Normal days

Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. 

Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. 

One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.
~ Mary Jean Irion

Our days are pretty basic. We rise, we eat waffles with peanut butter (for he and I) and pureed sweet potatoes (for her), we change diapers, we play, we watch cartoons, we dig in dirt, we drop toys and pick them back up, we tickle, we talk about the weather. We travel short distances to "the errand store" or "the grocery store," we pick a park and explore it. Some days, we splash in water or bake cookies.

Our days are filled with mundane and typical and usual. But these are the days memories are made. On our way to school this morning (typical Monday morning, mundane even), Teddy told me his memory of the time my car stalled at the grocery store and the big tow truck came to haul it away. And it struck me that that day, every day, any day can be the soil in which something takes root.

A normal day. A treasure buried in toys and waffles and laughs and weather reports. I will miss these days, in some not so distant future, of this I am certain.