I have over 60 post drafts in my WordPress dashboard that I either haven’t finished or forgot to publish. Going through some of them this week, I came across this post written last September, and it made my heart happy. I hope it brings you a little joy, as well.
I have found that my favorite days are when nothin’ much is going on. Well…if the house is clean. If the house is messy, I am a grump from sunup to sundown, whether we are hither or thither.
This week, I spotlesscized the house for a jewelry party I hosted, and so when I woke up on Friday morning to a truly spick and span home, I was lighter than air. And when I am lighter than air, I notice and take note and say “thank you, God” for the small stuff. I laugh at every comment my children make. I feel charitable and content and downright genteel. I take early morning showers and put on real clothes and make-up and fix my hair…
Of course, the first thing Rebekah said when she saw me was “Where are we going?” Apparently, Mama doesn’t “get ready” unless we are leaving the house. (The same thing happens when I change her out of her pajamas before lunchtime, without fail: “We go to Chick-fuh-ways?” she asks). I informed her that we weren’t going anywhere today, just outside to enjoy the beautiful day God made.
When I beckoned the children to come and join me and Baby Betsie on the front porch, however, I was met with a bit of resistance. I suppose, being cooped up all miserable summer, they’ve forgotten the simple delights of a day spent outside.
“Its cold!” Gideon said from his stance on the inside of the screen door.
“Its not cold.” I said. “You need to come outside…its too nice!”
“Yeah,” he said. “Its too nice. Let’s stay inside.”
Clever he is. But I’m the boss. So I said, in my mean voice, “Come outside right now, both of you.”
They did eventually join me, and after a short whining session, sauntered out into the yard where they were playing and laughing, the television and inside toys completely forgotten. I observed their every move from my rocking chair, delighting in their childish games.
“Let’s pway that game where you fro a ball at my bewwy and I fall down.” Gideon told Rebekah.
“Otay!” she said. She picked up the mid-sized Toy Story ball, came within inches of her brother and planted the ball right smack in the middle of his tummy.
“Ouch!” he feigned and dramatically fell down, sending her into a fit of giggles. (It should be noted that when I say “giggles,” I mean giggles. I wish you all could hear them. They should be bottled up and sold at Sephora they’re so beautiful).
But the best part of this game was that once Gideon stood back up, before Rebekah threw the ball at him again, she had to brush and then pick every piece of grass off of his shirt. My little Mother Hen, always tending to her family…
“Sanks!” Gideon told her when every last piece of grass had been removed. Then they went through the game again.
A bit later, as we gathered on the porch, I asked Gideon if he knew whose birthday was next week. His Grandmother would be turning 60 years old, and I realized all of a sudden that we had hardly discussed what a special day was on the horizon.
“I don’t know…” he said. “Tell me!”
“You have to guess!” I said.
“Abigail?” he said, naming his beloved 7-year old playmate/cousin.
“No…someone older than you.” I said.
“Ummm…me?” he asked.
??? “No,” I answered. “Someone OLD.”
“Oh…” he said, as if he understood perfectly. “Spiderman?”
Remember that great mood I was in? I just threw my head back and laughed…which slightly chagrined my ever-growing boy. “I was lookin’ at my bike.” he explained, gesturing towards his Spiderman bike. My heart melted at the fact that he is old enough to feel silly and embarrassed, and I made a mental note to tread a bit more carefully around him, lest I wound his little spirit.
And then later that day, Gideon and his Papa were in the backyard uprooting those devlilish sandburs that took over this summer. Rebekah, Betsie and I sauntered out to observe them, which made Gideon begin to fidget. Finally, he revealed what was on his mind: “Why don’t you guys go over there and pick some flowers or somethin’?”
Again, I laughed out loud at what seemed like an obvious display of male chauvenism, but he quickly redeemed himself by adding “I don’t want you and Rebekah to get hurt by the stickers.”
I rewarded him with a very proud smile, and to the wildflowers we drifted, picking purple and yellow beauties and putting them behind our ears.
It was a simple day, an ordinary day, a slow-paced day…
A perfect day.