Although I still like parties and gifts and celebrations, it is not the momenteous occasion it once was. Worthy of hours of unlost sleep. Not a lot of things are worth that. The Memoir of Life series, to be sure. Calls with friends overseas, sometimes. Talks with sisters and friends. Babies, although I don’t always think so the moment they wake me up, they are always worth it anyway. But it stops there. I mean, not even chocolate makes the cut anymore.
However that may be, a few days ago I turned 27.
It was the most anticlimactic birthday of my life, and also a really good day – in a very quiet way.
I got up a little later then usual, just in time to sort of get dressed and help juggle the boys off to school fed and decently clothed. I am not brave enough to let them pick their own clothes yet. Especially on rainy days. They would go in sleeveless shirts and shorts if I let them, the sunloving little urchins.
And then I paid bills and did laundry and picked boys up from school.
one, and a ‘I need to be permanently attatched to you or I will scream and faint (for real) and I need to be in your arms because I will not be happy in the wrap and I will pull your hair and wriggle myself and yourself out of all hope for comfort’.
Then there was bedtime in which we tried to stick to the beloved routine of telling stories. Everyone needs to tell a story. I started out with some Wert stories but gladly switched to The Green Ember because I’m not that good at telling stories of the top of my head. Papa tells a story that copies an event from our day and Gabriel stresses that it is ‘like us but not us’. Then follows a wildly incoherent story about Picket and Heather by Abel and an impossible to follow story by Gabriel that ussually still involves a wert and some superheroes.
The floor full of crumbs an paper snippets from discarded art projects, and even some ants on Caleb’s forgotten crusts. Sweeping it up with Caleb who has his own little sweeper but tries to violently and valiantly take the big one from me. Being satisfied with a somewhat clean floor, with as somewhat cleaned up space.
Looking at the other boys on the couch, hearing the screaming about BLOOD. Cutting another bandaid. Rolling my eyes and giving myself a scolding about rolling my eyes over this serious thing of BLOOD.
Putting them to bed with a gigantical headache, again, and really just wanting to throw them in and RUN out the room. Telling them a story anyway. Just one page of The Green Ember, because a person needs to know how long to stretch her patience.
Praying with Abel who was furious that he coulnd’t read another ?book. Seeing the man he will become as we’re working out his little but huge emotions together. Knowing God will give us both wisdom in how to go about doing that. Seeing peace steal over his features even as he still tells me he ‘can’t be good’ but not sounding all that convinced anymore. Hearing his man-sized laughter when I pretend to unwrap him and tell him he is my most favorite gift in the whole world.
A day like any other and yet a closing of a year, a start of another one, and looking at everything that’s changed in life, in my heart, in my behaviour and knowing that in small steps we move on forward and that is beautiful.
My floor does not need to be spotless to be beautiful. Neither does my life.
My shirt, that is another story
Wert Stories. Love. xx
Nog gefeliciteerd en een leuke blog.
Oh, love this. How this made me laugh and look forward to tomorrow’s messes and readings and gifts!
gelukkige verjaardag en een dikke proficiat voor dit mooie verhaal!
en vergeet vooral niet een boeket te maken met de bloemen waar ja aan kan: dit is een gouden raad van een thuisblijvende moeder en fiere bomma.
dikke knuffels van ons allemaal!
Dankjewel Anita!
Nog gefeliciteerd!
Dankjewel Tessa 🙂