Bread

"I woke up at 5:30," Jack says, "and couldn't sleep."

"Yeah," I say, "I heard you get up. I'd just got up to get a drink and couldn't fall asleep." Saturday-morning-family-breakfast, I'd spent the night with a headache. Jack like usual, made the big breakfast, with little additions from everyone else.

"Well," Jack says, "I came out -- and made apple crisp."

"Aw, really? Thanks," I say, his face radiant.

"I sais I would yesterday, but I was too busy making dinner, so I thought I would make make it now."

"Seriously," I say. "Thank. You. So much. I wondered about the cinnamon smell, but now that makes total sense. Thank. You."

He nods. I think about last Sunday him saying, Dad, can I ride with Mom? Ya know, so I can protect her. Protect and provide, it courses through his veins.


****

"Running errands with Dad is so different than running errands with you," Jane says. Most of Saturday-morning--breakfast cleared and cleaned, we sit at the table bench, back against the table.

"Yeah," I say, "how so?"

"Dad is just like zip-zip-zip, grab this, grab that, in - out," she says. "He doesn't really dwell on things." Gray jersey tee, french braid, loose with sleep, jeans and cowboy boots, she looks like a farm girl.

"He doesn't dwell on things much, huh?" I say. I watch her assemble shoulders and elbows into adult gestures, limbs so much longer than even six months ago.

"He doesn't dwell on them AT ALL," she says. "It's like he can't even see the stuff we didn't come to get." Her eyebrows raised, a pleasant grin mirrors their arc. I laugh. No wonder he's so fast.

"Yep," I say nodding, a grin pulling at my mouth.

"I mean I don't want to look at EVERYTHING, but he doesn't pause AT ALL," she says. She shakes her head, but her face is all pleasant enjoyment. So different. Craig, me. Jane, Jack. The simple bearing witness, sings melody and harmony.

Gratitude:

6142. Pictures with a dear, dear friend of Craig and me and my growing belly.

6143. "Your belly just gets more and more prominent each time," Jane says.

6144. "Jack has mastered the art of snarling like a beast where it echoes," she says.

6145. I get a sinus headache that is quenched with saline nasal spray.

6146. Les Miserable and The Singer, The Song, and The Finale, more thrift books for the library.

6147. A new (to me) iron skillet!! Bliss when it comes to cooking a full family breakfast, fried sweet potatoes and all.

6148. We watch the last presidential debate and note the passing of this political season.

6149. Betsy and Joe snuggle while we listen to an audiobook.

6150. The world's floppiest, scruffiest, softest stuffed bunny for baby boy.

6151. I figure out that a little apple cider vinegar can tart-en up apple crip just perfectly.

6152. Myra loses her first tooth.

6153. Leggings, black, the perfect pregnancy-wear.

6154. Darning needles. Sometimes nothing can sub for a good darning needle.

6155. The continual drip, drip, drip of art lessons from my mom.

6156. We take the blessings and the trials one by one. Melody and harmony, we weave them. Faithfulness in the ordinary, the unappreciated, the humble daily grind gradually rises to the surface. We eat it's bread.