Today, I get to share a friend with you. She’s brilliant, talented, supportive, and kind. She is there when you need her, and even when you think you don’t. Her words will draw you in and make you feel at home. Truly, she needs no introduction. Please…enjoy her words here, but then visit her there…because Galit Breen is someone you need to get to know.
I make my way downstairs, by feel, and by dark.
Each first breath and morning stretch and slipper step is much too loud for this early quiet.
Above, I hear Jason get ready for his own day. His suit and tie a sharp line to the fuzziness that I now know best.
Outside, dark is just giving in to light. The sky’s smoky blues and shocking reds peek through blackened trees.
A neighbor brightens a single light. It shines alone, and seeps into my kitchen.
For a moment, I pause, splay my fingers onto the counter, and wonder why she’s up so early.
My Mind Pencil starts weaving her details quickly, filling in -sketching, even- what I don’t know.
I force myself to look away, busy my hands in my own kitchen, focus on my own story.
Jason’s steps gentle toward me, he is as careful as I am. It’s my birthday, and we want to start the day just the two of us.
And we do.
We sit knee to knee, share coffee steam and croissant sweetness, our elbows grazing, our voices murmuring.
On this day of new and fresh and begin, we’re focusing within.
And while the rest of my day will be loud and messy and more about my children than me, this is the perfect start.
Some gems are bold, bright, easily grasped.
The sweetest of belly laughs, the warmest of laced fingers, the strongest of wrapped arms.
And when we slow down and bite back “Be carefuls” and “Not nows,” they’re there.
But others, need to be carved out.
And that’s exactly what this moment was.
A chance to connect and charge, better at each of our days for having started it enveloped within a single light, alone in the dark.
When Jason and I got married, a friend gave us a card that read, “The best thing a father can do for his children, is love their mother.”
We used to feel and do and be this so easily.
But a decade and three children and several careers and a house and chores and so very many responsibilities later, these gifts are more often planned, than not.
(They mean just as much this way.)
Kayli and Chloe and Brody make their way downstairs as Jason slips out the door; our days officially Different for the next twelve hours.
They’re sleepy eyed and pink cheeked and an absolute blend of the two of us.
I clear Jason’s and my dishes away, swap them for the kids’ Birthday Breakfast.