the most boring day
An essay on the beauty of staying in
Gray skies from morning til night. Snow, the kind that blusters about awhile, but doesn’t settle. And cold, such cold! One feels chilled just peeking out the window.
It was not a day for venturing outdoors, so my 14-month-old son and I spent the morning inside, imagining the most extraordinary adventures. After discovering ancient texts in a cave—which, upon first glance, looked suspiciously like the library tucked away in the corner of our dining room—my son took me grocery shopping at an Aldi that spanned the entirety of our first floor. Refueled by the applesauce he purchased, my little guy took off on horseback through the Wild West until thoroughly exhausted (I was, too, considering I played the role of horse).
Despite being on-the-go from waking til naptime, the nap was brief, and when my son woke, an entire afternoon and evening stretched before us. Were he a little older, I’d have suggested my son and I snuggle on the couch, hot cocoa in hand, and watch an action movie, or a classic Pixar film, but he’s a little young for TV. He’s a little young, too, for chapter books, so I nixed the idea of cuddling and racked my brain for ways to while away the hours. My little guy begged for another piggy back ride and I obliged. While he pointed to the painting on the wall and the windows and babbled on and on, I fought to stay present. Because, despite my son’s happiness, and as gross as it was to acknowledge, in the moment, I felt trapped. Doomed to endless hours of piggy back rides; confined to the same small rooms and their cream-colored walls. Bored of narrating the same tired plotlines as my son and I galloped through the dining room, into the kitchen, and arouuuund the island, why’s it called an island? because… and back into the dining room, past the grand, wooden table…
I worried the marvelous first act of our day would be spoiled by my sour attitude, by a second act that flopped. Worried this day would wind up amongst the most boring days ever. I lost myself in negativity, in the ugly parts of motherhood we often don’t talk about, until my son’s peals of laughter cut through the fog and warmed my heart. I hurried to join him in the present, to discover what prompted his giggles. My son’s infectious joy reminded me we were the authors of our day; I held the proverbial pen! It was up to me, writer of this play, to craft a second act worthy of the first, filled with as much adventure and—and that’s it!, I thought. Adventure!
Suddenly, it was obvious: We should get out! Out of the house. An errand I’d put off for more than a month—nothing pressing, obviously—would do the trick! After lunch and after another piggy back ride, we’d pack up the car and set off on an errand. My son would watch the world outside his passenger window while classical music played. The errand would take us near my aunt and uncle’s, where we’d stop for a short but pleasant visit, and then we’d head home, just in time for dinner. It would be a whirlwind of an afternoon. I smiled thinking about it and double-stepped my way through the living room, into the dining room. My son bounced happily on my back, as though he, too, were looking forward to getting out.
Sometimes, the words that fall from a writer’s fingertips are different from the words the writer intends to pen.
I plotted a grand adventure, but I couldn’t write that magnificent second act. Each time my son and I piggy backed into the kitchen, he reached for another slice of apple. The brief ride I’d imagined became a very long piggy back ride that I, at first, desperately attempted to end, until my little boy rested his sweet head against my back, warming my soul. He draped his dimpled hands over my shoulders and I caved. Another turn about the house, then. This turn about the house turned into another sweet moment that melted into yet another beautifully simple moment, and the early afternoon slipped into late afternoon like the sun moving across the sky in such small increments you don’t realize it’s happened until the first shades of sunset color the clouds, and you’re astounded evening’s underway. I couldn’t bring myself to pause any of the moments that seemed, on the surface, mundane, but are, in fact, threads that form the fabric of a blossoming mother-son relationship, so our great afternoon adventure became an afternoon of unadventure. An afternoon my son and I spent in our home, having the grandest time doing nothing grand.
Dinner was messy in the silliest way, as dinner usually is, with a toddler learning to use utensils, and bedtime was oh, so sweet, made sweeter by extra cuddles and an okay, just one more bedtime book. As I kissed my son goodnight and exited stage left, closing the door softly behind me, I couldn’t help but smile. Sometimes, we judge ourselves by the fullness of our calendar, by the ticking off of tasks on a to-do list. We think we’ll have more fun going out than staying in, that stimulation is the key to excitement and, dare we admit, happiness. We think every moment must be spectacular. We’re so busy trying to stay busy we forget that sometimes, the best days are the most boring days.
Katherine Mansfield is a former journalist and current full-time mom who used to always be on the go, but now spends her time chasing a very busy toddler and, when she can, sneaks in a few minutes of writing. first drafts is a reader-supported, one-mamma passion project where Mansfield shares her essays, short fiction and poetry. If you like what you read, please tap the heart and share with a friend. If you really like what you read, consider tipping the writer or becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Such an heartfelt post! Nothing hapenned but so much hapenned. I also feel like this on Sunday mornings when I visit the park with my daughter. She is also 14 months old!
Subscribed; looking forward to more such posts. Thanks for sharing.
Oh my gosh, Katherine, this is beautiful.