Little morsels of everyday love

School calendar, Weekly chores, Monthly menu, To-Do lists. All vying for attention. All cramming in the prime junction for eye traffic: the kitchen. All attempting to bring a sense of order to the chaos that is the weekday routine, promising to provide a semblance of control in the roller-coaster of modern parenthood.

Not that we have a tight and hectic schedule, no, far from it. Kids just go to school, no dashing across town for this class or that... and yet, it seems the hours are not enough for the things we want to do...

And then there's the Weekend. Typically reserved for laundry and house-keeping. But not always. There's something dangerously reckless about blowing off the need-to-be-done domestic tasks. At least for me. I don't usually live dangerously. I think it is over-rated.

But then, the universe finds a way to nourish the soul in unexpected and whimsical ways.

Like, walking around in the Hawthorne district with the 7 year old, on a beautiful spring day, St.Patrick's day nonetheless, and getting an earful of the bagpipes played by this unicycle-riding kilt-wearing stranger; going for that thickly shmeared green bagel when a nosh was called for; stopping to hear the saxophonist and the guitarist and emptying the pocket change into their tip jars wondering how they make a living; feeling the cosmic pull from every artsy shop in the neighborhood as the innards swell with delight...

Or, walk 2 miles round-trip to a nearby park with the kids and play pretend dragons and castles and monsters and fairies and evil witches and brave princesses...

Or, those rare Sunday mornings, when the early birds entertain each other with sweet consideration as I listen and linger in bed...

And then, there are the little things that bring big smiles any day, but especially on a whirlwind weekday.

Like, when bone-weary body urges that the sink full of dishes can wait till morning, and the jam-packed morning rules that the dishes will have to wait till I get home... and, that evening, on the way home, the mind starts listing all the evening chores, first of them being washing the neglected dishes... and then as I hurry to hug the kids and get on with the needful, I hear the sweet melody of a recently started dishwasher and beam at a sink bereft of dirty dishes...

Or, when under the attack of one of those killer migraines, as I reach for the ice pack and towel and groan under the nausea, the older child starts massaging my shoulder/neck and the younger one my head...

Or, the days when I get to bed early with the kids, a note on the door reminding me to leave early to fill gas in the morning... and then find that the sweeter half took care of it while I was asleep...

Or, those wee morning hours, when my wee little 4 yo, The Super-Early Alarm-Clock quietly snuggles with me and patiently waits for my bedside clock to beep reproachfully, and then declares excitedly, "Wake up time now, Mama!"

Or, the days when I find an impromptu card or two, (or three, or four) handed to me by the kids with an exuberant, "I made a card for you, Mama!"...

Tiny crumbs of the ordinary, made soul-nourishingly extraordinary.