When my children were little I didn’t work on Mondays and we had a regular Monday morning routine. We would go to the Y in the morning, so they could play in the  babysitting room while I exercised. Then, we’d stop by the bread store for a piece of cinnamon bread. If it was rainy or cold outside, the kids sat at the kid-sized table looking at books. If it was nice outside, we’d sit on the outdoor benches and watch the Metra trains go by. Afterwards, we’d go to the library, or a park. Then home for lunch.

When the children were in preschool we continued the tradition on random Mondays when they didn’t have school. On one particularly sunny late winter/early spring day my then four-year-old daughter sat on the bench, took a deep breath and said, “This is the life!” It made me so happy that she joined me in recognizing how special these seemingly normal times were.

The kids have never liked going to the babysitting at the Y unless they could both go, so over the past few years the routine has slowly stopped. But yesterday, on December 31, the kids asked if we could go to the Y. I hadn’t been planning on working out, but you know, I certainly needed it.

Afterwards, we went to the bread store. The kid-sized table was being used by smaller kids, so we sat in the high stools munching happily on our bread, looking out the window. I looked at my almost six and eight year olds and thought, “For now at least, this is still the life.”