So my weekend was perfect. No not perfect in the predictably perfect candlelit-dinners-and-new-shoes-and-sunny-beaches-and-got-engaged sort of way. (Not that I'm against any of those things. Because I'm not.) Instead it was perfect in a much less fancy sort of way.
I saw good friends and we sat around drinking wine and lingering over dinner. Held my friend's baby and made him laugh. Walked with Mr. Mason and my Math Man and we chatted and held hands. Took Mr. Mason out in his bike trailer and logged six miles. (And he only cried for about one--Progress! We're on our way to our plan to bike/camp in Florida) Watched Glee. Ran one mile without stopping! (HUGE progress!) Enjoyed the sunshine. Chased squirrels with Mr. Mason. Napped. Had Lilly's Pizza.
Of course, also this weekend I had to do some work on Saturday and Sunday afternoon and it went slowly because it's a case I'm not really enjoying. I had to hand wash the dishes. I got overzealous about spring at the grocery and was rewarded with a rather sad mushy watermelon for my enthusiasm. I might have scowled and grumbled when I stepped on the scale. I worked on my resume and wrote coverletters and felt anxious and discouraged. And, today, I didn't get President's Day off and so I was a bit jealous when I had to get out of bed when the alarm went off and Math Man got to stay, looking so comfortable snoozing with Mr. Mason.
That's just how my non-romantic, non-fairytale, perfect life goes. Five years from now I doubt I'll remember this weekend. But I think I'm pretty lucky to have this everyday my kind of perfect.