It is Monday night. The street lights flickered on a few hours ago, lighting the way home for a few weary travelers.
It is Monday night and the children are asleep… finally. The twins made their last several trips down the stairs to report that they needed water or a song or a snuggle.
The baby, in her easy sweetness, fell asleep with a smile that lingered there even after her heavy lids closed reluctantly.
It is Monday night and the house is humming along with the dishwasher. The lights are dimmed, the counters cleared and the TV silent.
I feel content.
This is a rare feeling for me. I usually have a million things I’m thinking about and working on and wondering on.
But right now, in this moment, I am content.
I’ve felt this contented feeling before and squandered it with worry. This contentment resembles the achy happy tired feeling after a worthwhile day of work in the yard and a much-deserved shower. It feels fresh and exhausted.
Right about now – just as I am about to let out the long sigh of relief and happiness – is exactly when I want to start thinking about the next thing. But I won’t.
Maybe I am getting wiser with age. Maybe I finally learned to live in the moment.
But it doesn’t matter right now – just being here, in this space and in this gentle peace, is enough.