on tuesday morning. . .

The rain splattered tears on the kitchen window. . . Sad to see summer really ending, and the leaves blanketing our backyard playground. I could feel every moment. And something quiet reminded me to take it all in. . . breathe the seconds passing on kite tails in the blowing wind. . . Feel the slowness of the starting day. . . And it just felt cozy. . .

I peeked out Jack's window at the dark sky, and woke him with whispers about Harry Potter. And then tiptoed to Luke's room. . . Good morning, my love. He is slow to wake because he coughed half the night with our shared headcold.

Dressed.
Breakfast and chatter. Watching Arthur on PBS. Making lunches.
Laughing.
Making noise.
Watching Ethan (who has finished his breakfast bottle), turn and slide out of his chair.
He crawls slowly to the fridge to munch on refrigerator letters and unused bubble wands.
Watching his boys (those big brothers)intently.
Waiting for the craziness to begin.

Making the most of the minutes before school calls them away. Playing Ants in the Pants with Luke on the kitchen floor. Reading a few pages from Harry Potter with Jack.

Shoes.
And raincoats.
And backpacks, Lunch boxes.

Sitting on the front porch watching for the school bus down the hill. We play I Spy. And talk about the world. Luke runs to the puddle in the sand and talks of sailing a boat after school. I look at his dirty knees and sandy shoes. So Luke. And I smile.

A rumble up the hill.
Kisses.
Waves.
Promises of a good day.

And I watch until the tailights are beyond my sight.
Always.

And I walk back to the porch. Seeing the ivy growing up the side. The footprints from the boys are starting to dry and fade.
Our home. Our moments.

And I walk into the quiet.