Tales of the Ordinary Days

I am a homebody.  There is no doubt about it.  Regardless of where my career and travels take me, coupled with my guilty indulgence of never wanting to miss a party; the reality is that my favorite spot in the whole wide world is home.  I love the smell of clean clothes fresh out of the dryer and the feeling of accomplishment with perfectly organized stacks of folded clothes.  I relish my rolling gardens full of vibrant greens, new blossoms, and spring color surprises.  On the worst of days and the most trying of times, my world comes back  together in complete unison when I am preparing a meal in my kitchen with the familiar background noises that go hand in hand with my three busy sons.  I love a clean garage, an organized pantry, and a tidy frig.  A plan in my mind for the next meal and an open night to "putz" about the house from room to room finding treasures in forgotten drawers and looking through pictures from ...

The beautiful poem below was written by Patty Johnson.  She shared it with me and I asked her permission to post on my blog to share with all of you.  Patty wrote this shortly after her youngest son, Jaime, left for college and left their home an empty nest.  Her words touch the hearts of all mothers.  I felt it was so fitting to post this just prior to Mother's Day weekend as I am sure many can relate to Patty's feelings of her ordinary days with her child now turned into cherished memories of days past.

  Grant enjoying the zoo (a few years prior to our Ferris Bueller day off)  I just experienced a new first in parenting.  After years of getting phone calls informing me of sick children...babysitters worrying about fevers, daycare noticing a strong cough, pink eye alert from the grade school nurse, high school admin calling with a sick teenager in the office; instead the call was directly from my college son.  He had gone to the UNL medical office after getting considerably sick and was diagnosed with a severe case of mono.  So instead of trekking to the daycare or grade school, I drove to Lincoln to bring my oldest home for some needed rest and recuperation. Reflecting on my many trips to retrieve sick kids spanning my nineteen years of parenthood, a memory of a particular sick call spurred a smile as I raced back home from Lincoln with my very sick and sleeping eldest in tow.  The “sick” child of past memory was Grant and the time fr...