our song.

There’s a routine…mastered over the years with the kids, with myself. We dance in the melody of our home. The sound of a cereal box in the morning, a slamming sliding glass door. . . pattering feet. It’s in the air. It’s in every moment. A cry over a scratched knee, the she-saids and the he-won’ts, the ping from a text message and the hum from the microwave.

It’s possible that someone else’s life is more exciting. Someone else’s kids eat all their veggies and someone else’s home doesn’t have piles of laundry or cluttered dresser drawers. I have my neatly maintained list of dreams but I'll have to pick them up at the grocery store while I'm there.

It’s easy to wonder what my life “should” be or “could” be….what melody might be next on the playlist….but those questions get drowned out. I hear the giggles while the dog’s barking and I see the books on the shelf I plan to read. . . the mountains I plan to climb. My walls are filled with snapshot memories and my days are full of song. I hear it and am glad to sing along.