Saturday, January 21, 2006


Ordinary magic

Some days have a gentle magic by virtue of simply being ordinary. It's been that kind of day. I wish I could catch hold of its essence and tuck it away, to keep it and remember it - the joy, the bliss, the gentle peacefulness - for days and years to come.

I couldn't tell you what combination made an ordinary Saturday extraordinary. I got to sleep in late, all the way until 8 am, even though the dog and the noisy boys and the sounds of the day roused me every half hour or so after the rest of them got up at 5:30. Not having to start my day at that ungodly hour was definitely an excellent start.

I made it to the gym, which is also a fairly reliable indicator of a good day. Snow had been falling heavy and wet all morning, so when I got home from the gym the boys and I shovelled the driveway, inasmuch as one can shovel the driveway while simultaneously playing hockey and building a snowman and replacing wandering mittens every ten minutes or so.

There was a quiet moment in the middle of the afternoon, just after I finished reading not only the best parts of the Saturday paper but a quick chapter of a new novel as well, when Simon was sleeping and Tristan was playing trains contentedly in the next room and the snow continued to fall silent and white outside, that I closed my eyes and savoured.

And in this expansive day, I still managed to vacuum rooms that have forgotten what the vacuum looks like, and do laundry, and build with Tristan a looping wooden train track that covered the dining room floor, and even make a meatloaf dinner. Everybody acually ate the dinner, and while there was cajoling and prodding, there was no arguing. And it was good.

And because it had been that kind of day, after dinner we played hide and go seek, the four of us, and my sides hurt from trying to hold in my laughter over and over again. Tristan can never manage to stay hidden, and Simon wanders the netherworld between hider and seeker, and makes me laugh so hard the tears run down my cheeks as he carefully counts to ten and calls "Here I come!" - as you're trying to hide with him in the closet or under a blanket. He watches us hide and tries to tell Tristan where we are, but Tristan either doesn't hear him or doesn't believe him, despite Simon's excited gesculations and shrieks of "Here she is! In here! Here she is!"

Some posts I write for you, my dearest readers, but this one is for me. I don't care how it's written or how it sounds - I just want to remember this magically ordinary day, a series of beautiful moments that I wish I could capture like photographs and hold on to forever.