Just the perfect day.

 A picture of Katie on a pier with a backdrop of the ocean and boats.

My perfect day starts slowly and gently. I get up without an alarm. I don’t reach for my phone.

I get out of bed. Refuse to make it straight away. Pat the cats. Put the kettle on.

Pour a few tablespoons of room-temperature water into a mug. Add a squeeze of lemon and a slice of fresh ginger from the fridge. Fill the rest of the mug with boiling water.

Sit on the couch with my legs tucked underneath me. Pull up the purple throw around my legs. I cradle the drink as I look out over the hills. In the distance, I can see cows on the hills and a red box of a building.

I drop my daughter at school with a kiss and a wave and a “don’t forget to drink your water” before walking to my local coffee shop. I sit outside on the veranda and order a flat white and a cooked brekkie.

I then take myself off to Orewa where I meet a friend for a walk and we put the world to rights. We don’t small talk or bitch but grab a gelato. On our way back to the car, we say how great is this – this life, this friendship, this beach, and I pop my head on her shoulder.

In the afternoon, I work on a job with a dream client who doesn’t moan or bitch, but who gives me constructive feedback (and pays me on time). I enter a flow state and only come out of it because my alarm rings. It’s the end of my working day.

I pick my daughter up from school, and we take her scooter over to the park. We catch up with other school mums and we vent and we laugh and we don’t bitch. No small talk.

At home, I have time to cook a hearty meal. I have time to crack eight eggs in a bowl and whisk them and add potatoes and capsicum and feta and parmesan and herbs. The eggs are from the chooks in our garden, and the capsicum is from Wonky Box – perfectly imperfect veggies rescued from landfill as they are not pretty enough for the mainstream stores (I get how they feel).

We eat out on the deck and I catch the hills again. This time emptied of cows but full, so full of the sunset. The air has a slight chill to it. It’s autumn – my favourite.

We sit on the deck under the fairy lights and we talk and we laugh. We share how our days went and everyone gets equal time to speak and to listen.

We watch the moonrise – it’s full. It kisses the hills and welcomes the constellations. So many stars out here in the country – the sky is so much bigger out here.

I tuck my daughter into bed after reading her a chapter book. She goes to sleep straight away.

A babysitter comes over, and hubby and I go to watch a play or an indie film at the movies. We get choc tops and popcorn, and I take the choc off the choc top with one big bite and dip it into the popcorn, and he doesn’t roll his eyes or think I’m embarrassing. We hold hands and our knees brush against each other.

At home we have music, and we connect.

And my life is beautiful. It’s not extravagant or luxurious. But it’s full. So, so full. 

(This post was first shared on LinkedIn as part of the #linkedinstorychallenge by Lizzie Davidson).

Add comment