The moment you stop caring

Today after nap time (it was dark outside) Jay took an empty diaper box and played trash man.  I wasn’t thrilled with my role- crawling around on my knees, pushing Jay in the box in front of me- but at least it was in service of a good cause: At every ‘stop,’ Jay picked up the scraps of paper, old cardboard, and broken cars that had been accumulating in the playroom for months.

But with little kids, no good thing lasts for long.  Soon, Jay’s definition of trash changed to include books, stuffed animals, and the remote controls for the television. And of course, this more liberal definition of trash called for more trash receptacles.  I watched in mild, domestic horror as Jay dumped the train tracks from their drawer, emptied the remaining books from their crate, unloaded, one by one, the balls from their wagon.

And I considered intervening.  But while I pondered the unholy destruction around me, Jay began to cart his trash up to what I suppose was a landfill in the kitchen, where Caroline was cooking dinner.  My pulse flickered.  I thought about telling Jay that the bridge was down, the kitchen was off limits, and by God why did he always have to take a good thing too far.

Then I thought, “Oh, to hell with it,” and got a beer.  My favorite Dawes song came on Pandora, Jay continued at his work.  We’ll see how this turns out.

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