Ordinary

Even though it had been a long time since I have been at the start line of a running race, I felt a little tightening in my chest – a little nervousness that let me know my competitive edge, although softened a bit, has not completely disappeared. It reminds me where I came from and where I want to be.

It was a free-family-friendly Heart Institute 5k race that meandered through the park of a beautiful city. It was a cooler, 72-degree morning which made for perfect running weather. The clouds were giving us a little sprinkle causing the wet grass to shine like a field of diamonds.

After a short sprint at the start of the race, my boys took off and I slowed to a comfortable, steady pace. But after spending a little time climbing up the hill and taking in a long, deep breath, a warmth that could only come from gratitude spread throughout my body. This altitude is easier for those of us who are used to it.

About a mile into the race, I noticed a small competitor (around age six or seven) running beside me. With short blonde hair, big brown eyes, and slick green athletic shorts swishing at high speed, I couldn't help but smile. Although he was about five strides ahead of me, he would periodically look back to see where I was.  At one point, he slowed long enough that we ran side by side. I was afraid he was growing tired so I offered an encouraging word.

Either the boy was truly encouraged or he simply wanted to get away from the overly friendly lady in the red shirt—he suddenly burst ahead.

His temporary acceleration was short-lived, and I quickly found myself running along side him again. I tossed out another compliment and told him how close he was to finishing.

As we neared the end of the race, I could see and hear my boys and all the volunteers cheering from the corner. I noticed that not only did they share the same red face color, but they also shared the same disheveled look from a too-early wake up time. As they stood in the sunshine that was just breaking through I admired them.

Oblivious to the many runners who had passed before me, my 10-year-old called out, “Way to go Mom!”

As my feet hit the pavement, I considered the way I had been going.

If he meant was I noticing the beauty of the sunrise …
If he meant was I enjoying running behind my boy of 14 years and exchanging fist bumps…
If he meant was I encouraging a small boy with a determined heart and legs that never seemed to tire …
If he meant was I swallowing delicious gulps of fresh air feeling grateful to be alive …

Then yes, my sweet boy, your mom is going.

Just think. If we were able to have and enjoy these ordinary days, wouldn't our hearts be full?

But I must confess, I haven’t always felt this way.

Like other members of our competitive society, I've had this idea of "Way to go!" It was setting a record time, capturing the blue ribbon, taking a first place finish, being the “best.” And I, like so many, got caught up in the rewards and public praise that went along with those achievements.

I won't forget the days when I thought my jobs had to be accomplished with perfect accuracy and efficiency or they might as well not be done at all.

I won't forget when I pushed myself to 110% output level despite the fact I practically felt my blood pressure rise to do it. I can finally see all that pressure to be perfect couldn't be contained inside my own head. It sometimes had to spill out on my boy’s day, their perspective, their attitudes, and their joyful little lives.

I won't forget how a whole day could be wasted when one little thing on my master plan went wrong …like today after the race, on the way out of the park, my car started smelling like burnt rubber, sending up smoke and making a horrific noise. I knew about the noise before, since it started making that awful sound on Thursday, but my friend, Naomi, had told me about a friend of hers that is a mechanic, who does an honest work, even for women, and I had taken it in yesterday. Jorge had diagnosed it as the A/C Coil and ordered the part in which is supposed to be here in a few days. Instead of wasting the whole day, it is just an inconvenience; I can get it fixed.  

And I won't forget when school projects had to be computer printed … when kitchen counters had to be spotless … when the pressure to get one more "to-do” checked off my list was endless.

A few years ago, I realized the underlying message that my sons were hearing, absorbing, and believing was “You are not good enough,” and I came across this book: Don't Sweat The Small Stuff (and it's all small stuff) For Families. And little by little, I started to let go; I began to let things BE as they were and stopped trying to control them. I found myself saying phrases like:

It was just an accident; we can clean it up.
I’d like to hear what YOU think about it. 
I love who you are.

And now here they stood today on a crowded park corner with messy bedheads and joyful smiles. They are boys who jumped off the diving board when they were ready, who wear mismatched socks every single day to school, who know how to say, “It doesn't have to be perfect” and “I did my best.” They are boys who cheer their mom across the finish line celebrating a moment in an ordinary day.

Capturing a sunrise with my eyes. Reaching out a loving hand to someone who needs help. Time to spend with the people I love. Expressing gratitude for life’s simple joys like fresh air, belly laughs, and worn-out treads on running shoes.