My weekend was like pink tulips in a purple vase on the kitchen island. Happily out of place. A little burst of color in my very white world. Life is extremely ordinary lately. We start and end each day the same way, in the a symmetric cycle of school days and work days and pizza on Friday night. Rinse. Repeat. And it’s very comfortable… sometimes.
But most days I want to buy the ticket, take the ride. And once in a while the routine weighs me down and I wonder when we got so old and lost our sense of adventure. Then I have moments where I’m like the wild animal trapped in the corner. I cannot even count how many times this last month I’ve turned my wide eyes on Caleb, on the verge of opening my mouth to verbally vomit my panic, before he grabbed my hand and said “Hey, we got this.”photo by my brother Michael
“It’s possible to be content with ordinary life, and also want extraordinary adventure. That’s just who we are.”
So, here’s to being a mother. Because I know first hand that it is both ordinary and extraordinary, and not fully described by either one. And to accidentally thwarting breakfast in bed because my masochistic internal clock won’t snooze past 6:30.
And to spending Mother’s Day with my mother. Which couldn’t have happened if I’d been anywhere other than right here.