The boys slept in till eight this morning, and therefore, so did I. I got a shower in before The Hubs left for work, and I have yet to dry my hair. Some days the hairdryer is over-rated.
A dozen cars and trucks are scattered all over my living room. The boys have wandered back into their room, and I can hear more toys clanging in there. Through the doorway, I see my youngest has pulled himself to stand. He is trying to figure out how to get down without falling. Even at this young age, the fear of loss of control plays a role in decision making. His little booty is sticking out for balance, and it is adorable. The boys are still in their jammies, and I smile at them, at their bare feet displaying twenty toesies.
The washing machine swishy-swashes, and I put away yesterday's load of folded items. In a bit I will usher my boys into the minivan and drive across town for Bugaboo's therapy. We will call Babushka after her work day and wish her a happy birthday. I will pick up messes, wipe faces, kiss owies, break up squabbles, and tickle tummies around the clock.
There is something comforting about a mundane Wednesday. There is music in the stomping of little feet and the duets of laughter. I will start again counting gifts, seeing the beauty in the ordinary, the blessings in the difficult. The summer is almost over, and I will choose to not waste the seasons just ahead.