Yesterday was a good day. Sweetpea (the child formerly known as A___) was home from school for midwinter break, and we got to spend a good chunk of the day together, just the two of us.
I found myself wondering what, if anything, to write about our day. We didn't do anything particularly special -- just some errands, a little reading, a few games. I had no wry observations. There were no major meltdowns. Nothing happened that I needed to laugh-so-I-won't-cry about. Sure, we had our moments of tension, but they were far outnumbered by good moments. Nice, quiet, pleasant moments.
Eight short years ago, I might've thought "nice, quiet, pleasant" sounded a lot like "mind-numbingly dull." These days, in this family, quiet moments seem anything but boring. They are like an unexpected patch of sunshine in the middle of a Northwest winter. If you find one, you don't take it for granted or hope it passes quickly. You bask in it. You wonder how it came about, and if maybe, just maybe, you might find one again someday.
Yesterday, for once, I wasn't overwhelmed. I wasn't trying to do too much or allowing myself to be pulled in seventeen different directions. The dog was at the vet. Dinner was simple. Writing could wait. I said "no" when I needed to, but I said "yes" when I could. I enjoyed the kids for who and where they are, and I stayed present.
The chaos will be back soon enough -- I can see the clouds creeping in already. But yesterday? Yesterday was a good day.