I found perfection last night in a hot bathtub, my knees hooked over Ben's thighs, my head on his chest. We sat like that, in the dark, in the steam, without talking, without thinking. Then we reluctantly climbed out of the giant bathtub, which from now on will be referred to as Gulliver's lap pool, and went to sleep.
I found perfection at dinner tonight in pork chops simmered in mushrooms, salted baby potatoes, green beans and the garlic buttered rolls I have mastered. It tasted delicious. Like summer, only when you don't barbecue and fire up the whole kitchen instead.
I found perfection in that fleeting thought again that this is it. Roll the windows down, turn the music up, send a happy text message and enjoy that moment. Dig into the soil with both hands and sift through the cool damp earth as you put the roses where you want them and the lilac where it will be visible to everyone coming to visit. Let the sun warm your skin and relish the quiet of the woods. Consider a day at the beach while crossing off another day of work from the big list of how to move a whole household to the other end of the country again.
Breathe, Bridget.
I've had a little reprieve from Satan, who is away right now, a little relief that I didn't miss something I dearly wanted to see which will never happen now but that's a lot better than missing it while it takes place without me, and some incredibly tense moments with Ben recently. I've had to let some things go and stand my ground on others. I've had to roll with the punches and stand up and fight back.
Maybe it's all in a day's work. Maybe this is life. Maybe this is what Dalton calls the meat of your day, and we are all carnivores fighting over the same carcass. Maybe life is a cruel joke but I'm laughing. Maybe pigs fly and only Lochlan can see them because he's the crazy one. Maybe I'm not the worst flutterer in the bunch and maybe it does take a village to satisfy a Bridget.
You'll never know until you own one of course. Unfortunately there is only one and she isn't yours.
She belongs to them (points over to the table full of viking rock stars and laughs).
So don't touch, unless you are expressly invited. Stick around and you might be.
