These are the days I want to remember.
The days I want THEM to remember.
Ordinary days draped in calm and cozy, our whole beings immersed in love and warmth.
I spent moments of this ordinary day sprawled out on the back deck in jeans and a sweater, cocooned in the warmth of the fall sun. The few remaining leaves rustled rhythmically in the gentle breeze and stray wisps of hair gently tickled my forehead.
It wasn't long before I fell asleep on the sunbathed slats of wood, my body comfortably warm, cozied up in layers of clothing and sunlight. My mind was empty for the first time in months, maybe years.
Slumber came and went before I awoke in the chilly shadow of the house. The sun had slipped silently across the sky and the cool air roused me from my sleep. I shuffled into the house where I finished my nap, wrapped snuggly in the warmth of my bed.
The children napped and read books. And I helped them complete a craft or two before we nestled in next to one another between the cushions and piles of blankets on the couch. The murmurs from a barely audible football game briefly captured our attention before we went back to dozing and paging through our favorite stories.
The day slipped lazily by, but before the sun went down, we gained momentum and set out for a jaunt around the neighborhood. We examined the different shapes and colors of the leaves that had drifted into the grass and spilled onto the street. The neighborhood dogs greeted us with tails wagging wildly and tongues hanging low, seemingly determined to use this last bit of fall to their advantage. We listened to the birds chirp with joy, perched contentedly on their nearly bare tree branches. And we enjoyed ice cream on the porch while watching a duo of hot air balloons land silently in a nearby field.
It was a day in which we did nearly nothing. Nothing remarkable, nothing exciting. But it's days like this that I hope my kids remember. The simple. The ordinary.
The days when the sun's rays light up their faces and highlight the lines on mine.
The days when we march to the melody of crunching leaves and crooning birds.
The days when we let our hair loose, giving the wind full control over our we-don't-have-to-be-anywhere locks.
The days when we are called to be nowhere other than the couch.
The days when we experience moments of pure freedom, with not one other thing vying for our attention.
The days when we do nothing, but we do it together.
The days when we are comfortably bored, with nothing to do but enjoy the gifts that so often go unnoticed.
The days when wonder and awe show up in the most unexpected of places. Home.
I want them to remember these days at home. I want them to gain a fondness for simplicity. I want them to appreciate ordinary and have the ability to recognize the goodness overflowing from an unremarkable day.
And I want them to learn that the gifts in an ordinary day are what make it extraordinary, if only we take the time to notice.