through my daughters' eyes

I was mad earlier today. Instead of using their bathroom, they were in mine. That was fine until they went out forty-five minutes later. All the rolled up clean towels were wet. My sink-side book was wet. Actually, everything was wet - wall cabinets, perfume bottles, everything.

At first instinct, I was mad like any other mom. But at second thought, I paused and laughed like anyone who harbors a pixie in her heart. They were playing of course. And that was fun and I must not deny them that.

I suddenly remembered my Bangkok trip a week ago. After a long time, I found red luscious "makopa" and I made sure I have a bag in the bar in my hotel room. It was a pleasing experience in Thailand munching on the beloved food of my youth while soaking in a warm bath in the tub.

Remembering a few things of that childhood.

Ganging up with other children in the street where we lived, climbing guava trees, staging shadow movies inside the cramped tool cabinet of the family living in the apartment above ours, stealing grapes from another neighbor, humming "Sing a Song" off-key while walking to my school, and running like mad when the geese would come out and chase me.

A water battle is not so bad. Most of all if it is done in one's mother's bathroom.