Nothing extraordinary has happened today. The fridge-fungus has been obliterated, there are no pressing medical issues, the laundry is done, and the house is relatively clean. But it struck me just now, as I was wondering what to do with my free five minutes, that that particular combination of nothingness is quite extraordinary for me. It's like the stars that only align "just so" once a year.
It isn't often that the temperature climbs to 70 degrees on November 12th. Or that I can watch my children play in the backyard and just leave the door wide-open because all the bugs have been obliterated by the previous frosty days. It isn't everyday that I can join Naomi for lunch at school and witness the miracle of other children begging to be the "one" that Naomi picks to eat lunch with us at the special "parents only" tables. Or the miracle of seeing a girl walk by us and say, "Hi, Naomi!" and hear Naomi answer just as friendly and naturally as ever, "Hi, Allison!" (Is that my daughter beside me?) It isn't everyday that I peel Toby's diaper off of him and hear him remark, "Eeeew! Gohsss!" and realize that he's really growing up. My gosh, he's talking like crazy now, he's nearly two, what happened to my baby?
Tomorrow promises to be crazy again: Naomi's kidney doctor has ordered a 24 hour urine collection, which will be great fun, but today is just about perfect. The air is clear, warm, and bright; my children are cheerful and suddenly much older than they were yesterday; and I have a free five minutes all to myself. If only I could find my camera and preserve this moment. OK, Toby, what did you do with Mommy's camera? I guess my five minutes are up.