the little one rustles before the sun rises. she entertains herself for a bit with squeals and giggles before realizing her belly is empty, turning giggles to whimpers.
i know my morning routine well, a creature of habit.
put on glasses.
prepare bottle and baby food.
set up the ironing board.
feed baby girl.
change diaper & dress her.
breakfast for the big kids.
chase the peanut.
like a cd on repeat, every morning listening to the same tune. though it doesn't grow old. this is my theme song. my life. my heart, in four forms, walking around outside of my body.
eisley has developed a love for The Little House collection. we have read Little House in the Big Woods every day and night for a week. the words jump off the pages leading us to another time and place. a simpler time of corn cob baby dolls, fresh maple sugar, calico dresses and bare feet.
the little guy lives and breathes trains. he gives thomas, percy and edward character and their own special voices as his imagination takes flight. he plays for hours with that wooden track and those hand-me-down trains. we build tunnels while he sings how each one hufths and pufths in his best three year old voice. s's as th's and r's as w's.
that little one, wrinkled nose and toothless smile makes me swoon. pulling up like a big girl ready to conquer the world. she army crawls all over the house while i chase behind her making sure she doesn't find the bits of food that are inevitably always left on the floor.
investing my love and my heart in this one ugly-beautiful-messy life. yet there is a calling. one even jesus took time to answer, the call to quiet.
quiet [qui-et: noun]:: the absence of noise or bustle; silence.
i am called to it daily. it's a longing deep within my soul.
every day around 1pm i am gifted with the quiet. baby girl and the little guy go down for nap. my big girl outgrew naps long ago but we have always held this time as sacred. i had told her for what seems like ages now that our bodies need the quiet. we need refreshing so we can love well, be patient and unselfish. saying it to her is actually my own personal reminder to still my soul.
laundry calls. floors are filthy from tiny feet scurrying throughout the day. i let them sit for just a while my soul breathes deep the goodness of this life. thanksgiving takes place in my mind a chanting of sorts. having read the wisdom of ann voskamp telling us eucharist always precedes the miracle and lord knows i don't want to miss the miracles.
let us answer the call to quiet.
*just writing with heather