They loved the fog that appeared unexpected this morning, a relief, like a miracle, and the boy shouted, “It’s the first snow!”
They loved popsicles and good company.
They loved to splash in a few inches of water.
They loved a funny face, especially the really ugly ones that looked like exotic fish.
She loved the quiet, the morning, before the demands, the whining, the chaos of toys, shoes, socks, diapers, clif bars strewn across the kitchen floor. She loved that moment when she realized, They are asleep... and the exhaustion finally had permission to kick in.
She loved sleeping diagonally. She loved how cool the sheets felt, how the down pillow was just the right thickness and didn’t prop her head up too much but let it sink in.
She loved when she made a good paper airplane.
She loved when she said the right thing, when she didn’t yell, when she said yes. She loved when she said, please don’t do that, gently and politely and not in a scary way.
She loved when boy number one had just woken up and the sweetness of conversation, about the sky and questions like, “Why does a T-rex have such small arms when it has such a big body?”
She loved his questions, like the one after the blood draw, when he asked, “Where does all your blood go when you die?” and she was shy to answer because a doctor was walking by, but said it anyway, “Maybe it just dries up because you don’t need it anymore.”
She loved the songs he sings in the car, how out of nowhere he would burst into full musical theater about how he loves his bed but hates to sleep in it. “I love it! I hate it! I love it! I hate it!” and the more she laughed, the more animated he got.
She loved a good night’s sleep, a good cry, a good unenlightened venting with a friend about everything that’s wrong. She loved her Awakening Joy class and hearing Julia Butterfly Hill and thinking about her in that tree.
She loved how Julia said, “Our gifts are sourced from our wounds. They are two sides of the same coin.”