I heard the Baby crying this week so I went to see what was wrong. As I rounded the corner I she lifted her tear streaked face from the Girl's shoulder who had been comforting her after she bonked her head. I'm thankful my children can comfort each other, and go to each other for comfort.
I can hear the GH laughing hysterically from the other room. I have no idea what he's watching that's so funny, I just love to hear the sound of his laugh. It makes me happy.
The sight of the Boy carrying the Baby over the dry grass to the swings at Beema's house, so she wouldn't hurt her feet. And her smile back at me over his shoulder.
That all the only memory left of an ancient ritual filled with fear and evil and human sacrifice is a tradition of dressing up and getting candy. And pumpkins that look vaguely like skulls with candles in them still. Imagine being so afraid.
That a school in Canada wants to send money to help Chala take care of his kids. Which is a god send because they need so much right now.
Getting paid, finally, several checks at once.
The now familiar shape of the boulder strewn hills against the gray sky as we drove tonight. I've learned to love it here. I know I can learn to love somewhere else as well.
The comfort of routine.
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