I can identify with him. Trying to locate my daughter in her room on this side of the window pane can feel the same way. Unmade bed, clothes strewn about, books -- large and small -- everywhere, gum wrappers, papers scattered, and in a sordid jumble of covers, my daughter's face shining in the flickering light of a computer screen. Together the scene seems like an entirely insurmountable obstacle to the hope of an uncluttered home (to say nothing of felicitous mother/college-age daughter relations). I feel the same urge to throw myself at the window to try to get out.
Until I demand, "You NEED to clean up your room!" It comes forcefully (if not as gracefully as the lurching frog) out of my mouth.
Failing to sense my urgency (just as the tireless efforts of the frogs have been long ignored), "I know, Mom," is all she says.
"How can you live like this?" I ask hoping to appeal to her sense of decency.
"I need to get this homework done," she explains as the changing computer screen alters the lighting on her face but not her expression.
"But your room smells," I reply.
"I know, Mom. It's the frogs," was her unimpassioned response.
I want to have the idealistic fervor (and I once would have) to shout out, "If you don't care about your room, what about caring about them? They are dying out there! At least your room would smell better." But presently lacking energy to fight this perennial battle, I turn around, quietly shut the door, and walk impassively upstairs, comforting myself by picking up crumpled bits of paper while engaging in wishful thinking.
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| Later, over thirty frogs rescued from one window well thanks to my son. One small step further along the road to perfection. |
