One particularly windy afternoon, my making the bed was interrupted by shrieks of laughter coming from the back yard.
(Yes, I make my bed in the afternoon and not as soon as I wake up like my mother, for shame.)
I looked out my window to see my daughter running in and out of the washing hanging on the line. I could imagine grubby chocolate, mixed with dirt fingers touching my clean, white sheets.
The adult in me was ready to race out there with my “angry face” on, as Ell would call it, and rant + rave.
But on my anger-fuelled journey to the back yard, I suddenly remembered how much fun I had as a kid chasing the washing.
I remembered my own mothers “angry face” when she caught me, usually swinging from one of the arms of the clothes line. I remembered thinking, ‘whats the big deal? It’s just washing.’
It dawned on me that the most serious and boring adults were the ones who forgot what it was like to be a kid. I didn’t want to be that adult, so I grabbed my camera and joined in on the craziness.
I didn’t want to forget a second time round. And for a couple of hours, I was that kid again.
That evening, I smirked as I put the sheets back on the beds, dirty hand prints and all and felt a sense of freedom and joy. Those dirt filled smudges on the sheets reminded me that sometimes I should let the kid in me out again.
Seriously, what’s the big deal? It’s just a bit of dirt.
Writing + photography contributed from Krystle Ricci in Perth, Western Australia.