A Sunday in Early May

Here’s a day to cold cups of coffee, finished at 1pm and curtains fluffed out over threadbare sofas, with half folded blankets. The living room rug that never comes clean of hair and fuzz. The piles of laundry that never end. Here’s to the moments of doubt, and confusion, or wondering what we are doing wrong, or what we are doing right.

But also a day for the small little hands and the round little eyes so filled with love and adoration. A day to be thankful for those little bodies that just want to share every moment with you, over, and over, and over,  even at five in the morning. A day to remember the sweet little person who so wants to please, as well as the huffy teenager, who really, also, wants to please but doesn’t know how anymore. A day to celebrate the moments with the middle child, who holds it all together so well, until they don’t and their world comes crashing down. They all need you, they all want you, they all love you so deeply. 

This is a Sunday to be thankful for lunches forgotten, papers that got lost, and socks that got wet. A day for finding the shoes left out in the rain, the glasses lost under the seat, and the kisses on scraped knees and elbows. 

The expectations we voice, and those we keep hidden, that maybe just for today, everything will go smoothly, everyone will be appreciative, and maybe we won’t have to pick up anybody else’s socks. 


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