A logical statement, if the syntax is a bit strange. It certainly seems unlikely that anyone would ever have a life circumstance in which there is always, categorically, a dinosaur on the floor. At some point, whether you know it or not as it’s happening, surely you will scoop your last dinosaur off the floor and slip it into a plastic tub to be forgotten. But…what if you didn’t?
Let’s back up for a minute.
As a mother of three, currently aged 9, 5 and 2, Someday there won't always be a dinosaur on the floor has become a mantra of sorts. Because there is always, without fail, a foot-stabbing, mother-loving hard plastic dinosaur on the floor. No matter how carefully I have cleaned or how aggressively I have threatened others to do so, there is always at least one dinosaur just chilling on the floor somewhere. Sometimes it’s tucked away under a couch or bookshelf, sometimes it’s underneath a discarded jacket. Other days, a cheeky dinosaur tumbles out of a shoe or falls from a packed kitchen cupboard when the door is opened. It might be a mid-sized, scaly stegosaurus, or it could be a smooth, extra-cheap T Rex. It doesn’t matter. This motherhood deal, it never stops, does it? One way or another, there is always a dinosaur on the floor.
So I tell myself, someday there won’t be.