a normal day

Today is a normal day.

 It has been filled with putting hair in pony tails, sidewalk chalk, dollhouse banter, fruit snacks, laundry, and spilled milk. There was dancing in the living room and running barefoot in the rain. There were mermaid dolls in a tub of rice dyed blue. There was hiding under the table when Daddy came home for lunch. There was a nap for Nan and me while Becks sneaked shoes from my closet and lined them up in the living room. There were diaper changes and dinner around the table with a lot of "take another bite" and "turn around, please" reminders. There was dessert ice cream and picking up toys. There was get-you-game with high pitched squeals, baths administered, brushed teeth, and lights out.

But today was also anything but normal.

It was a last-- a standing on a precipice and a readying of feet to jump and a hoping the parachute that has always deployed will deploy again. It was feeling hiccups and jabs in my ribs one last time. It was pain when I walked and danger when I sneezed. It was looking at the empty sixth chair at supper with the knowledge it will be filled. It was tiptoeing into dark rooms and studying sweet, sleeping faces I know so well with tears in my eyes. It was one last day as a girl mom and glances into a waiting nursery.

It was a normal day.
It wasn't a normal day.

It was slow and uneventful, rainy and peaceful.
It was filled with forward thoughts, and nostalgic review glances.
It was wondering what tomorrow will bring ,and gratefulness for all that it held on its own today.
It was a heart full to bursting, and a knowing that hearts will grow even more.
It was feeling Zephaniah 3:17, and being quieted with His love and rejoiced over with singing.
It was hands holding tightly to the old, and palms open in faith and prayer for the new.

Today won't be the remembered day. And yet I want it to be remembered for everything it was, and everything it wasn't quite yet.

I'm learning to let go of expectations and to only hold on to the daily bread that I'm actually given. And so today I tried not to put pressure on us to be anything but normal.
And so we were-- a family of five in our little home on Sloan Street, living another normal day, but with feet ready to take a jump.

And tomorrow?
Tomorrow we will eat breakfast, and attempt to get Becks to eat something other than toast. We will try to get Blythe to hurry up and put on her shoes and get in the car. We will drop her off for another day of first grade, but we will have bags packed for the hospital in the seat behind us.

We will park and Brent will grab my hand and say a prayer, and we will walk in the hospital with the daily bread we will be given tomorrow.

And though it will cease to be a normal day, it will be a day in which all our new normal days begin.