this old routine

yesterday i swear the air stood still. the walk between the slamming of the car door and the unhinging of the mailbox at the end of the gravel drive was like pushing myself slowly through heavy steam. i pushed and pushed and met an equal resistance and was quite literally out of breath by the time i reached the bills and magazines.

and i opened the door to find robert napping, his work clothes still on and sweat still on his forehead, one arm propped lazily over his head beside the windowframe. and we ate tomato sandwiches and checked e-mail and sang a song at the same time that, for some reason or the other, was in both of our heads.

we saw mama and dad and took a walk around the yard. when the sun started feeling gracious and sunk itself back into the earth, we went outside and talked. and when it finally turned to dark on the old porch we went and sat on the long sofa. i curled up in that old blanket that's neither soft nor warm but wholly mine. and we talked some more until after midnight, dragging ourselves the ten feet to bed, the moon pouring itself through the cracked blinds.

i know some woman closed a big deal yesterday. i know someone got a promotion. someone cut her hair and feels brand new. someone got married and another engaged. a woman gave birth. someone, somewhere, probably had her life changed yesterday and july eighteenth is forever changed.

but we just had this old routine.

and i'd do it again. every second. over and over again. we can make a big moment out of the little ones, you and i.