In the midst of the clamor that fills our house, there are the sweet, simple, daily routines that I want to treasure up in my heart–like this one: waking E up from her morning nap.
Fast asleep in her bed.
Stirring and blinking.
Hey, world! I’m up!
Maybe I’m not quite as bushy-tailed as I thought.
What were we doing here?
Oh, yes. Food.
So what’s going on out there?
Got any fun plans, Mama?
All right. I’m okay. I think. How’s my hair?
Oh, hello there!
She rejoins the fray.
Sometimes, when I’m scrambling to get jabbering little people out the door for a walk before naptime; or starting another load of laundry at ten p.m. because there are NO clean pajamas for tomorrow and we’ve used up all the sweatpants in the preceding no-clean-pajama nights; or dashing around the kitchen loading the dishwasher while keeping one eye on my daughter and her aspirations of scaling the stairs–sometimes I worry that I will rush through these moments and not remember them when they are gone. I worry that I will wake up one morning and my house will be quiet, my floors will be clean, my family room will not be decorated with toy pots and pans, my counters will not be occupied by elaborate Lincoln Log residences, my laundry will be ALL DONE (!), and I will wish I had these days back. When that day comes, I want to have these memories to hand, in pictures and in words, because this over-tired brain can’t hold them all. I can’t even remember what I did yesterday. That was a long time ago. But there are things here that I want to remember–in both the clamor and the calm.
The pictures above were inspired by one of my favorite bloggers, Ashley Ann of Under the Sycamore, who takes breathtaking pictures of her everyday life with her children. Unlike me, she truly knows her way around a camera. I gaze wistfully at her images, and dream of a camera a little more like that. But in the meantime, I want to use my humbler camera and the odd available moments to record more of what I see around me every day, tramping through my kitchen and spilling juice across my table and wetting the sheets, again.
I’m tired, but it’s so good, this life.