My Imaginary Life

The sky is pale right now.  It is no wonder.  It looks as if all the color dripped out of it and landed here in my own corner of the mountains.  The house we are staying in is cuddled right up to the foot of the Wasatch  range and is rampant in colors.  The grass is that delicious deep green which is my favorite color in the world.  The buttercups along the walk way seem to have stolen the sun light.

I know I don't live a Norman Rockwell life, but I sure like to pretend.  And in the pretending, I opened all the windows and let the fresh dampness permeate the house.  I then set about baking more cookies.  I wanted Keith to wake up to the smell of Spring and oatmeal raisin cookies.  I seem to bake a lot, but I have high ideals.  I just want him to have a perfect childhood.


It is a funny sort of life I live.  I do silly things.  My husband puts up with the silliness because he knows it helps me be happy.  I wear dresses.  I wear aprons.  I pretend I am best friends with June Cleaver.  I dance around the kitchen.  I dry sheets and other clothes on a clothes line.  I pretend I live a perfect life and I do everything to attain that life. 

So on days like today, everything just seems to be so perfect.  And it sure helps that I accomplished so much.  On my list of things to do I finished all but two.  So proud of myself.  That rarely happens.  Again, what bliss.  A clean house, a perfect rain storm, happy healing children, and fresh cookies.