Ben pointed out the other day that sometimes feeling like there’s nothing to write(or talk) about must mean that life is ticking along just as it ought to. No hair raising adventures. No disasters. No winning the lottery.
We’re just happy and well and… living.
I go back and forth with myself sometimes, trying to figure out if it’s fair to call my life normal or ordinary. It doesn’t seem like a fair approximation of all the little odds and ends of treasures that come from being part of a family and raising little people. But the general scheme of our days is the same. The actions required to keep the people aligned and happy are similar from day to day. Most days even my “exciting” things don’t sound terribly grand. Today, for example.
I hemmed some new fall napkins today.
I went for a walk/run in a light rain.
I made a big pot of soup, undercooked the beans for the first serving and then burned the bottom layer when I put it back on the stove to finish cooking.
The fridge is really dripping into the underpan(?) tonight and I’m hoping it’s not a bad thing.
When people ask what I’ve been up to I always have this feeling that they’re looking for something different than all of that. I rummage for something big or exciting or unusual or funny and than draw a total blank. Stuff like that is the max excitement level in my life. Outside of endlessly talking about my babies that is. :)
My family is gorgeous. My babies are smart and beautiful. We’re well taken care of. We’ve got lots of love and support. We live, play, work, read, eat, sleep, laugh, and enjoy. But life is normal. It’s ticking along like it should.
And there’s nothing wrong with that.