It’s made up of such small moments, finest grains of sand filtering through an hourglass.
It’s the four of us around the breakfast table, one daughter barely awake, one picking at her food. It’s eggs on Monday and pancakes on Tuesday and get Daddy’s lunch packed before he leaves for work.
It’s our girls recounting kitty tales, one of them slipping into my bedroom to talk between school subjects. Math, history, science, grammar, and a lot of writing and a few tears.
It’s making lunch for us to share around the small snack table, then exploring an island with The Swiss Family Robinson, getting into trouble with Tom Sawyer, finding adventure on Treasure Island, or solving a mystery with Sherlock Holmes.
It’s the clattering of dishes as the girls unload the dishwasher, followed by moments of silence while they listen to Adventures in Odyssey, create with cloth and yarn and paper, read books under blankets on beds.
Piano keys pound, school work is done, the afternoon hours float by.
Daylight slides away, kitchen beams light and warmth and good smells.
Faces at the supper table, the day’s events recounted for Daddy, who reads us Bible words, then our heads bow and our hearts connect.
Quiet evenings, warm pajamas, good night kisses, bedtime prayers.
It’s the rhythm of our days in this season, moments in days that make up the years that will one day be our memories.
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