Stacks of valentines are pushed aside. Glue dries. Lunch is served and dishes piled in the sink. “Can we go outside now?” “Yes,” I answer. All but one run out to play. Now’s the time to work on those last 6th grade Math problems.
Two division down I scan the backyard through the window.
Where is he?
The youngest that heads to the deepest, prickliest part of the wood. I don’t see him. I open the back door and ask the rest that are deep into a play story.
“He’s in the woods.” I don’t see him. Still don’t see him. “He was near the compost pile.”
I said yes.
Thinking there wasn’t a reason today couldn’t be a special day. And they piled icing on.
And eldest son calmly asks as I turn from the trash. “Why?” He’s looking above my head now.
“Why, do we still have mistletoe hanging from Christmas?”
I don’t know, son. Maybe it’s all the messes because of the yeses.
And let us now be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not. Galatians 6:9
~from the January 2010 archives.
Counting the gifts of yeses. And yes, even the messes. Plus…
- a restful weekend.
- scarves to warm necks in winter breezes.
- socked feet.
- tater tot casserole.
- jonquils and crocuses peeking out.
- toasty by a warm fire.
- homemade biscuits.
- Saltine crackers and Gatorade for those under the weather.
- looking through these photos from two years ago.
- children’s races up and down the hall before bedtime. Crashes and giggles.