Cherishing Simple Moments

The heavy smells of coffee and baked goods mix with my husband’s breakfast. My children are laying on the living room area rug building castles with wooden blocks that are in the words of my eldest: “So popular other stuffed animals will come to visit.” Calm music and nature sounds emanate from the television as my husband battles and collects various creatures through tall wavy grasses. As the timer goes off and I remove another batch of cookies I realize we have created an unintentional café vibe this early Saturday morning.

Suddenly my youngest runs through the kitchen and up the stairs shouting that she needed the potty. I laugh as I resume the audio book playing in my singular earbud. The main character confesses her feelings and hopes for a second chance.

Moments later my youngest, lets call her Ivy, is back down the stairs with a different stuffed animal and we all try to keep a straight face as the stuffed animal says a curse word that she must have accidentally picked up recently. The word beginning with an A is harmless enough and once she’s left the room again it’s safe to crack a smile over the surprising situation.

I pop my head into the living room. My eldest, we’ll dub Nova, has cleaned up her block world and is now fully engrossed in the village my husband has just stumbled into. As a game they both play the chatter back and forth about the characters and plans of action moving forward have begun. I step over the slumbering dog back into the kitchen which looks as though a baker had a brawl across the counters and I’m struck with the desire to write something down.

This morning as I look around my life I can’t help but smile. Black cat in the window, a dog sprawled across the floor, children playing, peaceful music and good smells drifting throughout the rooms; I can’t ask for more.

In a world constantly moving onto the next best thing I am captivated with how wonderful today feels already. The tranquility that has saturated this early hour is something I don’t want to miss. I wish I could capture it in a snow globe of sorts and hold onto it forever. Like a ‘break glass in case of emergencies’ unit with this morning perfectly preserved within.

I sit in my favorite chair and open my laptop to begin. I’m hopeful that I can seize this tenderness and warmth into words before it fades away. I’m only two sentences in before Ivy is asking for cuddles and trying to push the keyboard with little giggles. I move to the bottom of the steps with my laptop after the timer on the oven goes off again. Life never stops.

This was once all I ever wanted in the world.

A messy house full of happy memories.
Old paint supplies on the table from the night before.
A surplus of throw pillows and blankets across a second hand couch.
A small television that is off more than on.
The kitchen is full of dirty dishes that seem to be never ending and laundry equally matching in the room adjacent.

This is what minimalism is all about.

Not hoarding items and the next best thing but collecting memories and treasuring the peaceful days before they pass. No two days are the same. No two mornings or evenings look alike.

I write this down as a reminder for when Nova and Ivy are teenagers and sleeping in, leaving the house quiet and still. For those days when arguments run rampant and voices are raised and tears are falling.

I’m trying to catch every minuscule detail. My dog is near enough to the kitchen to collect fallen scraps but still within earshot of any possible dangers she must protect the girls from. The cat is hunting and chattering at birds from the window, also defending her territory. My husband comes through the kitchen and pulls me into a deep embrace and whispers “Good morning beautiful” and then “I’ll be in the bathroom”. From behind Nova gives him a squeeze and I threaten that she should avoid that in case of gas leaks.

The walls might have chipped paint and small holes from rearranged artwork over the years but there is laughter throughout the rooms. The windows may let in drafts but they also let in a springtime breeze.

Two stuffed animals come flying down the stairs and peg me in the side of my head. I know my time to write is coming to an end.

I’m thankful for mornings like this. We may not have everything but what we have is everything.

Some days run smoother than others. Some fights feel Earth shattering and weekends too exhausting to be considered a reprieve. Today though, on this bottom stair, my life is perfectly imperfect and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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About the Author: Rachael is a preschool teacher with a degree in early childhood education. She has two young daughters, a mutt, dumpster cat, and a lovingly supportive husband. She is an avid lover of the arts, reading, writing, and attempting to figure out life one day at a time.