The dishes have piled up and everything I put away Anthony takes out again so I give up and try and scrape off the bits of left over dinner from the plates. My honey lemon ginger chicken took a bad turn when I tried to thicken the sauce with corn starch, not understanding that a little goes a long way and poof, ruined chicken with thick goo rolling around the edges. The dog wouldn't even eat it and I scrape, scrape, scrape into the hog slop which will feed the pigs and then feed us. That's the circle of things, all coming around and around.
I guess that's what happens when life is lived and we move from day today. The chicken comes out less than delicious and the carpet needs vacuuming but the lemon grass tea is cool and sweet and the toddler is mooing every time I saw the word cow which I keep saying over and over. These are the days and this is the story of my life and there are no regrets, not really. For as much as I like to pick apart the past and fix my mistakes if it meant giving up just one day with this little boy I'd fail again and again, just so I could succeed with him.
There is no color for happiness. It's sights and smells and touch and the way Anthony screams "Daddy" with glee when Paul walks in the door and the way the starlight brightens the road, rendering my flashlight needless as I run down the road with my dog, remembering the moments of my day, the story of my life. Perfectly imperfect, like the bittersweet of dark chocolate melting against the roof of my mouth. Maybe just perfect.