I love the pinking of the sky and the rising of the sun out my kitchen window. I love the glowing of the embers from the fire of the night and the rustling of the pages as I begin my day in truth. I love the gurgling of the coffee pot and the beeping of the toaster. I love the writing notes on napkins and filling lunches with goodness for the day.
I love the morning groaning and the, “I just can’t get out of bed today,” and the seeing disheveled hair and pillow creased faces and the wrapping little boys in green and blue bathrobes. I love the tiptoeing of a sunshiny redhead and the sneaking to scare us each morning and the smothered giggling and the brown eyes peeking.
I love the talking and the reading and the praying and the sharing we do each morning. I love the swelling of music from the playroom as she picks out a CD for the boys to get dressed to and the face wiping and the shoe tying and the kissing and the signings of “I love you” as they drive away for the day.
I love the half-making of her bed with crooked covers and the beaming of pride on her face when she dresses in mis-matched clothes.
I love the Monday shopping and the walking through stores and the humming and skipping and dancing. I love the choosing foods off the shelves and helping her put them in the cart. I love the trying to carry grocery bags into the house and always picking the heaviest ones and the getting halfway to the door before the dropping it with a huge, “Mommy, it’s just too heavy! I’ll hold the door for you instead.”
I love the piling of laundry by the washer and dryer and the helping me sort them and the using her hand sanitizer because “those clothes are dirty, Mommy.” I love the smelling of sheets fresh out the dryer and the sitting on the bed and the “guessing” whose clothes belong to whom while I fold them.
I love the talking on the phone and the reading emails from loved ones. I love the unexpected arriving of a friend in my morning and the sipping of coffee and the sharing of hearts and the speaking of truth and the encouraging in struggle.
I love the falling asleep on the couch together and the after-nap snuggling, the leaning of her warm little body against me and the wiping sleep from her eyes. I love the sighing and the yawning and the stretching. I love the holding her for what seems like hours as she’s trying to wake up (but is never long enough), then the gulping water down as if she hasn’t had any for days.
I love the tiger mask perching on her head and the brown vest wrapping around her little body and the “grrrrring” to scare me and the laughing when I scream.
I love the running to the window every time a car drives by our house and the dejected slumping of her shoulders when it’s not the boys arriving home. I love the jumping up and down when she hears the gravel crunching and the car doors slamming and the pounding of shoes on the steps. I love the hands clapping because “my bwudders are home!”
I love the curling up on windy days to the howling through the eaves and the drinking hot chocolate (“with marshmallows, please”) and the eating popcorn and playing card games all wrapped in blankets.
I love the creating awareness with the “save the bat” posters taped to my windows and lovingly drawn by a boy who’s heart for animals means we must keep the bat population from going extinct. I love the holding of plants by milk cartons on my windowsill and the creeping of green beans from their buds and the grinning that beams when he sees they are growing.
I love the piling of napkins on my counter because I haven’t found a place for them and “you can’t throw them away, Mommy! You wrote notes to me on them for my lunch and I want to keep them forever.”
I love the baking together and the cooling of the banana muffins on the counter and the aroma of pumpkin candles filling my home. I love the chicken reheating in the oven and the two little guys anticipating the gnawing on the legs for supper.
I love the setting of the table and emptying of the dishwasher and the “working together to get the job done.” I love the sitting around the table and the checking manners and the telling stories from our days. I love the clearing our dishes and filling the dishwasher and the packing lunches and the helping quickly “so we can play more before bedtime.”
I love the cleaning up and the footy jammies and the smelling of mint toothpaste when we’re kissing goodnight. I love the calling Daddy to say good night and the hugging of the phone. I love the praying and the singing and the tucking in and the “there’s nothing my God cannot do, FOR YOU!”
I love the journaling and the remembering and the thanking I can do while I am waiting for my man to arrive home from DC. I love the seeing his face and the weary grinning as he walks through the door. I love the building of fires and the checking in to kiss the children and the curling on the couch in each other’s arms.
I love the reflecting on my day and forgetting the whining and the frustrations and the pain. I love the finding contentment in all the beauty of just being together and being who we are.
I love the living.