I read a lot of so-called mommyblogs. I gravitate toward the ones that are positive, optimistic. Peaceful. I yearn to feel like that every day, to revel and celebrate every moment with my children, with my husband, with myself. To live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, as Thoreau so beautifully put it. So, in turn, I try to write posts that do precisely that with pictures that reflect just how lovely this life – our life – can be.
Sometimes it’s all pretend. Or at least the attitude is. Sometimes the optimism is missing. Sometimes the inspiration falls short. Sometimes, instead, I just crave a good long break. Like a week. Alone. Or several very big, bountiful glasses of wine. Or a good scream. Sometimes my day loses it’s shine and all I seem to see is dusty surfaces, grimy tables, a crumb-covered floor in desperate need of a good sweep and mop and two children who need a lot out of me. Sometimes I just. feel. spent.
So sometimes I’m just pretending. And the pretending gets me to the end of another day, and while I feel like I’m clinging white-knuckled to my sanity, something unexpected happens. Peanut brings Bubby a toy, apropos of nothing. Bubby glows at her sister. She smiles at me. Peanut rushes up to me, throws her arms around me and murmurs, “Lovee you,” and then goes back to playing. The sun shines through the window in a way and at an angle that marks that we have entered a new season, a season of scarves and sweaters and hot drinks and Peanut’s first trips to football games with Daddy and the comfort of crawling into a warm bed on a cold night.
And then, without even realizing it has happened, it isn’t pretend. It’s real, and we’ve lived a warm, glowing day, one that shimmers in my memory, ever so briefly, not because it was particularly notable but just because it was good. Because I accepted it for what it was and what it brought.
What has your day brought you?