I am linking up to Gypsy Mama's Five Minute Friday.
My duffel bag sits, opened, contents spilling onto the floor, in the dining room. Cold pumpkin-flavored soba noodles are stuck to the floor around my feet, remnants from William's dinner. He is in bed, snuggled up warm and cozy in his footed pajamas, rocked to sleep by his daddy's strong arms. We have just come home from a night away, and the kitchen I cleaned before we left is messy once again. Laundry to be washed, dishes to scrub, acorn squash already roasting in the oven. I sit for a few moments and take it all in. The still of our house. The quiet of the kitchen, only the sound of the gas hissing slightly in the oven. The brown sugar and butter squash aroma filling the air. The ordinary beauty of it overwhelms me. Here it is, this is ours. This is our home, this is our quiet. Our space that we have adorned with love. There has been hurting, for sure. Two lost little babies, my babies, my own, gone and gone. Babies that I don't know, don't hold, save for in the startling vividness of my nighttime dreaming. I have seen them only then. Longing, and joy, and sorrow. Happiness and fussiness and monkey socks and freshly baked bread and cookies in the oven. Bible verses about loss and grace and hope being repeated over and over again, never losing their relevance or their comfort. The kitchen timer beeps and I pull dinner from the oven.