Each day follows the next with startling regularity. Sometimes, I forget to notice. The tiny details that make up our days eventually make a whole life, as noiselessly as snow melts.
This weekend, a welcome three-day-weekend consisted of just those normal things that make up our lives. The kids alternated between melting my heart with their cuteness, and making me tear my hair out with their impishness. Hubby and I kissed, and argued, and kissed again. We abandoned our plan to go to the movie theater ($44) in favor of renting a movie ($2.50). The kids did not care. We made popcorn and bought candy bars at the mini-mart down the street.
Sometimes I love my house; sometimes I feel trapped in it as if it's my prison. Sometimes I dread tomorrow and teaching school. Sometimes I think of a fun lesson we can do, and I can hardly wait. I used my white cane around town, a small victory. We had leftovers for every meal.
Life feels so hum-drum, and yet, so miraculous at the same time. Abi is doing wonderfully well. Bean has a habit right know of coming up to me and kissing my knee as I sit on the couch. All of the kids are healthy and happy. Curly plays with horses and builds fairy houses with her friend from across the alley. Little Mister builds marble tracks and dreams of getting a "real" model train. So little, so innocent, so unaware of the world and its heartache, even the children of mine who have been deeply hurt. They make even a walk downtown a thing of wonder.
Last night, Hubby and I got to go to a wine tasting at a friend's house. We ate hors d'oeuvres and talked about our lives, our hopes and dreams and fears and about trusting God. We connected. I feel blessed.
As these days pass by, I think of a verse in Ecclesiastes, one of my favorites: "They seldom reflect on the days of their life, because God keeps them occupied with gladness of heart." (Eccl 5:20, NIV)