Yesterday, I had a Perfect Day. The stars had aligned and we had all travelled on the Friday night as a family for a somewhat spontaneous weekend on the coast. Saturday morning was pleasantly spent browsing the Moruya Markets with my daughter, after which she had been delighted to find a new lolly shop and I was delighted to find treasures in the 2nd hand shop. After lunch, those of us who were interested went to the beach. Nary a breath of wind, nor a single cloud to mar South Broulee on a glorious 28 degree late Summer day. Also no swell, which was disappointing for 16 year old surfie, but who could resist the glassy, blue green water? Not I. You could see the sandy bottom, and with no weed to tangle legs – it was bliss to swim out 100 metres or so and float lazily back in.
We eventually coaxed a smile from 16 year old, by playing Boogie Board rodeo and horsing around chucking his Frisbee in the water and then finally we collapsed on towels and sun-dried. It reminded me of Perfect Days as a kid when we would play in the sprinklers on the front lawn and then steam ourselves on the hot concrete of the driveway. Bliss.
Perfect Days aren’t arranged, they just seem to evolve. Saturday was a Perfect Day.
On the drive back home today, we stopped at Moruya so Stepford Husband, Middle Child and Daughter could stock up at the Lolly shop, leaving 16 year old and I in the car. I felt moved to tell him what constituted a Perfect Day for me – what it had been like as a kid and how it rarely translated as an adult. I thanked him for his part in my Perfect Day – concentrating on keeping any emotional waver from my voice so as to keep things light and not embarrass him with a sudden leap into deep discourse. As it was he was very quiet, gazing out the side window. Finally I turned to the back seat to give him a winning smile that accompanied my sincere thanks. And he turned to me, looked at me very seriously….and then he popped his earphone out and said “What?”