The alarm was set to 6 AM, the promise of a quiet cup of coffee shared with my love of now eight years penciled in before the work day began. Then half an hour before, my bed shook with the presence of two delighted little boys clamoring to tell me they beat the sun awake. What, why? Eyes glued shut, I could hear Hubby in the shower and early morning coffee date plans shattering. It’s ok, these are the blessings of a wonderful marriage climbing on my stiff and sore body. Rejoice. Happy Anniversary, fruit of the womb. I tucked them in my bed, “rest,” and stumbled into the kitchen to brew a larger than normal pot of coffee when a sad little cry drifted through the baby monitor. Still rubbing sleep from my eyes, I climbed the stairs as coffee dripped through a paper filter to find a baby awake a full two hours earlier than expected. She needed a complete outfit change and the comfort of mother’s milk, which I gave her, accompanied by the suppressed giddy laughter of boys who were undoubtedly making a pile of pillows and blankets on my bed. More fruit, reminders to my weary soul so desperately in need of reminding at that hour. Hubby joined me on the couch with a cup of coffee and we sat in the darkness, silently laughing at how children can both mess things up and make them better, all at the same time. Baby’s belly was full and she wanted to play, so on the floor she went, and to the coffee I walked, the brightness of the kitchen light making me squint.
There, on the counter, this:
It is such a happy life I live.
Boys dared to emerge from the bedroom, sunlight starting to brighten the house, baby squawking on the floor for a book she is not allowed to chew on, and a warm smile from a man who loves me well.
A Happy Anniversary, indeed.
|Date Night at Benjamin's|