Words // Josephine Moon
The Small Stuff
When my son Flynn was three years old, he went through a ‘flour angel’ phase.
He discovered these amazing substances in the pantry—rice flour, icing sugar, and on one expensive occasion, a whole kilo of organic raw cacao powder. He delighted in tipping the lot onto the floorboards, lying down in it on his back, and scissoring his little arms and legs in and out in the classic ‘snow angel’ motion.
He usually did this while he was ever-so-briefly unattended, swiftly choosing his opportune moments. When I came back, I would find him delightedly staring up at me, my little creative angel, or perhaps having finished that design, now flipped to his belly to ‘swim’ through the products on the floor. On the occasion of the cacao powder, he’d had his way with it while wearing a white Bonds onesie, then walked it all through the cottage—one end to the other. I did put supposedly childproof locks on the doors, but he was a smart child and they held no power.
This was a short-lived phase, and I never went mad on him. I could see it as a beautiful exploration of artistry and took the time to grab the camera and take many snaps for memory before I succumbed to the frustrations of having to vacuum and mop the whole house, as well as bath Flynn and possibly a dog or two as well. People would say to me, ‘I don’t know how you’re not losing your temper!’
I can’t say the clean-up was fun, but I truly treasured it too. There seemed no point in sweating the small stuff. These days, Flynn is six and I am achingly aware that it really is all small stuff and it is precisely the small stuff I will so desperately miss once it’s gone.