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Ordinary Days

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Today was such an ordinary day.  The sort that I imagined when I became a mostly stay-at-home mom.

The girls jumped into my bed at 7:30.  I drank coffee.  They ate pancakes.  I made lists.

We went to the dry cleaners, the library, and the grocery store.

Note to self, when asking the 6 year old to dress the 2 year old, check to make certain the 2 year old is wearing underpants prior to walking into the grocery store.  Particularly when the 2 year old is sporting a tiny sundress.

Norah glammed out. Cedar sans underpants.

At the grocery store, I pushed that wretched cart with the red car in front.  One steering wheel was missing so I had to facilitate driving disputes through the entire trip.  I lasted six years before caving to that horrible shopping cart.

I digress.

There was some home-learning, lunch, and exercise.

I tried to do yoga but Cedar pounced on my back during downward dog.  I have a very sore wrist now.

I talked to a couple of friends on the phone, tidied up work appointments and schedules, paid a bill, texted breastfeeding help to a former client.

I even made cookies.

I cooked a big meal and delivered it to a family.  Picked up our produce from the co-op.

I made salsa, drank sparkling pink lemonade, and tucked children in bed.

Then I snuggled on the couch with my hard-working husband to watch Star Wars.

Such a very ordinary day.  I wore yoga pants and tennis shoes all day.

So unlike day before yesterday when I unexpectedly caught a baby in a couple’s bedroom.  My hand on her head as she scrunched her face and then drew her first breath.

You never know what the days might bring.  The ordinary days confuse and surprise me as much as any other.

I read this blog post today about how the days we fail do not define us.  Wow, I rest in that.  Days like yesterday when I was, as stated by the 2 year old, “the meanest mommy ever, ever, ever.”  Then I realize that none of my days define me.  Not my ordinary mundanes or the outstanding over-the-tops.

My identity does not come from my days.

My identity does not come from my days.  My kids.  My husband.  My job.  My success or my failures.  Who likes me or who doesn’t.

May I be ever mindful of this Truth.  And learn to rest in it.  Then perhaps I will scrunch my face for that big effort to take a new breath.

The old has gone.  Behold, the new is here.  

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