The Gift of An Ordinary Day

I wrote last week about the issues we continue to face with Buddy and how frustrated I've been lately. I wish I could post that this week we've turned a corner, but things remain the same -each sleepless, tantrum-filled day blending into the next. I've been trying my best to focus on the pockets of calm and moments of fun, no matter how fleeting they may be, but I've definitely fallen into a gloomy funk. I've been wishing I could just fast-forward a few years to a point when we are over this particular struggle, where our problems are more along the lines of who put a nearly-empty milk carton back in the fridge.

Tonight, just when I needed it the most, old Buddy made an appearance. I was putting him to bed, telling him to please lay down or I was going to leave, when magically, I found old Buddy gazing at me. He offered to share his blankie with me, told me "you know I like you best mommy", reminded his monster not to be scared of the dark and told me "I love when you sleep with me Mommy, it keeps little boys from being lonely" before drifting off to sleep tantrum-free.

Usually I'm out the door the second his eyes shut, but tonight I lingered longer than necessary. It was the first time in several weeks that I didn't want the moment to end and that made me sad. I miss the old Buddy and I don't know when I'll catch a glimpse of him again. I also know this time with my kids is so short and yet I'm finding it hard to enjoy it right now.

Then in one of those weird life moments, I came downstairs to find an email from one of my best friends with a link to this video about Katrina Kenison's The Gift of An Ordinary Day. The book, which I'd read months ago and already forgotten in my sleep-deprived stupor, is about the author's reflections on her children and how those years raising kids are just a few short moments that end all too quickly.



Naturally, I was in tears. The good kind that come with the resolve to do better, to appreciate more, to be present in the moment instead of letting my kids' childhoods pass me by while I'm worrying about stupid stuff like when Buddy will learn to put on his own shoes.