I woke up this morning to the sound of laughter, the kind of laughter that comes from children who have known only the cool swaddling of blankets of innocence. Happy children who think a new day breaks just to give them another opportunity to eat grapes and suck lollipops in bed. Happy children who, this morning, have probably found the very lollipops I hid from them and are now burying those cherry-red candy sticks inside my duvet. But they are my children. And anything they do to the stuff I own is okay. Because stuff means nothing without people to share it with.
I sacrificed for them. I endured everything so I could have them. And their childish laughter is my reward.
One of the children, my baby, her voice raises an octave. She’s being tickled. I know that sound well. He’s awake too, his hair massaging my skin under the covers.
Somewhere, there is an alarm. Something telling me to wake up. That the rest of our family will be here soon. That somewhere, there are fans to greet and collaborators to meet. But I do it for this moment. This moment is the reason so I stay a little longer in it, letting the feel of sticky hands in my hair serve as my devotion. My every breath is a prayer. What else do you do when all your dreams have come true and every day is Valentine’s Day.
The above is an page from the journal I will keep ten years from now.
Valentine’s Day Linkup