Just a day.

Today is just a day filled with regular hours of caring and cleaning, placing meals on the tray and wiping them off again. Gathering the pieces that landed on the floor.  Collecting tiny treasures of  joy shared between them, watching the meters of silly and sweet sweep across counterclockwise to full. Moments of watching the sunlight cast vertical shadows across the floor covered in toys and old quilts. The kind where content softly lingers in the air.  A day with long naps for babies and getting lost in a book, again.  Building  towers that they knock down with delight.  Repeat.   I watched her push up and stand and studied those wobbly delicious little legs. 

I caught a glimpse of my future, when that little boy wanted to help with the packing.  He sorted toys in the bins and stacked them on a pile of boxes.  Cars and monsters spilled over the edge with every step, but he noticed that I noticed and he smiled in a way that I felt like he was grown and helping his mommy. It was his idea and his eyes sparkled.  With his arms strong and the sleeves of his blue hoodie pushed up, all of a sudden he wasn’t three as he marched across the room, for the quickest moment that I didn’t miss.

One of the sweet days of motherhood that’s not extra heavy or hard or anything.  The kind we all need.

A day that could easily get lost in the mix of weeks and years, because it seemed to be ordinary.

Except that it wasn’t at all.

 

Linking up with Just Write

LTTS: Play town

Here’s our scrappy play town, perhaps the most fun project yet from the Little Things to Sew Along.  I’m still plotting more buildings, because they are cute and silent. Silent toys are the best.

A feast for your eyes and your soul: Hugo

I'd imagine the whole world was one big machine. Machines never come with any extra parts, you  of know. They always come with the exact amount they need. So I figured, if the entire world was one big machine, I couldn't be an extra part. I had to be here for some reason. – Hugo Cabret

At first your imagination is invited to dance by mesmerizing scenes of a 1930’s Paris train station,  idyllic cafes, flower stands, and intricate clock towers with breathtaking views.  Then you meet a charming, orphan boy, with magic eyes, who is searching for answers and hope after losing his father.  Along the way he helps to bring color back into the lives of others as they reclaim their lost dreams.

I hate movies like this, I said to my husband, as a few little tears rolled down my cheek, movies about the great beauty of purpose and connectedness in tales full of oddities and adventure.

Except, I don’t hate them at all, you knew that.

Because the story they tell is my favorite kind,  about a world rich in wonder and hope, a reminder that within each of us lives a gift waiting to make the world brighter and more beautiful.  And there is struggle, there absolutely is, but that makes the ending even sweeter, because nothing great ever happened without a cost. 

And the best part? This story belongs to us all, if only we dare to believe.

Have you seen it? What is your favorite kind of story?

Maybe that's why a broken machine always makes me a little sad, because it isn't able to do what it was meant to do... Maybe it's the same with people. If you lose your purpose... it's like you're broken. – Hugo