Yesterday was a rough day. Lately I've been looking forward to Mondays. We take our time, finding our own grooves as we go through the day; starting slow, going our own ways, coming back together, more often than not in a smooth flow with only minor bumps along the way. Yesterday, not so much. We've been fighting some lingering crud that kept the boys out of school most of last week and laid a bit low over the weekend, myself included. Cabin fever and perhaps just a little too much uninterrupted togetherness combined with the crankiness of not feeling well had us at odds and unable to find our grooves like usual (to put it gently).
After a long and exhausting day of angry words, raised voices and too many battles, I realized something: it was quiet. While I was rushing around the kitchen, Drew and Garrett had grabbed a big storybook, cleared off the rocker, and climbed up together. There they sat, in the late afternoon sun, squeezed together, book on their lap, Garrett rocking and "reading" stories to Drew. It was a small miracle. It was lovely. It was the best ten minutes of the day.
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