You sent me cookies yesterday from Tiff’s Treats. Warm, gooey cookies delivered to my door alongside a pint of Blue Bell ice cream. This greeting covers a multitude of occasions; birthdays, anniversaries and “get well” wishes all tend to spread their messages better with fresh cookies and a scoop of ice cream melting over the top.
Yesterday wasn’t my birthday, and it wasn’t our anniversary. And no, I’m not recovering from surgery. Yesterday was the day that I spent all morning cleaning out my car and played zone defense with two children who were hungry for a breakfast that I didn’t have time to make. I placated them with cheerios that don’t have enough density to remain on any surface for longer than just a few seconds.
Yesterday was the day I finished reassembling the car seats (that had recently been subjected to projectile vomit), and tried to hustle to get out the door by nine. The three of us – my toddler, my baby who’s growing up too fast, and I – made it out the door by ten-thirty with the help of Curious George and even more weightless cheerios that were now scattered across the floor and being crunched underfoot.
Yesterday was the day I was supposed to make an eleven o’clock appointment, but instead, I frantically turned back home when we were halfway to somewhere with an unknown address that I swore I found on Google Maps just the other day. But as you listened on the other line, the location was elusive and my day was looking as gray as the rainclouds in the sky.
It seemed odd to celebrate such an ordinary day with cookies and ice cream. As soon as I had made the trek home in the pouring rain, we all sat in the kitchen eating lunch and waiting with bated breath for the doorbell to ring. Our daughter could sense the anticipation as we scarfed down our PB&J’s knowing in just moments we would trade our sticky fingers for melted, gooey chocolate.
They were worth every second that we sat on the edge of our seats, and we each scarfed one down leaving us full of sweet thoughts and sugar as I rocked the babies down for their naps.
The rest of the day proceeded as usual, the treats adding a touch of happiness but unable to alter the fabric of the day itself. It was destined to be common – a Wednesday, a hump day, a day like any other day that I’m a stay-at-home-mom. And yet the routine itself gave pause for praise, and the cookies somehow found their place in the mix, threatening to become a “regular” perhaps.
Well, hot cookies, get in line behind the living room dance parties and park playdates, the hour-long baths and the group baking fiascos, the miniature tea parties and the peek-a-boo games turned tickle fights. These trivial activities found their way into our schedule and now we can’t get rid of them.
Today is another one of those days, but today is also our anniversary. We are celebrating four years. Four years of life together, of life shared between two hearts under one roof. Life filled with margaritas on Thursday nights and fights over the single sink in our master bathroom (still). Texts throughout the day about cars and songs and troubles. Hugs in the kitchen that can’t last long enough and quick kisses as we squeeze past each other in the laundry room on the way out the door. Arms that grow numb holding babies that won’t fall asleep, and the knowing nod from across the room that we’re doing ok in spite of it all. Meals shared across the table, in the living room, on the floor, on boxes, in front of the T.V., outside in lawn chairs and in the bed of your truck.
Four years of ordinary days filled with ordinary activities that somehow along the way became extraordinary.
I probably won’t be getting cookies today since you so graciously sent them to me yesterday. How appropriate, though, for the simple to be celebrated and the sacred to let slide as we join hands for an eternity of days that marry the significant and the small.
Our plan for today is to just do today – you waking up early to meet for coffee with men who pour into your life (our lives), me getting the kids up and holding down the fort, you heading to work and meetings, me heading to a weekly playdate, us meeting back together for fajitas and margaritas at our usual spot around the corner, the kids loving every minute of eating chips and staying up late.
Happy anniversary, darling. Here’s to many more days of savoring the splendid and toasting the trite.
Cheers to doing what we always do on Thursdays, and cheers to you for making our “usual” the best option in the world.