Perfect Moments

On a perfect day:

Connor wouldn't throw a tantrum first thing in the morning after I tell him he can't wear the dirty spiderman light-up shirt to school.

I'd get Connor to school on time.

I wouldn't forget his lunch.

I'd make it to the gym for an invigorating workout.

Laila would nap and nurse in perfect three-hour intervals, taking time to smile and laugh at me before dozing off for another perfect nap.

I'd meet a good friend for lunch.

I'd actually get some contract work done.

The house would be clean.

Lee would come home early.

We'd be eating dinner by 7:00 (and it wouldn't be burnt).

Connor would be in bed by 8:00.

Laila wouldn't have her evening melt-down, and Lee and I would enjoy a quiet evening together.

My life doesn't look anything like that. Last week I made it to the gym once. I only got about seven hours of work done all week. The house is a complete disaster. The clutter around here is multiplying exponentially. There's laundry in the dryer, laundry in the washing machine, dirty dishes in the sink. Laila and I have both been sick for a week now. Connor is refusing (again) to go to bed.

I'm reminded of something I read recently that said we should look for the perfect moments in life. Not perfect days, or even perfect hours, but perfect moments. Moments where everything clicks into place. They're there, if we look.

This morning the four of use were lying in our king-size bed. Connor had a monster-truck in the bed--the kind that plays music when you push the buttons. He was standing on the bed attempting to clap along with the music, but it was so incredibly off-beat. White doesn't even begin to describe how off he was.

"You do it," he said. Lee and I played along. He pushed the button again.

"Now scrape your hands," he said, running the tips of his fingers over the opposite hand.

Puzzled, Lee and I began scraping our hands.

"Now brush off your pants," Connor continued, patting his legs. We did as we were told.

"Now pat your neighbor's knee," Connor said, reaching over to pat my knee. I reached over to pat Lee's knee, and Lee reached over to pat mine.

"No, Daddy, I'm patting Mommy's knee. You have to pat someone else's knee."

By this point Lee and I were laughing hysterically. Connor continued to dance and clap to the music. Laila, who was lying there naked except for her diaper (she wet herself again last night...), had a confused look on her face, as if she were wondering how she ended up with this strange family.

We soon had to get up and face the day. It was a typical Sunday. Connor was constantly testing his limits. Laila was a little fussy. By the end of the day I could tell that Lee was glad to be returning to work tomorrow. Far from perfect. But for a brief moment this morning, everything fell into place.