The most boring day – observer reporter

Gray sky from morning to night. Snow, the species that blusted about a while, but did not settle. And cold, so cold! You feel cooled to just look out the window.

It was not a day to venture outdoors, so my 14 month old son and I spent the morning inside and imagined the most extraordinary adventures. After I discovered old texts in a cave – which at first glance looked suspicious of the library in the corner of our dining room, my son took me shopping in an Aldi that spans all of our first floor. With the Appleauce he bought, my little guy started until it was through the wild west until it was thoroughly exhausted (I was also when I consider that I played the role of the horse).

Although the nap was shortly before waking up, the nap was short, and when my son woke up, an entire afternoon and evening stretched in front of us. If he were a little older, I would have suggested my son and I to cuddle the cocoa in my hand and watch an action film or a classic pixar film, but he is a little young for television. He is also a little young for chapter books, so I mixed the idea of ​​cuddling and made my brain for ways to seal the hours. My little guy begged for another piggyback trip, and I committed. As he pointed to the painting on the wall and the windows and continued and further chattering, I fought to stay present. Because despite my son's happiness and as disgusted as it was recognizable, I felt caught at the moment. Condemned at endless hours of piggyback trips; limited to the same small rooms and their cream -colored walls. It comes to tell the same tired actions as my son and I gallop through the dining room, the kitchen and Arouuuund, why is it called an island? Because … and back to the dining room, past the big, wooden table …

I was worried that the wonderful first act of our day is spoiled by my acidic posture, through an act of second act that flopped. This day would end up with the most boring days ever. I have lost myself in negativity, in the ugly parts of motherhood, about which we often talk about until my son's laughter cut through the fog and warmed my heart. I hurried to join him in the present to find out what his giggle prompted. My son's contagious joy reminded me that we were the authors of our day; I held the proverbial pen! It was up to me, writer of this piece, to create a second act that is worthy of the first, filled with so much adventure and – and that is!, I thought. Adventure!

Suddenly it was obvious: we should get out! Out of the house. An order that I would postpone longer than a month – obviously nothing – would do the trick! After lunch and after another piggyback ride, we packed the car and set off. My son would watch the world outside of his passenger window while classical music played. The supply would bring us close to my aunt and uncle, where we stopped for a short but pleasant visit, and then we went home to dinner in time. It would be a whirlwind one afternoon. I smiled and thought about it and twice my living room into the dining room. My son hoped happily on my back, as if he were looking forward to getting out.

Sometimes the words that come from the fingertips of a writer differ from the words the writer wants to pension.

I planned a big adventure, but I couldn't write this great second act. Every time my son and I shock into the kitchen, he reached for another piece of apple. The short journey that I had imagined became a very long piggyback journey, which I initially tried to end until my little boy put his sweet head against my back and warmed up my soul. He draped his defamed hands over my shoulders and my name was. Another turn around the house. This rotation around the house turned into another sweet moment that pouted into another nice, simple moment, and the early afternoon slipped into the late afternoon, when the sun moved over the sky in such small steps that they do not see that it turns the clouds up to the first colors of the sunset color, and they are amazed that the evening is under control.

I could not get myself to pause one of the moments that seemed worldly on the surface, but actually threads that form the fabric of a flowering mother-son relationship, so that our large afternoon adventure became an afternoon of unadentur. In one afternoon, my son and I spent in our house and had nothing grandium for the greatest time.

Dinner was chaotic in the darkest way, since dinner is normally because a toddler learned to use utensils, and the bedtime was so cute, with additional cuddling and an OK, only a bedtime book. When I kissed my son good night and left the stage on the left and the door closes quietly behind me, I couldn't help but smile. Sometimes we judge according to the abundance of our calendar by drawing tasks on a to-do list. We think that we will have more fun when we stay in the fact that stimulation is the key to excitement and, as we admit, luck. We think every moment has to be spectacular. We are so busy remaining that we forget that the best days are sometimes the most boring days.

Katherine Mansfield is a former author for observer reporters and current full -time mother. This piece was first published by First Drafts, a substance publication.