These are the Days

There were a few great things about the morning: the day began cool and overcast; I walked to Starbucks for an iced hazelnut latte; I took Silas to the park; and Eden, as usual, slept on her tummy in the stroller. The less great things about the morning were that I breastfed in the park, which in the morning hours is apparently filled not with children but with a smattering of leering homeless men, one of whom peed on a tree not far from me. Halfway through our time at the park, I looked at Silas's feet and saw that his tennis shoes were on the wrong feet. This is a common experience for children who dress themselves; however, I got Silas dressed... And during the walk home, I watched my darling Eden turn into a human geyser and fountain gallons of spit up into the air, all over herself and blanket and throughout the stroller. What does one do when this happens mid-walk?

After a couple hours of noodling toward nap time at home (which involved soapy sponges inside the stroller and laundry), Silas and I gave Eden a bath, which of course evolved into Silas's taking a bath -- a more and more common midday activity in our house because it keeps Silas contained, occupied and happy. At one point during the bath, I was feeding Silas a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to make-up for the lost calories of the lunch he'd rejected downstairs. At that moment, Eden starting screaming from her bed in the other room, Silas started yelling because he dropped his sandwich in the water and it was deteriorating, I jumped up, grabbed Eden, and smelled that the second batch of wild rice I was cooking (had burned the first) was, indeed, also burning. As I ran downstairs with screaming Eden, maintaining a call-and-response conversation with soggy sandwich Silas to make sure he was above water, and stood scraping burnt rice out of a pot just in time to hear "Potty!!" I thought -- yes, these are days of being fully alive.

In 10th grade I loved that 10,000 Maniacs song "These are the Days" and knew without a shadow of a doubt, as Annemarie and I belted it out, that the words were perfectly about us right then at 16. The other day, the song popped into my head, and as I sang it, I was sure, without a shadow of a doubt, that the words are perfectly about us right now at 30, despite (and really because of) the fountains of spit up and fullness of our days and hands.

These are days you'll remember.
Never before and never since, I promise,
will the whole world be warm as this.
And as you feel it, you'll know its true
that you are blessed and lucky.
Its true that you are touched by something
that will grow and bloom in you.

These are days you'll remember.
When may is rushing over you with desire
to be part of the miracles you see in every hour.
You'll know its true that you are blessed and lucky.
Its true that you are touched by something
that will grow and bloom in you.

These are days.

These are the days you might fill with laughter
until you break.
These days you might feel a shaft of light
make its way across your face.
And when you do you'll know
how it was meant to be. See the signs and know their meaning.
Its true, you'll know how it was meant to be.
Hear the signs and know they're speaking to you, to you.