This is me sitting across the table from you, visiting over coffee. Or something.
In other words, I have no other picture to go with this post!
The kitchen is clean. Did I leave it that way?
No, the girls dance in,
"Do ya notice anything different, mom? We cleaned! The dishes and the table and the living room! I made everyone eggs and then we cleaned it all up!"
I am astonished until I later learn the internet was down and Megan was bored, so she cleaned!
I hug them both, feel blessed.
The months have flown by, busy, yet not. This summer my daycare was closed, so I was busy instead with garden and organizing and pool time and still trying to reclaim a sense of stability that had eluded us for so long. Good things and jobs and masters programs bring a new kind of stress that we fragile, still-recovering-from-spiritual-drought discovered was too much good, too quick.
So we took a step back (Robb is stretching out his MBA program) and are trying to reclaim and rebuild joy in each other and peace in what God is doing now that the storm is over.
He is good, ya know?
They say of husbands: "Happy wife, happy life." But I've found the reverse is true as well. Having my husband employed doing what he loves, with people he enjoys, brings me happiness.
I unpack my garage sale finds: the bread slicing guide I wished for two days ago when Mitchell laughed at my uneven slices, fun t-shirts for me, a decorative feather pillow to recover that I wanted for our living room last week, a set of teal mugs that match my kitchen...silly little things I don't even really need, yet there they were, the things on my imaginary wish list, provided, for pennies on the dollar.
I wash a new mug, set it under the Keurig for my late morning cup. The feeling begins to return to my lips. I take a sip.
I feel blessed.