A week full of days

I think that about the most wonderful thing you can say of someone when they die is that they were ‘old and full of days’ (Job 42:17). The past week has had that hectic, deeply satisfying full-of-days feeling.

The moments were crammed with quiddity a bit like this:

We keep finding Scott standing on the piano. Or on the kitchen counters. Or climbing the burglar bars. There’s a broken toilet seat. Hmmm. The writing is on the wall. And on the biscuit tin. And on the kitchen shelves. And on the stairs. And on the building blocks. Mostly in red crayon. And there’s a unique carpet collage of pink-yellow-blue chalk. There are grazes and sometimes blood from falls and scrapes and there’s Lola biding her time unblinking below the high chair because she knows Scott will hook her up with some chicken or drip yoghurt on her head. There are two sea monsters on our bed, roaring and thrashing and tickling. Fascinatingly, the smaller monster copies the bigger monster’s every tentacle movement. After bath time the sea monsters become naked giggling chasing maniacs. Cam finds the fly swat and reports valiantly, ‘The fly situation is better now, Mom.’ There are three miracles in one night: Cam sleeps through, in his own bed, in dry undies. We celebrate with Top Deck at 5:30am. At swimming lessons Cam rejoices with those who rejoice (‘You did a good swim! Vinnig!’). The flu catches up to me at last. At last Murray catches up on some admin. And so it goes full moment to full moment of intermittent chaos and quiet and I catch myself thinking how much I love God and how much I love life.