Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Routine.




We didn't get dressed today. I showered and wore perfume and brushed my teeth. 4:52pm. Just before you came home from work, dress shirt and slacks, handsome, as you are. The boys hear the keys clank against the door. They run. Morg squeals and Danny's fat little legs can't carry him fast enough. He falls on the floor trying to get to you. He gets up again, (a few times, at least), and makes it to you. Home at last, you are. I am glad. 

Pancakes for dinner, because I'm reeling, you know. The shift in seasons getting the best of me like always.    

I'm standing at the stove with cool bare feet. The day was long. Your hand finds my waist and we find a moment as we tuck ourselves behind the kitchen wall where the littles can't see. We're found out soon enough, little hands tugging at our legs, but not before I lean into you and press my lips to your neck and exhale the day, breathe in and out enough to think for a while how thankful I am for you. And for our little life. For being exhausted, safe, happy, warm, sheltered, fed, loved.

That is how I felt today.
   

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