This Moment

I’m sitting cross legged, white satiny slippers still on my feet, on the soft white living room chair from Grandma Amy. I’m still in my pjs at three in the afternoon, resting, eating, trying to hold off a cold. Over them I wear a thick black robe tied at the waist. I normally forget I own this robe, but when a scratch in my throat, a tickle, a few sneezes and a cough tipped me to the need for extra care, I remembered the last garment all the way to the right wall in my side of the closet. I’m eating a second bowl of gf pasta, veggies and bison sprinkled with cayenne, garlic powder, salt and oil with the last spoonful of homemade tomato sauce. David is snoring on the couch. The curtains are drawn for David’s benefit. I’m listening to the sound track on a friend of a friends blog, mostly mellow female vocals.
The boys are on their grand adventure through every room of the house with great enthusiasm and creativity. First one then the other guides the dialogue with a “Now you say….” And the other one does. Back and forth like this for a while until a Gameboy or modeling clay slide their attention over. Their voices are a steady music in our house. Listening to them navigate reality is one of my treasures.
The list includes making gf blueberry muffins that aren’t vegan to see how main stream I can make them, writing another post for the 30 in 30, lots of liquids, getting the laundry current, staring at sleeping David while thinking appreciative thoughts, and just maybe drumming with Matthew and Devyn…later, once daddy wakes.
Normally I like the curtains pulled back. I like all the days light to stream through, attach itself to every surface, dance with the colors. But today, only a line of light rests across David’s blanket by his feet. Otherwise the room is dim, almost demanding gentleness, though demanding is not it’s way.