Photography by Irina Kry
It struck me the other day that the bay window in our living room keeps the time almost perfectly.
While it's still dark, I watch the neighbor pull his green van out of the driveway. I wash bottles and pacifiers to be ready for the day. When the boy with large glasses gets on his bike for choir practice, it's time for breakfast.
When the boy with large glasses gets on his bike for choir practice, it's time for breakfast.The morning passes in a blur of diapers and tummy time, but I know it's noon when Jimmy John's delivers to the house with the big round bushes. Soon enough appears a young woman, thin and covered in tattoos. She walks by with her bunch of children in a wagon. We too must go on a walk of our own.
The mailman comes, Mama needs more coffee. As a carpool drops some kids home from school, I stop reading stories, for it's time to put on dinner. The babies sleep, the green van pulls back in, I know my husband will soon be home. The day closes with a walked pair of huskies and an older woman having a smoke in a burger king uniform.
Finally the window goes silent, it's time to sleep, the day is over. It has nothing left for me, yet beckons us to contentment - for in only a moment the green van will pull out and then pull back in again, and before I know it my girls will be grown.
So for now I cherish the baths, the finger puppets, the little shrieks of laughter. The seemingly endless mundane is one of the sweetest gifts I've ever known.