It’s quiet, but not for long.  The time change has made the morning darker, and the kids sleep on.  They’ll figure it out soon enough, and adjust their internal clocks much faster than I will, I’m sure.  But for now, they snooze.

I am always inclined to thoughtfulness when the house is asleep.

I think about how quickly my kids are growing out of their clothes.  Hemlines are shrinking, shoes are getting tight… they will not rest in their climb to bigness.  Ten years I’ve had to come to terms with it, and yet, I am always amazed when I turn around and see long legs and long arms, again.  No matter how much I hug them, I cannot squeeze them back down into little toddly things.  Old pictures make me bawl.  I don’t want them to grow up, but I do, but I don’t, but I do.  Such is motherhood.

The house sleeps on a minute more, and I think about how the week stretches out before me.  School, soccer, cleaning, nothing particularly interesting– but it’s good.  It’s life.  It’s a blessing.

At the bottom of my coffee cup, I think about Japan.  I ponder the news footage of orderly lines of people, waiting on food and supplies.  I think over the fact that there is no looting- how wonderful and lovely amidst such devastation.  I pray that good things will come from the ruin- that God is found in the rubble of people’s lives.

Only a minute more, I can sense it.  Faint stirrings signal the countdown to togetherness again.  Slight rufflings of sheets and pillows let me know I must turn my attention to what to make for breakfast, what to make of the day for them.

The week begins again.

And it is good.