Just Another Day

      It was just another typical Saturday.  Up to face the day way too early and still up watching Notre Dame’s football team take on Boston College way too late.  My son spent the last hour throwing up until he fell asleep in exhaustion on the couch.  My daughter sits on the floor concentrating intently on the yarn that passes through her fingers as she begins crocheting an afghan for next summer’s 4H fair.  

        The day has passed too swiftly and before I can even catch up, it is almost bedtime and I am tired.  I find I can not, and will not rest until the last seconds have ticked out and the game is over.  I must see it through till the end.  I must know if Notre Dame carries their lead to the end and is victorious once again.  As it happens, they are!!  As an Irish fan I am extremely happy they have continued their winning streak.

 

        It was just another day filled with grocery shopping, housework, and laundry which has ended watching Notre Dame football and soothing my youngest as he tosses his cookies again and again before falling into a deep sleep of exhaustion on the living room couch.  For the sake of NaBloPoMo, in spite of it all, I write.  There are no writing prompts, just everyday life today.  

       Thinking back on the highlights of the past week, one experience stands out above all.  Thursday evening my daughter’s 4H club volunteered at “Soup for Success” .  It was an evening of helping out an  organization who strives to help people in need to regain their equilibrium.  They train and prepare women for the work force, give them the confidence to stand on their own two feet, and help them recover from the devastating blows of poverty and abuse.  They raise funds to help people by assembling soup, dip, and cookie ingredients into bags and selling them.  That evening my two children and I lined up alongside other 4Her’s and their parents along a table and fulfilled a singular job that resulted in a bag filled with the ingredients needed for oatmeal cookies.  We worked for an hour and a half adding our designated ingredients into each bag.  When we were through the club had assembled almost 500 bags.    My 7 year old son stood on a stool beside me and with careful precision did his part by adding baking powder to each bag while his sister beside him contributed cinnamon and I added nutmeg.  I watched each of them working for the greater good and my heart swelled with pride.  

         Memories like that are priceless. As each day passes and fades, I will probably forget the details of this day but I will never forget that night assembling cookie ingredients with my kids.  That memory will always be precious until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.