Raspberry Iced M

Since this month’s posts have centered around the “ordinary” that has become my life, I offer a breakdown of my normal weekday routine and explain where I can be found at any given moment during the day.

• 7:30 a.m. – I am usually awake, even if I can’t bring myself to climb out of bed yet. If the dogs are moving, I get up and give them belly rubs and good morning kisses before I pick both of them up and carry them to their kennel so that they can go potty. My one complaint about this is that sometimes I have to pee, too, but am forced to hold it so that my carpet remains clean and unsoiled by these rotten puppies.
• 8 a.m. – I log in for my work day, remotely. I check emails and make sure there are no emergencies. I live in Louisiana (central time zone), but I work for a law firm based on the west coast. So when I log in at 8:00, it is only 6:00 in California. I like it, though, because I am not a morning person, and I don’t enjoy logging in to a billion emails. 8:00 to 10:00 is just a warm up.
• 8 a.m. – It is also around this time that my husband arrives. He’s a nurse, and he works nights. Sometimes he arrives a little earlier and comes into the bedroom to retrieve the dogs so that I don’t have to. But he always waits for me to get up and moving, and we talk about his night at work insofar as my tired, does-not-function-at-full-capacity-in-the-mornings brain allows. He starts my coffee for me, too, because he knows me better than anyone.
• 8 -9 a.m. – After we talk and I’ve put out any work fires of my own, I grab a shower and get ready for the day. If I have plans in the afternoon, this “get ready” block includes hair, make up, and jewelry. If not, I usually throw my hair in a low ponytail and put moisturizer on my face and chapstick on my lips. My work attire consists of leggings, sports bras, sweatshirts, and that darn chapstick. I am so addicted to chapstick that I literally reached for the tube at my desk just because I typed the word.
• 9 a.m. – I am usually dressed for the day. Before I go back to my computer, I start a load of laundry. My husband and I continue to chat – sometimes about how the dogs behaved after he left for work the night before, sometimes about an epiphany I had in my sleep. Sometimes I tell him what I read most recently in the Bible. Sometimes we talk about things we need to get done. Sometimes he has a tale from his shift the night before. The contents vary, but a discussion is always had.
• 10 a.m. – I am about two cups of coffee in by now, and my husband retreats to our bedroom around this time. Around this time, you’ll find me at my desk, plugging away, committed to completing my task list. I love working from home. Not only can I wear what I want, but I also don’t deal with office drama. I work for one attorney, technically, who just became Partner. No news is good news, and he is really great about not micromanaging.
• 11 a.m. – 4 p.m. – I will switch over the laundry I started earlier, but this block is used to prioritize work. I might grab a snack around 1 p.m., but that’s about it.
• 4 p.m. – My husband is usually awake by this time. He comes out of the bedroom and gives me and the dogs kisses and asks how my day is so far. Once I provide an answer, he hops onto his own computer for an hour or two while I finish up.
• 5 p.m. – By this time, my brain is fried and my fingers are tired of typing. I log out of my remote desktop. Sometimes I sit for another half hour browsing the web or shopping online. I’ll draft a blog or research a topic that’s popped into my head. This block is also used to decide on dinner.
• 6 p.m. – It’s dinner time. I’ll admit right now that I really hate to cook. I will if it’s needed. If not, I’m probably Doordashing something or sending my husband out to pick something up. When he returns, we eat together.
• 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. – Dinner has been eaten and the t.v. has been turned on. My husband grabs his shower and gets ready for work and then settles back into his recliner, where he grabs a nap, while I watch t.v. and love on the dogs. I use this block to work on the house or other project. At around 8:30 p.m., I start working on my various journals.
• 9:15 p.m. – My husband’s alarm goes off and he wakes up, grabs his energy drink and yogurt and/or leftovers that he’s taking to work, kisses the dogs and me, and takes off. We usually exchange TikToks on his way to work, and he’ll text when he arrives at his job, especially if something weird is happening. Two nights ago, he pulled into the parking lot alongside 4 Sheriff’s deputies. Last night, he was notified that there were 4 new patients that needed to be triaged. His stories vary, but his consistency in texting me does not. Meanwhile, I’m at home, continuing to journal while my Shih-poos chase each other and pull each other’s ears.
• 11 p.m. – It is around this time that my dogs start looking in my direction to try to gauge bedtime. Sometimes I can eek out another hour of t.v. before they really get restless.
• 12 midnight – By this time, I’m being pressured to go to bed. I make my way to the bathroom where I change, wash my face, and apply more chapstick. Then I have to catch my little guy, Benny, who thinks it is funny to hide under the bed so that I cannot pick him up to actually put him in bed. Our older baby, Ozzy, is much more obedient. He lays on his back and silently requests belly rubs before I pick him up, give him lots of kisses, and place him at the foot of the bed before I climb in myself.
• 12:15 a.m. – Once the dogs settle, I use the next half hour or 45 minutes to read my Bible. The dogs makes their nests and are down for the count by this time.
• 1 a.m. – I wrap up my reading, turn off the lamp on my nightstand, and turn on a YouTube video, and I usually don’t finish ten minutes of it before I am also asleep.

I’ve typed all of this, and it is only further confirmation of how boring I am.

Routine has a weight to it.

Not an exciting weight.
Not a glamorous one.
It’s the kind you barely notice until one day you realize what you’ve been carrying for months.

Like I’ve already described. Wake up. Go to work. Wash the dishes. Fold the laundry. Pay the bills. Pray. Read. Go to bed.

Most days it feels like my life is made up entirely of repetition. And if I’m honest, I wonder, sometimes, if I’m making progress at all. I guess that is because routine doesn’t usually feel rewarding.

No one applauds you for making your bed. No one throws a party because you loaded the dishwasher. No one notices that I chose patience over irritation. Or honesty over convenience. Or discipline over distraction.

Routine doesn’t feel important in the moment.

But chaos has a weight too. And I’ve carried it. It’s heavy. Always wondering what’s next. Always putting out fires and reacting instead of responding. Living from one emotional emergency to another.

That kind of life feels more important, in a sense, because chaos requires our nervous systems to be on high alert. It’s exhausting.

Routine is heavy. But chaos…it’s heavier.

The funny thing about routine is that it doesn’t usually change your life overnight. It changes it almost invisibly. One tiny, committed, respectable decision at a time – decisions that aren’t noticed from one day to the next.

But six months later…you’re not the same person.

There are mornings I’d rather stay in bed.
Days I don’t feel like writing.
Evenings when the laundry can wait.
Moments when the easiest thing to do would be to run out of sheer fear of turning into someone monotonous.

But feelings make terrible foremen. If I only build my life on days that feel exciting, or even on days when I feel motivated, I’ll spend most of my life waiting. Routine is teaching me to keep going when inspiration calls in sick.

In the way the Israelites gathered manna every morning…
In the way priests offered daily sacrifices…
In the way Jesus withdrew to pray…

Nothing flashy. But always faithful. And if He is comfortable with ordinary rhythms, maybe I should be, too.

There was a time when I lived for milestones. The finish line. The breakthrough. The answered prayer.

Now I’m trying to appreciate the middle – because that’s where most of life is lived – when I recognize that making my bed isn’t just “making my bed.” It’s stewardship. Or when I choose to see “going to work” as providing for my family and not just a daily chore. Or when I perceive reading by Bible as feeding my soul and not just checking a box. Yes, the tasks are ordinary. The purposes for those tasks are not.

There’s a weight to keeping a routine. But it’s a weight that builds strength instead of breaking it. The weight of keeping your word, of choosing integrity again, of showing up when no one is watching.

Maybe that’s why I am embracing it. I don’t think the life I want can be built in extraordinary or dramatic or glamorous moments. I think it will be built under the steady, faithful weight of doing the next right thing…over and over again…until one day, I’ll look behind me and see that all of those not-so-interesting decisions add up to a life inside which I can function, and not just survive.

Routine is heavy, but so is regret. I’d rather carry the weight that builds something.