I woke up around 7 a.m. It was a cool morning, which would be enveloped by the spring sun in a few short hours.
I set the table with one of our standard meals: a toasted croissant, fruit, nuts. Milk for him, coffee for me.
My son started rustling. He heard my quiet noises in the kitchen and sat up just in time for me to scoop him up from the bed, his stuffed doggy in one arm, and bring him to the table in the other room.
We ate together in relative silence, only broken a few times by my son sharing about his art pieces hung on the dining room wall.
I made that.
I know. I really like it.
I used the sprinkles (referring to the glitter).
After breakfast, I started making my son’s lunch for preschool.
He played with his toys on the kitchen floor as he usually does at this point in the morning. A couple of minutes into his playing, he told me he wanted to sit on my lap “over there,” pointing to the couches in the living room.
He doesn’t usually ask for this in the morning so I sensed he craved some cuddle time. I told him that, yes, I would like that; I just need a few minutes to finish making lunch. The water was about to boil for his pasta.
My husband walked in. We smiled at one another, and he joined our son on the kitchen floor.
I finished preparing his lunch and told my son I was ready. He led me to the couch next to the window. I sat down first, and he sat on my lap. We pulled up the knitted blue blanket over our legs—the one my husband’s grandmother knit for him when he himself was a young boy. My husband was already under my childhood blanket on the other couch.
We looked out the window. The rain was falling. It rarely falls in San Diego. Perhaps this would be the last time before the summer.
My son started singing.
Rain, rain go away, come back another day. Mommy sings and dad plays. Rain, rain, go away.
My husband and I exchanged glances. “Did you teach him that song?” “No.”
I said, “I love the rain! So, we should say, ‘Thank you, rain, for coming today.’ Let’s sing a different song like this.”
Rain, rain, please don’t go away. The sun can come back, another day.
He continued his same song each time I ended my own version. I kept laughing.
My husband’s eyes were closed, enjoying our sounds.
I’m an ambitious and busy person. Long to-do lists cover my laptop and I constantly dream about what’s next.
This morning, we looked out the window, we sang, we laughed; and in that moment, there was nothing else that mattered and nothing else I wanted in my life.