Warmth

Warmth is what I feel the moment Maile falls asleep for her nap. Teddy snoozes nearby, never more than a couple of feet away from 'his' baby. No matter how our morning has been, in that moment -- even if it's just for that moment -- I always feel like my life is perfect.

Prompt: A moment in your day.

Breathe

Our gorgeous girl with her morning chamomile -- and some pretty serious bedhead. Sometimes the photos I think I "messed up" end up being my favorite.

Take a deep breath, and breathe.

It's easy to forget sometimes.

Some afternoons, Maile is leaning out the back door, jumping up and down yelling, "Woooooow! Jet. airplane! Jet. airplane!" as fighter jets scream overhead. I'm trying to make the most of my 15 minutes of phone time with Tim. I yell, "Do you see Mommy on the phone? I'm talking to Dada, so just be quiet for a second!" A moment later, I'm kneeling in front of Maile, apologizing ... asking for a hug. But she doesn't hug me just yet. Because I forgot to breathe.

Some mornings, as I'm dashing to the compost bin with eggshells, I trip over our mopey English Cocker Spaniel, Teddy, and I dramatically sigh, "Gahwd, Teddy! Why are you always under foot?" And I forget to breathe.

Some evenings, Tim is snuggling me a little too tightly. I'm hot and uncomfortable, and I can't move because there's a toddler on the other side of me. I shove him and hiss, "Babe! Move over!" I forget to breathe.

If I remembered to breathe, I'd see the joy of toddlerhood. A new and exciting experience. A little girl whose mind is so completely and totally blown, that she absolutely cannot contain herself. I'd put Tim on speakerphone, take Maile on my lap, sit on the back stoop and say, "We're counting the jets as they touch-and-go. Count with us! One ... two ... three ..."

If I remembered to breathe, I'd toss the eggshells in the sink, lean down, and give one of the most loving dogs on the planet a scratch behind the ear. "Good morning, Bear," I'd say.

If I remembered to breathe, I'd pull Tim's arm around me a little tighter. I'd kiss his hand and whisper, "I love you." I'd think to myself that after almost 6 years of marriage, my husband still wants to hold me as closely as he did in our first year of marriage. I'd tell myself that I'm the luckiest girl. And I'd kick off the comforter.

Don't forget.

Take a deep breath.

Breathe.

Prompt: A piece of advice you have for others. Anything at all.

Thank you to Christina, for introducing me to this project, and encouraging me to participate!