I love being at home. It’s fun and fulfilling and relaxing and there’s so much coffee.
This week there are fewer feet on the hard wood coming in and out, in and out. There are youth trips and beach trips and work trips and for now it’s just three of us.
I’ve found there’s a lot of time to be still around here without all the traffic and it’s allowed me some time to steady my heart again and to be overcome with the thankfulness for family.
It’s the way she wants to make everything home-y with every swish of a paint brush and touch of decor, and the way she just wants to talk to me, or maybe her ability to overcome anything negative with her positive spirit. It’s the sound of a saw in the work room or the smell of the flipped burger on the grill and the way he looks as he goes out one door and through the other with the goggles sitting on his head, singing goodness-knows-what and joyfully taking care. It’s the beautiful melodies of her voice as she sings to the music playing in the bathroom as she gets ready and her ever-so-predictable need for a handcrafted packing list and a new outfit to wear; it’s the way she wants time with me and our bond over boy band tunes. It’s the pitter patter of her little feet and her small voice that gets so loud when she’s looking for me to play cards with her; it’s her loving spirit and all the strength I could ever want in such a tiny fit body.
There’s no one who gets me better and no one that could have been better fit for me. We’re strange and nerdy and all have pretty stinky vision, but we’re all that together. And I love it.