Perfect normal

This is such a perfect Saturday morning. Poppy and Ace are playing sweetly together in their room, both in their underwear, because that’s how they roll. I can hear them discussing the tablet game they’re playing, something with pictures of animals: “That’s one of my favorites. It’s so cute.” “I like the baby one, not the mommy one.” “Yeah, I only like the itsy, bitsy baby one.” “Oh, I like that one! I like all of them, but my favorites are the best ones.” “Hey, look at that one! It doesn’t have a mouth!” What on earth are they talking about? I don’t know, but they do. They are relating and sharing and cooperating, but most of all–they’re playing. Together. Sweetly.

I’m still in my pajamas, feeling lazy, ignoring the dishes and putting off the laundry. The three of us ditched our plans for ukulele lessons this morning at Poppy’s request, and I think we made the right choice. We’re just hanging out.

It’s just normal. I want to inject all of this meaning into this morning, about finding perfection in imperfection, and about growing closer in adversity, and about how all shall be well, about grace and blessings. But what it all boils down to is: this is just normal. Perfect and normal.

Today, analysis isn’t necessary. Today is just underwear and tablet games and dirty dishes. My heart is full. Filled with normal; perfect normal.

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