand." 
Looking through a picture book, Harry asked what a certain photograph showed.  It was a swimming tube for children, so I answered 'swimming tube'.  "Swimming boobs!" he agreed happily.
When Charlotte the Beagle stole his carrot: "Get back here, naughty girl!"
When my mom took him out to lunch last week, he slid out of the booth and stated "Be right back" with a devilish grin.

Our boy, he keeps us in stitches.  The questions about male and female anatomy have started (oy!) and let's just say the conversations are very amusing, but in an effort to not get spammed by adult sites I won't go into detail here.  Have a funny kid story?  Share!