The miasma, the earthy funk, of a toddler fresh from a nap. Sweet childhood sweat, a waft of wet diaper, stale breath, the last whiff of sweet baby hairline–just there, behind his ear.
Chipotle hot sauce, garlic, onions, chicken and oil, hot cast iron.
Rain and early falling leaves, thrumming on glass. The fading sky, autumnal and drab.
The rhythmic whine of the dishwasher: swom… swom… swom… swom…
The flutter of my fingers, hovering over the keyboard. My too long hair, falling into my field of vision.
The dog’s too long nails, as he mills underfoot: clack clack clack
Moist heat from the stove, a sheen of sweat on my upper lip.
Two small, grimy, perfect hands around my waist, “Mama?”
Yes.
Move Over Mary Poppins! 
You’re so awesome.
I’m so flattered.
Love it. I could see it and feel the whole scene.
And that smell of a toddler? I know EXACTLY what that smells like 🙂
I love that smell.
Love. It.
It’s what I’ve missed most about all my kiddos as they’ve gotten more grown up.
This is such a lovely post!
I felt like I was right there with you.
Just beautiful.
Thanks, Nichole.
Coming from you? High praise, indeed!
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Beautiful!
You and I have the same dishwasher apparently.
Thank you!
Is it the Whirlpool “Came With House, Ain’t Broke So Don’t Fix It, Boy Would I Love A New One Anyway” model?
aw! thank you.
You?
Always welcome.
Sob.
Yes.
Toddler-drunk days. I remember them.
Thank you.
You’re very welcome, Adrienne. It’s a pleasure to have you here.
Really!
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