A normal Thursday.
Remnants of yesterday's mascara.
Changing pajama pants for yoga pants, in hopes that I'll actually DO yoga before I find time for a shower.
Waking up to a house with no half-n-half. The horror.
A restless night because of last night's all night thunderstorm keeping me awake.
Sleep deprived spelling lesson.
Botany. Today's lesson is on pollination. Call me crazy, but I think the children of beekeepers have this lesson down.
French, year 2, but 5th and 6th grade version.
History, reading through The Egypt Game after spending weeks studying Egypt.
Math, supposedly their self-contained computer lesson, but where one child insists that you sit next to her in case she needs help. She solves the problems in her head faster than you do, showing her math wizardry that she likes to hide, so you can sit next to her.
Three loads of clean laundry on the bench at the end of your bed, but hey, at least they've made the journey from the dryer to inside the house, no small feat.
An as yet unmade bed, which I hate, because I like crawling into an organized bed at night. Maybe by not making it I'm just keeping my options open for crawling back in it.
Chickens needing fed, in the rain.
A garden to check. See what other growth my dearly beloved gopher has eaten or dug up.
A bathroom sink perpetually covered in toothpaste.
A checkbook in need of balancing.
On and on it goes.
And that's OK.
I'm feeling this new wave come over me.
I don't have to get it all done, and newsflash, even if I do, I will get to do it all again tomorrow. Life exists in a long string of ordinary days. Some are better than others, like the ones that involve chocolate, adventure, or marveling at something new and amazing. Most are this, a sequence of ordinary events that don't seem like much to us in the moment, but add them all up and they equal the sum of our lives. There is nothing new here, no wow factor. Just a personal light bulb and resolve. I plan on joyfully embracing the ordinary moments, fun and not so fun (laundry, never ending dishes, I'm looking at you).
For some people that I am very close to, their lives do not have as much joy as they once held. It breaks my heart in ways I never knew possible. I've watched as they were awarded this lesson before me though, and I took notice. They have learned to embrace the ordinary. The small, good things that come to them on ordinary days, are really not small to them at all. String them together, and they get a measure of joy most of us take for granted.
I'm becoming more mindful of moving through my ordinary days with eyes and heart wide open, not to Pollyanna over the hard stuff, but to grow from it.
To dig deep.
To offer much.
To make myself low.
I want to celebrate with you on the extraordinary days, and climb into the pit with you on the bad days. I want to listen to understand, not to solve.
I want to love.
And I want to love in the ordinary ways on ordinary days, even when the ocean is no where in sight.