A rhythm of unremarkable days (just write)

I live in a rhythm of unremarkable days. We get up (too early). We get dressed. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, she fights me about wearing long sleeves. On Wednesdays, it's usually about the tights or leggings. Then we go places. To school, to the grocery store, the gym, the dry cleaners, the dentist.

Sometimes he bounds off the bus, reporting his spelling success as a "dream come true." Sometimes he drags every step up the driveway, head down, because a mean boy smeared cheese on his cheek and sleeve at lunch. (A nightmare for a boy who equates the smell of cheese with the end of the world.) Sometimes we sail through homework, and sometimes he stretches 20 minutes of work into an hour. Sometimes I beam. Sometimes I growl.

It grows dark, even before we sit down for spaghetti and broccoli, and by the time they start rifling through their halloween candy bags, half past six might as well be midnight. We are all tired, but I'm the only one willing to admit it.

She scooches under the covers she will most certainly kick off in a few short hours. We read about the time Pa thought an old stump in the woods was a bear, and how Ma thought a real live bear was just Sukey the cow. Her brother puts down his Boxcar Children book, wanders in to listen. He's not interested in girl stories, and besides, he's read this one before. But still, it's a story about a bear, so he thought he'd check whether his sister was scared.

I turn out her lights, and now it's his turn. We take turns reading, page for page, and he stands straight up on his bed, throws his arms in the air and shouts, "Asaahlan's on the move!" And when Father Christmas gives Peter a sword, he flips ahead. Only one more chapter until Peter's first battle!

We pray. He almost always prays the same thing, a quick thank you for a wonderful day, for a warm house and food to eat. But tonight he says only, "Thank you for my mom. Amen."

I turn out his light, then change into PJs before tackling the dishes. I scrub the saute pan and debate whether to write. I decide I'm too tired, that there's nothing remarkable to write about.

Then I change my mind. I write anyway. I begin to remember, to smile. I add it all up, find myself shocked at the sum. Next thing I know, I'm tapping my foot to the rhythm of these unremarkable days.

Joining Heather today for Just Write.