Friday was our Valentine crafting day. Just as I thought, Arden was a mad potato stamper. He completed ten pages of hearts and stars lined up in row, after row, after row. He has a logical mind, everything in order, that one. The rest of us made tissue paper hearts. Some out of obedience (Sam). Some genuinely enjoying it. Some enjoying the process then giving up in disgust half way through (me). And, of course, my plans to get the Valentines in the mail Friday afternoon were way too optimistic. I ought to have factored in the drying time of a quarter inch of glitter glue. Which is a long time. Silly me.
Yesterday we baked our brownies and the little ones frosted them. I stayed home in the afternoon with the sick one. I made soup and bread. She cut out hearts to hang from the chandelier in the dining room. I hurried dinner preparations. The bread almost had enough time to rise. I rushed around picking up the living room, which had been the sick room all night Monday night. I quickly decorated the table. But the little exclamations of pleasure when the kids walked in the door from soccer practice made it all worth while. They love a little surprise.
When we sat down to eat I had a moment to look at myself. Unshowered. Cruddy jeans. Frosting spilled on the front of my shirt. Water spots. I blushed. Women who advise you to change clothes and put on make-up before your husband comes in from work could have had a hey-day with me. Bryan just laughed and said, "Good thing it's not our first date." Then he ate another piece of bread.
Sometimes an old, comfortable love is the best love of all.
No comments:
Post a Comment