Straightening up, yesterday, I found this:
I don’t know which child made it, although I have a guess. I haven’t asked, yet, about the story behind it. What I saw, though, was a paper moth, silent on a chair in a quiet house on a busy morning. A gift.
In another room, another gift—art and light working together:
The glitter has been glued to the floor for a while, now, and I have no desire to clean it up. That may prove I’m a slob, or overly-sentimental, but it’s the truth.
These are the things I want to focus on, the things I hope will always draw my attention. We are not a tightly-run ship in this house. We are messy and complicated and growing, all of us. When I remember that, the gifts abound.
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