Sidewalk Chalk

This week has been a busy one.  A rat race.  One of those weeks where everything takes longer than I think it's going to.  One of those weeks where I just get caught up with something, and another takes its place.  My to-do list is out of control, and somewhere between taking pictures of Farm Bureau agents with NU basketball players, counting ballots for graduation speakers, grading thirty-six multi-genre papers, writing lesson plans for a project on To Kill a Mockingbird, paying an overdue daycare bill (oops), sending four swimsuits back to Victoria's Secret (gross), and shipping a defective flash drive across the country...

I remember this.

And I know that it's all o.k. 

Because after a day is done and I rush like mad to daycare to pick up my little sprout, my to-do list just doesn't matter all that much.  My little six-month-old has taught me so much about what's important in this life of ours.  He reassures me over and over again with his accepting smile and innocent love.  

Babies are amazing that way.  They don't care about how the house looks, or how much money's in the bank account, or the number of hours punched on a time card.  They just want to be loved, and accepted, and played with.  Every time I look at his face, he reminds me of this.

Lately, I've been thinking about sidewalk chalk.  A long driveway, a barefoot baby, and a bucket full of red, blue, green, and purple.  Afternoons spent outlining our shadows, drawing smiley faces, and perfecting our names in bubble letters.  This week, I find myself longing for chalk-dust covered hands, a glass of iced tea, and simplicity.