From Behind the Eyelids

Saturday mornings I am in bed.
Sometimes I am asleep.
Mostly I pretend to be.
Often there is a din.  A stampede through my room which jars my senses.
Occasionally there are whispers and tip-toeing.

Regularly I wake to distant conversation, and like a fly on the proverbial wall I hear everything.
I hear the tea kettle steaming,
I hear hands furrowing through a Lego bin,
I hear little girl voices babbling like the ceaseless flow of a mountain brook,
I hear baby squawks and motor noises made by boys.

From behind closed eyelids I know what projects are going on.
Pancake making, rocket building, pencil drawing...painting.

One morning, eyes still fastened shut I surmised that my eldest was
working on a project using model paint.
There was a hubbub.
A frantic command for someone to grab a paper towel - "quick."

"QUICK!!!"

And just as I am imagining the many possibilities I hear Clayton's
slow calm voice say with great fanfare:


 "And from now forward

this shall be known as...

THE TABLE... of SILVER."


Then with eyes squeezed even tighter, I broke out into luminous grin
shoulders quaking with laughter.
With images of instant-drying silver paint tickling the back of my eyelids
there was little else I could do
but laugh.

And be glad I was still in bed.

The now infamous Table of Silver
 (I ask "why did you stop there?  Next time would you please paint the whole table.")