Unexpected events caused the postponement of a shin-dig I was supposed to speak at last Saturday.
And although I feel bad because I would have loved to help, the thought of having an ordinary Saturday in the midst of two months of every single Saturday being taken away was like velvet in my mind. It was the biggest gift I could have asked for right at that moment:
The gift of an ordinary Saturday.
I love how even the mundane and frustrating things are gifts when you haven’t been around them as often as you’d like.
We do Saturday jobs.
A couple neighbor girls show up to drag Claire to an impromptu neighbor breakfast.
I listen to girls squabbling over who’s turn it is to clean what.
We pack up the treats for soccer (we are the snack-givers today).
We run from one end of the city to another, Dave and I, tag-teaming to Elle’s tennis tournament and Claire’s soccer game.
Lucy slumps her whole body over mine like a giant slug in the heat, her face two-inches from my iPhone, mesmerized by and ABC game.
It is hot and we try to squeeze into the shade of a friend’s umbrella. The other parents and I complain about Mother Nature inching up close to 100 degrees at the end of October.
Although I am weighted down by “things,” and Grace is wailing over the fact that Elle’s elbow accidentally “nudged” her, Claire is huffy because her witch broom keeps falling apart, I am wondering when Max will be back from his party and wishing Lucy would walk faster while Dave is trying to catch part of a game on his iPhone, my heart is soaring and light.
Because being in the midst of this little whirlwind of activity means I am there.
I get to spend an ordinary Saturday with my family.
And I realize once again that things like that are to be cherished above rubies:
The gift of an ordinary day.