Ordinary Days

The boys are in the backyard alternating between screaming at each other in toy-swiped frustration and laughing like maniacs as they play some sort of magical made-up game that involves hurling themselves down the slide and running through the trees, mowing the lawn for 1.2 seconds, dodging the swings and heading back to the slide.

I’m almost immune to the screaming. Almost.

The backdoor is open and I go from the kitchen to the laundry room to the computer to the backyard. I half-heartedly wipe the counters down, I chuck a toy into the closet, I answer an email, I sit in a deck chair watching the boys…I meander to the garden or to my pots or to a flower bed and deadhead or weed.

I investigate the screaming. I send little boys to time outs. I throw the wiffle ball, cheer on ‘bike tricks,’ and answer as enthusiastically to ‘watch!’ ‘watch!’ ‘watch!’ as I can.

The backyard makes us happy. For that I am grateful.


My belly is growing. Rapidly. I sit on the couch and breathe through a braxton hicks contraction, chomping on tums to quell the constant heartburn and think about how I still have 11 more weeks (give or take) of this. September feels so far away. The whole summer stretches before us. I keep waiting for the nesting instinct to kick in. When will I want to scrub baseboards and organize the linen closet? Just the notion of doing anything extra feels exhausting.

In the next moment, the baby kicks and I marvel. My darling daughter…how can I possibly wait any longer to meet you? I am eager and so ridiculously excited.



The garden is slow to mature this year. Too many cold days and a mystery bug (probably ants) eating my peas. But the sun is shining against a brilliant blue sun and I think to myself ‘this is why I live here, this is why I love this little town so much.’

The first round of raspberries are on the cusp of harvest. The boys and I make it a point to go and snack on the dark red ones every day. Soon we will be picking bowls full.

I can’t wait.


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