I watched my granddaughter, Mavis, today through the afternoon and evening.
Through her sticky hands, and 80 books, and through all of the things she usually asks for:
Miss Rachel, her legs tickled, strawberry kefir, being asked what a monkey says.
She was extra clingy to me.
When my youngest daughter, Paige, asked to take her from me, she said, “No. Need Gwammy,” and she nuzzled in tighter, even adding a little wiggle at the end.
After she nuzzled, I read her a book I had bought her for Christmas that has a big fold-out page that shows a “welcome home” scene of sorts for a little bear family, who has just gone on a big, adventurous journey through the rain and the river and the wind.
That page is always her favorite,
and I know this, so we always linger on it until she is fully done looking at every detail.
Sometimes this takes forever.
This is OK.
I calmly and quietly sit.
Every time I act like there is nothing in my life I have that is more pressing than talking about that little cricket carrying a piece of cake,
or that cat peeking out from under the table like that.
Today, after doing exactly this, she looked up at me with a look I will hold in my memory forever, and she said to me sweetly,
“I wuv dis.”
We went back to reading after I gathered the bits of my heart that had then exploded into confetti upon hearing that.
I made special note of her dimpled knuckles, and how they patted sweetly on my own hand.
After the book, we took a walk before bath time, and she picked two flowers:
one for behind her ear, and one that she came carrying saying,
“Up to Gwammy,” before she then shoved it in my eyeballs, nose, mouth, ears, and neck of my shirt, demanding, “Gwammy smell it!”
I really tried to. I did.
Pollen and tiny pieces of leaves were now stuck all over my face, and
because my hands were now full from carrying her and this prized plant,
I had to make “Pttthhh Ptttthhhhhhhh” noises to blow off the petal bits.
I bathed her afterwards, and she insisted that same pulverized flower go in the bath with her.
It bobbed along as she thrashed, telling me she was “swimming.” Questionable…
Even though it was dripping, she tried smelling the flower again.
As I watched her there in the bath, I had a flash of a moment that told me that I was living an Ultimate Day. A “Golden Moment:”
The kind I had worked towards, and dreamed about since my own childhood.
The day had already been a good one, which feels rarer these days than it used to.
There was a blue sky, and I had watched a great soccer game win.
To end the day rocking Mavis, being loved by her so fully, and to be back looking at that picture spoke to me that that little “Welcome home” scene was,
at that moment,
somewhat like looking in a mirror.
It reminded me that even in the midst of big, and challenging things around us, so many good things are still happening, still waiting for us out there.
Somewhere, right now, a lifelong dream is being realized,
and celebrated around a table with close friends.
A toddler is singing himself to sleep, being so very brave on the very first night in his big boy bed.
Somewhere a beloved aunt rings the bell on the wall announcing that she beat cancer.
The beauty of her grin completely overshadows the fact that she still has no hair.
There is a dog somewhere prancing down the street carrying a stuffed animal that is three times the size of its own head.
Somewhere someone is holding a door, or lighting a candle and saying a prayer.
In doing these things, they are giving themselves hope that goodness still exists, even if it just comes from them.
A couple, newly in love, is giggling in a sudden rain torrent. They will be drenched, and cold, and pruny, but right now they do not care.
A person without much is quietly giving to someone who has even less than them.
A mother weeps with gratitude because she just gave birth to her Rainbow Baby after almost a dozen attempts.
Love is returned.
A phone finally rings.
A lost loved one just surprised everyone and came back.
This day spent doing nothing much with my girl reminded me that perfect days do not have to be waited on. They are happening in spite of the hard ones, and our true home does not have to be grand, or extravagant.
Perfect days and homes are a feeling.
They are a relaxing of your shoulders,
being surrounded by ones you can be your true self with.
So often “perfect” whispers in the quiet moments.
It takes us off-guard by tapping us on the shoulder, and saying softly, “Pay attention to this.”
It’s always the simplest things that are the source of the real treasure.
It’s always a soft voice that reminds you what really living is.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
