There’s a scene at the end of About Time, one of my favourite movies of all time, where they talk about the extraordinary ordinary, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. About the many moments and days where nothing special happens, and that in itself is special.
Like yesterday. I worked all morning, then walked to pick Arty up from school, and discussed school and bugs and building sites on the way home (“Mom, can I tell you something?” is his favourite phrase at the moment). After lunch and quiet time, we had a play date where the mom and I drank tea and chatted, and the kids ran around being 2-year-olds and 4-year-olds. Mark got home from work and played with the kids in front of the fire (I think they were bison? Or dinosaurs? Or Komodo dragons?) while I drank a gin and elderflower and made dinner.
And it was in that moment that it hit me: this is the extraordinary ordinary. My family is well – not just my little family, but my parents and siblings and in-laws. We are all healthy, and happy, and living in beautiful homes and raising sweet children and we are so lucky to be right here, right now. I feel like I need to pause and appreciate it, because it can’t last forever (nothing does).
I am frequently told by friends with older kids that the time passes so quickly, and I disagree. I am aware of each passing day in a way I never was before kids: a day is a full 24 hours. But I think in the midst of being busy it can be easy to take for granted how lucky we are to be enjoying this sweetness.
And now, for your viewing pleasure, that scene I was talking about from About Time…
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