Yesterday I went to Ikea with my husband.
I picked up my punk kids from school and fed them lunch.
We assembled the baby's dresser as a family.
The room is finally starting to come together, and that fills me with the weirdest sense of joy. I have pictures to paint for the walls. A quilt to sew for the spare bed. Small stuff. Lovely stuff.
I spent the afternoon cleaning my living room and kitchen and playing little games with Ninja Girl on my iPod.
I went out to dinner with close friends to celebrate their good news and birthdays.
We got dessert after.
We talked late into the night.
It was a simple day. A perfect day. Filled with family and friends, work and play. I find it interesting that these are the days that are hardest to write about. Of course it's because there isn't really any conflict in these days. They unfold beautifully, becoming everything you hoped for. They are the best part of life for those experiencing it, and yet the most "uninteresting" to those on the outside. It's days like yesterday that remind me to keep the story, the drama, and the conflict on the page where it belongs. I'll keep the boring "happily ever afters" for myself.