Toothpaste

He said to me, so you are like, one of those people that loves routines then?

No, no! I silently scream, I despise routine, routines are for the elderly and their labeled pill boxes so they remember that Monday is Lipitor and Tuesday is Prilosec. I am young! I am carefree! I wake up in the morning to eat leftovers, and then make pancakes for dinner!

Instead I smile and nod, seemingly agreeing what what my conversational counterpart has just inquired, but actually acknowledging the reality of my day.

It begins by hitting the snooze button three times too many. When my guilt acts as the final alarm clock, I glance up at the crucifix hanging right above my bed. Jesus' tender gaze, even in excruciating pain, is glancing down at my sleepy head. There really isn't a more poetic way to wake up.

After smiling at God, I roll out of bed, feel my way blindly along the wall to the bathroom, opening my eyes only after I have turned on the light and given my closed lids ample time to muster up courage to open themselves. I brush my teeth. I wash my face with cold water, because it feels wonderful, and I heard it prevents wrinkles.

I shuffle back to my room, stare at my closet and mentally match all outfit possibilities for the day. I think about putting on make up, think about curling my hair, look at the clock, decide I have no time to look pretty, and I begin the long journey to work, involving multiple forms of transit, free newspapers to keep from people-watching, and daring the crosswalks to let me go.

Then I sit on my rear for about ten hours doing many important grown-up, real-world activities that people care enough about to give me a paycheck. I start my evening wind-down. It's the same, only backwards and without a snooze button.

Could it be? Do I have a routine? Have I, in a mere ten months succumbed to the all-too-widely-accepted definition of a grown up? My ten-month old grown up self wants to say,

No sir, not today, not ever. You see, when you asked about my day-to-day, I made the mistake of answering your all-too-common question with an all-too common answer. Do not ask me about my day-to-day, rather, ask me what inspired me today. Ask me how my day was anything but ordinary, because if God has made this day, then by golly it is extraordinary. Ask me what my favorite flavor of pancake is, because I need to start thinking about dinner anyway. 

But the truth is, I have a routine. I rely, perhaps too much, on my Google calendar. It is a color coded, accurate-to-the-minute diary of my past, present and future. And it's really not that terrible and boring.

I have a day-to-day schedule that can be summed up succinctly, but there is joy in the routine. If we are made in His image and likeness, then we too can take pleasure in the sunrises and sunsets, and other beautiful things that follow a precise schedule. In routine, your eyes are opened to the smaller nuances of your day because they stand out a little more. I fondly remember the abundance of spontaneity in my life, but it dulled my keener senses to so many little things. Now I can fully appreciate a new tube of toothpaste. And let's get real, a new tube of toothpaste is just too great not to brighten your whole day.

Namesake

My mother found this in my grandmother's old box of pictures and things she had saved over the years. It is an article written by Cammy Sessa, who I believe wrote for the Virginian Pilot about 20 years ago. I have read it again and again. I hope you enjoy it too.

Out the front door in a rush to get to work, I hardly notice the daffodils until I get in the car and look back at the house.

They stand in rapt attention on the edge of the brown unseeded lawn. Almost overnight, their bright yellow noses poled from staunch green stems that had stood firm against the ravages of a cold and windy March.

The key is in the ignition but I don't turn it. The flowers jolt my memory, taking me back in time. The car's interior becomes a cocoon of silence that's broken when I try to sing a child's quaint song:

"Daffodils standing so straight in a row

Bright yellow bonnets just see how they glow.

Beautiful dresses they're wearing but oh . . .

When the wind blows

Each green petticoat shows."

She was in the first grade. I remember the day she came home from school, her dancing eyes and knowing smile telling me she had something special to share.

I can almost hear her sweet voice singing the daffodil song. When she came to the last line, she picked her dress up to show her own petticoat.

I loved it.

Loved her.

Daughters are such a part of a mother's ego. I recall nudging her to sing about the daffodils for my friends and co-workers. I didn't know then that such moments are rare and meant for only one person to savor. Those times are lasting, pure and the only absolute beauty we mortals can experience.

The daffodils are a reminder of a little girl and a time in my life that was over all too soon.

"They grow up before you know it," is a cliche said so often that perhaps young mothers don't pay attention to it.

I didn't. Her growing years sped by like a home movie shown at top speed, not even slowing down for the big events that were supposed to be milestones: high school prom, college graduation, marriage, a job, a house . . . .

As it turned out, the really big events were the ones never taped or photographed. They are subtle moments in a mother's life that can only be recaptured when the daffodils bloom.

Cheers to you in heaven Nanny. 

Life Advice

How to have a better day

1. wake up
2. thank God for the fact that its summer
3. go to the beach
4. drink beer
5. own a puppy
6. make a more realistic list

1. wake up
2. thank God for waking up
3. drink tea
4. brainstorm ways to move to the beach and own a puppy
5. drink wine
6. write a blog post about it