Every Friday morning I enter the Twilight Zone.
The footsteps of a specter from my blissful childhood can be heard coming down the stairs at 6:30 on Fridays. And I am forced to meet an unfiltered version of myself in a nine-year-old male body.
Talk about traumatizing.
It’s my darling son, Logan. Oh, how he will roll his eyes when it soaks in that I called him “darling”.
Logan is my kitchen helper on Fridays – and kitchen duty at the Shoe means the child needs to be in the kitchen by 6:30 to help make lunch and get breakfast on the table. But have you ever stopped to think about how much good two distracted blondes of the same personality can do in the kitchen? Not much. Which is why it’s best to keep it simple those days.
Let me back up a bit and fill you in on a few of the similarities between this young boy and his mama – so you will understand why Friday mornings can be scary around here.
We both love chocolate, coffee drinks, bike rides, and gardening.
Curiosity is going to be what kills us, most likely. It can also be what hurts our relationships with others if we’re not careful. So we figure it’s okay to be curious . . . as long as we stay alive and our friends still like us.
Blue is our absolute favorite color – our eyes are even blue.
Encyclopedias, dictionaries, spelling bees, and Bible quizzes are some of the best things in the world. I remember being asked to dust the house as a young girl. This is a job that should have taken about 30 minutes. Do you want to know how long it took me? Three hours. All because I got stuck at the bookcase with my nose in more than one book.
Our minds are probably our biggest strength and our greatest downfall. We love to think, and think, and think. But when it’s time for breakfast to be on the table in 15 minutes . . . that is not the best time to be thinking about anything but food and how to get it from the refrigerator to the table for six other people.
We both have a special place we go to that we will call the Zone. I can see exactly when Logan is there and I know how he is feeling at that precise moment. People can be talking at you from all different directions, but when you are in the Zone . . . you are blissfully deaf to it all. It is when you have something on your mind that you keep rolling over and over, or a question that you absolutely cannot figure the answer to, a talk you are preparing for women’s retreat. . . or a conversation that you pretend to be having with somebody or other.
What is scary is when both Logan and I are both in the Zone at 6:45 and hungry people are starting to arrive in our kitchen. We are still walking around like zombies – probably each talking to the other in our heads. This distracted walking from kitchen counter to kitchen counter continues until I catch myself . . . and turn to see my son doing the exact same thing. Together, we don’t get anything great accomplished.
It makes me so incredibly grateful that God saw fit to put our personality counterparts here on this earth!
Our personalities need somebody to save us from ourselves. Or at least to keep us alive until the next Friday morning.
Being a blonde holds true meaning. Many times we cannot see something so completely obvious to the rest of the population . . . even when it’s sitting right in front of us. The other morning, Logan was asking over and over for the milk. And it was sitting only about six inches from his breakfast plate. See what I mean?
Our imaginations are a fertile place. Ripe for much good . . . and also many fears that get out of hand. In mere minutes, we can have a play scripted, edited, rewritten, and acted out in this place we call the Zone. Wonderful, crazy stories that have absolutely not a single thing to do with getting eggs and toast on the table Friday mornings.
So what is the result of a blonde meeting another blonde in the kitchen?
We are known for bumping into furniture, spilling milk, and even backing up into less important objects such as cars and trees. Uh . . . yeah. That is actually true.
Friday mornings make me love and appreciate this little boy who holds many of my own weaknesses and strengths. We don’t make a good team to do anything practical such as feeding eight people breakfast, emptying the dishwasher, or even noticing that the kitchen light is full of dead bugs.
But put us together on a spelling bee . . . and we just might rock it.
Friday mornings also make me so incredibly thankful for Monday mornings when my strong, dependable Derek is on kitchen duty and things get done in an orderly fashion. If Friday morning is rendering me a mindless zombie . . . I take a deep breath and remember that Monday is coming.
And for you math lovers – Lowell had this question:
Does two blondes in the kitchen equal two blondes, one, or only 1/2 a blonde?
Let me crawl under the table while I admit this . . . but it’s probably that 1/2 blonde option.
However, we blondes will always find a silver lining and it is this:
he does think we are CUTE blondes!