“Mommy, Nate hungry!” This is my alarm clock every day, this eager-to-greet-the-sun little boy. I’m not so earnest, but there’s no stopping the need for breakfast. I reach for my socks and we head downstairs.
Nate gives me directions on how to make cereal: “Cheerios, milk, spoon!” I add some blueberries and half-listen while he lectures me on their color. I check my email and then it’s time to head back upstairs. The day begins.
The unseasonably warm weather has me itching for change, so the big item for the day is to declutter Nate’s room. A couple of hours later, I’m sweating, but the space is clean. We head outside to the playground with the faster slides. I enjoy the sun on my face while watching Nate wear himself out, but am quickly brought back to reality when he begins to cause trouble. We talk about obedience on the way home, but he loses interest when he sees some pinecones under a tree. “Brown!”
Lunch is completed and Nate’s asleep, so I enjoy some down time. I’m eager to get caught up on my favorite television show. Soon, Nate’s awake and his grumpiness reminds me that it’s the witching hour before dinner is ready and Daddy comes home. I hate the witching hour.
By the time Daniel walks in the door, Nate and I are barely on speaking terms. They go upstairs to play and I march downstairs to make dinner, tempted to order pizza. But the budget says no, so I find what I need in the fridge. Soon, I’m relaxed, listening to the radio, slowly shaping dough and cutting fresh mozzarella. Nate and Daniel take a break from building the world’s biggest Duplo town and we have dinner while laughing at a Wallace and Grommit cartoon.
A couple of errands to run: a quick return and a trip to the craft store for some yarn. Nate is thrilled to stay up late playing with his Duplos, but I suspect Daniel is enjoying it more. Soon, it’s toddler bedtime and kisses are given, teeth are brushes, prayers prayed. All is forgiven.
Daniel and I opt for some British comedy, ending the night by talking about our day and things we saw, read. We fall asleep with the wind howling outside, bringing what we hope is the last winter storm.
This is my ordinary day. Yours probably looks very different. Nothing extraordinary happened, no history was made. It was just a day were we ate, fought, loved, and worked. Trips to Hawaii are preferable, of course, but these aren’t the majority of life. The plodding along days, in which you teach your son about obedience for the millionth time, care for your family, and enjoy each other’s company, these days are what define us. In another season of life, normal will change, because nothing is truly ordinary. Even plodding along days.