Multitudes

Saturday night there was a doozy of a storm north of us. “Kate, come here!” Christian said urgently, about 10:20p.m., and I came running. Above us, the sky was a sleepy steel gray, but miles away the sky flashed white at such a rate that the low rumble of distant thunder kept a constant growl. Most of the lightning hid behind the thunderhead, but those we saw spidered horizontal across the upper atmosphere. It was creepy, standing safely outside the danger zone and looking in. Before we went to bed, we looked at the radar, which said the storm was centered over my parents’ farm. 

As we went to bed, I envisioned all sorts of horrific scenarios, beginning with my parents and extending on to a storm that reached us and tore our home to shreds. It was the kind of pointless worrying that would have kept me up all night if not for a dose of NyQuil, without which the nose would have kept me up, too. 

By morning, of course, I could look on everything with rational eyes. But the experience left me with a profound appreciation for the smallest things in everyday life, and I realized anew just how beautiful a weekend can be. 

208) Sunrise through the trees 

 

209) A day without traffic noise in my back yard
210) Cornflower blue skies and every cloud a familiar shape
211) A kaleidoscope in green leaves
212) New artwork for our bedroom wall 

213) Birth stories
214) Dinner on the deck
215) A baby who absolutely insists on being a Big Boy, even when he’s clearly biting off something wwwwaaaaayyyy too big for him 

 

And because it’s so darned cute, you get two: 

 

216) Unplanned ice cream excursion
217) Playing on a recital with college friends I don’t see often 

218) Fresh paint (especially when I didn’t have to put it on the wall!)