We woke up after 7am, had breakfast and the boys played. They didn't bicker, or fight, or scream, or throw things at each other. They played. I heard them having a conversation and settling differences themselves.
Meanwhile, I checked with Luca if he'd like what Graeme and I had for dinner last night in his lunchbox for preschool (I prayed and hoped he'd say yes because I had nothing else). Rice with steamed vegetables and tamari. It was a resounding yes, though I was taking a slight risk with the chilli in it. I packed it anyway.
They played happily while I showered (hardly ever happens*), then both got dressed. Kian even let me brush his teeth (teeth brushing is always an ordeal). We dropped Luca off to preschool and Kian and I enjoyed our first playgroup morning on our own. I watched him at the craft table and we danced the Hokey Pokey together.
He came to me nuzzling into his muslin after lunch. He slept soundly and I read on the sofa in front of our floor-to-ceiling windows with the light and view that I love so much.
Just as I tucked in the bookmark, Kian woke up. I quickly made a batch of spelt bread to rise and we dashed out the door to pick up Luca. A cuddle, a handful of drawings and pretty much an empty lunchbox – 'I loved the rice Mummy, can I have it again?'. I had to pinch myself.
The bread went in to bake and all I had to do was heat through yesterday's big batch of carrot, cumin and coconut soup. Two bowls of soup with cheesy spelt toasts. He who picks deemed it a triumph. I pinched again. As if that weren't enough: while Luca ate, he told me about his day. That never happens. He spoke about teachers, hide-and-seek games and a cheeky friend who likes to play tricks.
The three of us ventured outside, and while they played in the wading pool, spooning mud into funnels and old laundry bottles, I brought the washing in and staked wayward tomatoes and eggplants. They helped me feed the garden before a long soak in the bath back inside.
Luca washed Kian's back while I watched from the bedroom and folded the washing. There were no arguments about getting out of the bath. Dressed and onto Luca's bed for story time, they sat either side of me for Isabella's Garden and Superworm.
I sang them each a song and I walked into the kitchen to see the clock hit 7pm.
My friends, days just don't get any better than that. They really don't. I didn't raise my voice once, I laughed with my children, we talked, they ate good meals and I managed some much needed time in the garden.
Now for a plate of sticky pork ribs with my husband to end this mighty fine day.
How about you? When you have a jolly good day, do you want to write about it so you have it etched in your head? Do you make a point of recording the good even though it doesn't help one little bit on days when it all hits the fan?
* I mean the 'playing happily while showering', not the showering bit.
P.S. This picture of Luca made me smile. He'd spotted the trellis that Graeme put up for 'his' passionfruit. Here he's about to do what he always does when a plant is 'his': he gives it a hug.