Fingerprints.

Fingerprints. I think a home with or without fingerprints tells you a lot about who lives there. Without fingerprints, parents of small children. With fingerprints, grandparents of small children. That’s probably not true for many people but it sure was true for me. I was the type of mom that attacked fingerprints with Windex and paper towels like Mrs. Clean. I didn’t see the beauty in them. They didn’t make me smile. Nope, I was out to get them. I’m not like that anymore. All of sudden fingerprints are cute. They make me smile. They make me remember how they got there and by whom. Enter Cassidy. With ten little fingers. She made the difference. Last weeks fingerprints still linger on my front window and in my heart. I smile as I remember holding her as she ran her little fingers up and down on my clean window. It was cold out so they really stuck. She was in my arms and we where waiting for Angel to come in. Angel is our dog, known to Cassidy as “Good Girl”, that’s what she calls her. I can see her tapping on the window and calling out “Good Girl” as we waited. When I see those fingerprints I think to myself “how sweet“, I’ll leave them on there just a little while longer” It’s like that with our glass T.V. stand too. I can see her little fingerprints in the dust. That too can wait. No, I am not looking for an excuse to not clean. Anyone who knows me knows I like a clean house but baby stuff is different now. It’s not dirt. It’s not a mess. I would rather spend time with Cassidy then clean. I learned late, but none the less I learned that babies don’t wait. They grow up so fast. I just don’t have time to waste anymore. As I drive by other peoples homes and I see fingerprints all over their front window I think to myself they got it. They understand. A child lives there. A child who is free to create works of art on a window.
It’s not just fingerprints either. Pat caught something last week that I didn’t realize. It was Sunday. Cassidy was over. The Sunday newspaper was in a neat little pile and guess who decided she wanted to read it. Cassidy dove into that newspaper like a little tornado hit it. She was fast and she was mighty. The ads flew in all different directions. I heard the paper ripping and I heard her laughing. This was great. She was having a ball. I was just watching her. Not doing a thing when Pat said to nobody special “ I could never get a way with that” It’s true. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. That might be another lesson for another day.
Why is it that when we are young so many things seem so important? Why do we have to keep up appearances.? Why do we try to impress others to the point of depressing ourselves? I know that most people share my experience. I see the younger generation driving new cars, living in developments and their children dressed in cloths that cost more than mine. These parents are good parents. They spend time with their kids but they are tired. They can’t keep up with the bills. For some it means working more and more. Time spent is in the car from one place to the next. I want to say “slow down“. It’s okay to live in a older smaller house. It’s okay to drive a car for a few more years. It’s okay to go and spend the day at the city pool with your children instead of peeking in on them every now in then in your back yard.
Sitting around the dinner table together or watching a T.V. show together is not even normal anymore. It’s the exception. How sad. How many conversations are lost. How much silliness is missed.
I know I am getting more emotional as I age. I see how fast life goes and how much does work out by itself. You couldn’t of told me that when I was young. Some days I have to remind myself still. It’s getting easier. I am so glad it is as I sit here and write with my dog at my feet. With fingerprints on my windows and dust on my T.V. stand and memories in my heart. I have it all. I’m finally getting it.

Myspace Comments