Thursday

The littlest one showed me her fairy garden, nestled in the daffodils.  Her narration was long and detailed, as always, and I can't recall a thing about how things really work in fairy realm.  But I was captivated by her expressions and her brown eyes, her little hands, her sturdy frame.  She walks in delight and loveliness and I get to visit her there, and see her, and be with her.

The tallest one, whose body looks more like a man every day, was annoyed by the reading workbook, so we went out to shoot baskets.  I used to pretend to defend him.  Now he reaches in and grabs the ball away if I dribble carelessly.  But he still snuggles in when we read Davy Crockett afterward.  I couldn't be more proud of a kid than I am of that one.

And, oh, Zoe-in-the-middle.  Her body was fighting a cold, but she has a surprising toughness in the face of sickness that makes me admire her. She brought her beloved scrapbooking to do while her brother had a drum lesson, and it's like looking in a mirror, watching her love to cut things out and glue them to the pages.  I read something tonight that made me close the computer and walk up to her room, long after she might have been asleep, just to tell her again  that she's precious to me.  She needs to hear it as I often as I think it, and I get to say it.

My husband.  We share the ridiculous things from the day, and the annoying, and the surprising.  He cooked dinner so I could run.  I threw paper airplanes with the kids so he could work.  He put them to bed so I could eat.  He always wins in the who-does-more contest.  And, in a bit, we get to end the day together, curled up and laughing and then sleeping.

It's just a Thursday, and I'm the richest woman in the world.