It was a plenty good day. Long and layered and brutally cold, but good. There were moments of doubt and decision. Moments of wondering and wandering. There was synergy and sweat and vulnerability and victory. There were conversations internal and out load. There was clenching and clutching and letting go.
And there were three little girls. Home again, gathered around with tired smiles and blue eyes and woefully wonderfully tangled hair. They skipped around and scaled furniture and begged for sugar. They captured their mom and dad in laughing hugs and told them bits about their own days.
There was exhaustion and exasperation and deep, abiding everyday love. There was the soothing rumble of routine, of real life, of confidence and concern, all of it woven together exquisitely, a mythical tapestry you could never buy. The mom, she rubbed her eyes and took little hands and started up steps. Another day had come and gone and it was a good one she wanted to remember even though there was nothing particularly spectacular or shiny about it.
This is our life, the mom thought as she climbed. This is everything I've ever wanted. This is it.