I often wonder how some days that are exactly the same can feel so different. One day the common routine that starts with getting out of bed, walking downstairs, and making tea can feel so blah. Other days, those same actions can feel exhilarating. And other days still, it can feel like getting out of bed might be the worst decision you could possibly ever make. But you do it anyway, because if you don't, then what happens? I don't know. I've always gotten up.
Once I make my way downstairs and feel the tea hit my system, it starts coming together. My husband and the kids appear with sleepy eyes. Some days they are on the same strange trip I am and we sit quietly contemplating the day's coming events. Other days we are off kilter and I ask them to shush just a little so I can wake up. And on the days when I might have a lot to say first thing, they sit down on the couch and pull up blankets with their eyes closed as if to silently tell me they would like to be still and quiet just a few minutes more.
But regardless of our different perceptions of each day, we work. We trudge through the rough days and skip through the great ones. We hug. We tell each other about all the best days and worst days. We relay information about things we think others might like. We talk.
I don't know where I'm going with this. It just sort of fell out of my fingertips. I was just thinking about how much I depend on them for my sanity. How they make me whole.
Love goes a long way.