Lennon and Harrison are both wearing long t-shirts. I'm envious of their pantslessness, but I have boundaries and lines and rules about that sort of thing. My jeans stay put, but I take my socks off, because it's Saturday night, and I'm setting the dress code.
I go ahead and give Harrison a bottle. He doesn't need a bottle. He doesn't even necessarily LIKE bottles. But he hasn't done the "Toddler Fall" once today, and he may have said "nen-nen" which is way too close to Lennon. I feel like his babyhood is slipping through my fingers. I will rock him to sleep tonight. I bet Lennon lets me rock her to sleep, too.
Harrison is playing on a rocking horse, and pretending to read a junk mail brochure for Home Improvement companies. Lennon is measuring the television and the walls and her foot with a tape measure she found in the hall drawer. They are completely clueless about how adorable they are being.
Eric isn't home. He's out getting me a shaved ice from a place called Bahama Bucks. I won't apologize for the name, because their peach and lemon flavors reminds me of my dad, who I miss tonight. I love my husband. I really, honestly love him.
The house is a clean messy. The overhead lights in the kitchen and living room are creating a color experience I haven't found a name for, but that everyone knows (poorly-lit room at night? close enough...) I hear a clock, and an air-conditioner, and the creaking of the rocking horse, and the crackling of metal from the measuring tape, and the faint sound of a garage door opening, and I feel really happy tonight. Thanks for stopping by to read about it.