It’s 8:30pm on Sunday. Jamie is in her crib; not asleep, but contentedly playing with her stuffed animals and humming to herself, waiting for the Sand Man to make his nightly visit. There are dishes piled in the sink, waiting to be transported to the dishwasher. There are clothes on layover in the washing machine, awaiting their departure for the dryer, though likely anticipating further delays. There are thank-you cards on my desk hoping someday to be addressed, stamped, and mailed. The rain that has been sputtering all day has stopped. The movie we were watching, Disney’s Dumbo, is on pause. Indeed, everything is on pause.
This moment in my home isn’t spectacular because of its cleanliness or tastiness, but only because of its happiness. I just spent an entire weekend with my family, which is a rarity. On Friday I took Jamie to Soft Play at the mall, then grabbed a latte on our way home, successfully keeping her little hands from stealing my straw. Friday night Vann and I went to a wonderful performance of Zombie Prom at the children’s theatre, and capped it off with dinner at our favorite sushi spot. Saturday, for reasons unknown but perfectly splendid, Jamie slept in until about 10am, leaving me plenty of time to enjoy my new book, Marmee & Louisa. As a family, we spent an uneventful day playing outside, splashing in the sink, organizing the garage, shredding old paperwork, and tickling newly found silly spots.
Today was a glorious husband-made breakfast and a wonderful sermon at church, followed by a nap. Followed by play. Followed by dinner, laundry, Dumbo, and at last, quiet. None of these things by themselves are extraordinary, indeed, many may consider them boring. But to me, the workaholic who hasn’t had a complete day off since Easter some eight weeks ago, not even for my birthday, not even for Mother’s Day, it was the vacation my bones have yearned for.
And so, I thought, this moment of quiet in-between ought to be documented. Attention must be paid to these rare minutes of stillness, to mark them as unique and most welcome, and to preserve them as a memory for the coming busy-ness.
The dishes, I’ll do. The laundry, I’ll get to. The thank-you notes, I’ll think about. The peacefulness, I’ll treasure.