I'd been exchanging comical memes during the week with a friend.
We expressed how we were drinking more than ever to numb this current existence of overwhelm, brought on by too much parenting, additional responsibilities, loss of space and identity.
We spoke of the groundhog that just won't be nudged. As you open your eyes. To the realisation. Ah yes, same as yesterday. All at home. Perfect.
I've realised the expectations I had of myself as a Mother prior to having children, are falling are trifle short of my enthusiasm and wanting to Mother in the present. Think Grand Canyon proportions. Eight years ago with a growing belly, I'd pictured myself in full on dressing up regalia, maybe a cape, on the floor with kids climbing over me like puppies and me hysterically joyful with well, um, Joy. Ahem.
But then. Here's the thing.
And there has to be a glimmer, right?! Because otherwise, that groundhog might as well lie on me starfish-like and never get off.
As the boys sat on the kitchen high stools with cheeky eyes, one licking the lime green spatula, the other, the wooden spoon. Quick little fingers in a shared duck egg coloured mixing bowl with left over cake mixture. A wave of familiarity came over me.
I was reminded of something.
So precious. A memory.
Flashback. My sister and I stretched out in front of the TV, in our uniforms after school on a Friday. A china bowl each on our laps, fingers scooping out any chocolate icing scrapings or coffee buttercream dollops. And feeling like, this was the best. thing.ever.
Mum ran a tea room on a Saturday for ten years. She made all the cakes from scratch. If I was to compare those moments to all the holidays and things we did as a family together, that memory is undoubtedly, the one that stands out.
We were at home. We were relaxed. We felt safe.
As long as I have eggs to make cakes for eager little faces, I'll bake.
I hope they look back at this teeny, what could be seen as insignificant memory, and learn to appreciate the significance of the tiny things. The most precious memories carved from the most ordinary moments.
And I think especially now, ordinary is perfectly ok.