Simple
Writings Bring Simple Pleasure
One
of my dearest friends and I built our relationship up through
daily email exchanges about our lives. We started emailing
when my husband and I were just newlyweds and she was in a
committed relationship. Our emails continued as we journeyed
to Massachusetts and settled down in our first home, through
my pregnancy, her engagement, her marriage, and her first
baby, my second baby, her second baby... each email carefully
documented our daily joys and struggles. When I became a mother
my emails were full of joy, but a lot of whining about sleep,
difficulty transitioning into motherhood, problems nursing
and general woes. Her emails were filled with encouragement
and hope of a light at the end of the tunnel. When she wrote
about motherhood though, she rarely complained but just reveled
in the joy of being a mother. She was like that, she just
enjoyed life.
Whatever
she wrote about though, I seemed to want. It wasn't belongings,
but a sense of peace and of tranquility that she seemed to
capture, that I had never had. I was always running, always
going, always busy... I now realize that I didn't take the
time to enjoy the simple things, the simple life, and the
simple goodness that could be created by being still for a
moment.
I
am trying to transition out of the busy bee world and into
a more quiet time with my children. Perhaps it is melancholy
because my firstborn will be attending kindergarten next year
or perhaps it is just the realization that I don't need to
be running or constantly entertained to enjoy a quiet spell
in my life.
Today
was just one example of what a quiet day for us is like. The
windows were cracked and I could feel the fresh air blowing
into our house and the smell of freshly cut grass. I look
down at my daughter as I feel her deliberate and persistent
tapping on my leg. As I look down at her, I smile because
she is wearing a pair of my shoes on her chubby little feet.
Of all her toys, it is these shoes she loves and she calls
them her "tap shoes" as she scoots the sandals across the
floor. I look over at my son who is curled at one end of our
sofa with a book. I can hear him as he sounds out each word
very carefully and slowly, just as he has been taught in school.
I revel in his growing vocabulary and how much he has learned
this year - he has grown so much.
The
smell of fresh muffins travels through the room as I wrap
up my baking for the week ahead. This batch of muffins is
stuffed to the brim with oatmeal and a little bit of chocolate,
to balance out the heartiness and make them more appealing
to my children. The muffins smell like freshly baked cookies
and the kids begin to count down the minutes until they will
be cool enough to handle.
I
hum a little bit as I tidy up the kitchen, from the day spent
baking, and fill the sink with the dirty dishes. The suds
and warm water fill the sink and I dip my hands into the bubbles
to finish the day's dishes. As I scrub, I look out the window
at our sweet little garden that we planted together. I recall
the tender way my son wanted to help plant each and every
plant,
asking each time, "What can I do, mommy?"
