It is a universal law. The number of children and toys on a staircase is in direct proportion to the size of the laundry pile that a mother is carrying up the stairs. I have encountered this law numerous times and I have tried to refrain from being snappish or haughty when I explain to my daughter that playing at the bottom, or the middle, or the top of the stairs is problematic for a mother who cannot see above her laundry load. But perhaps a tinge of superiority escaped the voice of mother-reason because now when I encounter my daughter at the bottom, or middle, or top of the stairs (in accordance to the law) she steps aside, throws out her arm and shouts, “Make way for the Queen!” The first time took me by surprise but as her shouts of “Make Way For The Queen!" grew to a ritualistic quality, so too did they grow on me. I could get used this.
And I did. From my vantage point in the middle of a meadow at the end of a winding dirt road off of another dirt road, there wasn’t a lot of competition for the royal position of Queen. Perhaps it is just a puppet monarchy because the birds and the bees of the meadow seem to do as they please (I’ll leave the children out of this for the moment), but I’m okay with symbolism.
The meadow is my home and while I do orchestrate some garden beds, dominion over the earth has been proven to be an urban legend debunked by Snoops. My Queenly duties entail visiting with foreign species dignitaries like the yellow warbler nesting in the Rosa rugosa, providing a royal presence to maintain the morale of the black flies, and negotiating peace talks among the feuding children.
And now, my dominion has spread to fulfill the role of royal historian and documentarian of my meadow queendom. All are welcome to take a glimpse at these royal lives. Just be sure that you Make Way for the Queen!