On a day where my life with all its tiny details threatens to suck me into its whirling propeller, I want to take just a moment to be grateful.
For the sticky countertops. For the messy diapers. For the untied shoes. For the laundry. And the laundry. And the laundry.
For all the tiny details that pull me down from the clouds where my thoughts are wont to wander. Because I need to be pulled down — close to smaller things and smaller people. People with little hands that clutch my shirt and slurpy mouths that nurse. People with tiny voices that stammer to tell me about the important things, the very big things, that are going on right here and now. Like the moth that fluttered through the doorway and has now landed on the light. Like the sweet smell of a fistful of apple blossoms from my special tree. Like the wondering if Papa’s surprise birthday breakfast really was a surprise, or if he really knew what we were up to and played along. And the deciding that it doesn’t really matter anyway because we did it because we love him and if he played along it was because he loves us back.
Small things. That are a big deal.