Couch, blanket, and goldfish


She woke up from her nap screaming. Rare, for her, but it does happen. She never has much to say afterwards but always seems shaken up a bit. I assume nightmares and wonder what a nightmare is like for a two-year old.

I had just woken up, myself. Not observing Sunday as a day of rest on a normal Sunday is one thing, I reasoned with myself. But not observing Easter as a day of rest is another thing altogether. So I put blinders on as I walked from her room to our couch, completely ignoring the laundry-dishes-scattered-toys-remnants-of-Easter-egg-hunting plainly evident throughout the house. And I napped.

M went to get her. He carried her down and placed her warm, sleepy, clingy body next to mine on the couch where she immediately cuddled into me. Warm, sleepy, clingy. My favorite kind of Baby.

We laid there quietly. Each of us slowly waking up. Settling in.

M brought a bowl of goldfish and we both sat up into snacking position. There, on the couch, the three of us sat quietly snacking. The crunching of small, orange fish the only sound.

Slowly we came into ourselves. She noticed the tiny faces on each fish. My fish kissed her nose. We munched and chatted. Mostly about how good goldfish taste.

Sure, we decorated eggs and hunted for them. We dressed up and went to brunch. We indulged in jelly beans way too early in the morning.

We celebrated Easter as Easter should be celebrated.

But the best part of my weekend didn’t involve eggs or bunnies. It involved our couch, my favorite blanket, my favorite people, and some cheddar flavored fish.

baby at the egg hunt


Linking up with Heather at the Extraordinary Ordinary for Just Write.


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