The morning brings fog, heavy against the glass of my bedroom window. A toddler crying early, a pre-schooler sleeping late. Delighted squeals at chocolate eggs, the fog lifting, then quickly change into jeans, t-shirts, fleece sweaters. Pile into the car with a panting dog, the park and playing, throwing sticks, pretending to be a marching band, loud barks, the dog’s splashes as she bounds into the water, running, chasing, tumbling onto the wet grass.
Back at home, I leave the deck door open, slather sunscreen on arms and soft cheeks, bake a pie beside an open window, listening to two little voices lost in an imaginary game.
Lunch on the deck, fresh fruit and cold water and apple sauce and some more chocolate eggs, then nap. Falling soundly into slumber, fine hair clinging to foreheads, innocent sighs of relief. And behind a locked door, lovemaking and kissing as the sun beams in the window.
Afternoon then, and the stronger sun blocked by hats. Gardening gloves for me, a bucket of soapy water for him. Pulling weeds and washing cars on opposite sides of the yard with two little girls running back and forth bringing it all together. Hose squirts and screams of glee and digging out weeds and raking up leaves and the fatigue that comes from being in the sun for the first time in forever.
Inside to finish the dinner, ham out of the oven and casserole and sweet potatoes in, the smell of warm food and love filling every corner of this house. Supper is laughter and broccoli battles and smiles and apple pie for desert and a plea to play for just a little longer.
But fingernails are dirty and hair is mussy and plop into the tub you go and scrub scrub scrub away the day. Jammies and tooth brushes and stories and songs and kisses. And through it all, a deep sense of wonder at these blessings that I swear sometimes I don’t deserve.
There is no answer to be found when I ask Why me? This love that unfurls, it pours endlessly out of my heart. To these children, to this man. And perhaps the biggest wonder, the biggest blessing of all, is how they keep giving it back to me. All my love that ever was, that ever will be and more, somehow. All that I give, all that I try, is matched, time and time again, and then doubled, tripled and is given, pushed, thrown happily back at me and although no answer ever comes, I dumbly ask, Why? Why me?