Give Me Ordinary

The following post is one that I wrote six months before my accident. As I read it back tonight it took on a very different meaning than what was originally intended. When I first wrote it I believed I was talking to myself 20 years or so in the future. Little did I know that, 6 months later, t -hese would be the moments and the memories that would drive my recovery and my fight to get home. A good “throwback Thursday” reminder to look for the special moments in the everyday. You never know when you might just long for ordinary.

Give Me Ordinary – Originally posted September 2015

I want to remember this day and days like this. The are the days without reason or significance; days where we are just us. I want to remember the ordinary and the times that are apparently unworthy of picture taking or turning on the video camera. These days are what make us the family we are and I love the family that we are.

I want to remember the effort of going out for a walk: the shoes, the bikes, the helmets, the stroller, the potty reminders and the three trips back inside to get the things we forgot.

I want to remember crawling into the ‘den’ made of pillows and my son pretending to be a chick hatching from an egg. Then he said “No Mommy, I still want to play with you” when I said I needed to get out.

I want to remember the conversations my boys have when they are playing. The pretending and the make believe is so innocent and fleeting.

I want to remember my daughter crawling down the hall saying “Mama” and peeking in every door until she finds me – the big smile that spreads across her face and the sprint crawling towards me when she sees me.

I want to remember playing outside, playing inside, movie nights and lazy days on the couch reading books.

I want to remember my girl (now officially a toddler) drinking her bottle in my arms before bed and then falling asleep on my chest.

I want to remember my husband pulling two boys onto his back to take them for a double piggy back/ostrich ride to the bathroom when we realize we forgot to brush teeth. I want to remember the giggles that followed because “ostriches are fast”.

I want to remember the smiles, the tears, the laughter, the questions, the arguments, the apologies, the snuggles, the kisses, the jokes and all the craziness. I have photos to remind me of the special days: birthdays, Christmas time, vacations, Halloween and big family affairs. I want to remember the days without reason and the days that, to anyone else, would be insignificant. Those are our days; the days we are us.