Tibault & Toad

a good morning

Mornings are quickly becoming my favorite time of day. Have I said that already? The kids go to bed around 10, and if I pregame their bedtime with a little toothbrushing, I can manage to get my head on the pillow by 10:30 and get a solid nine hours (which I really need) before my alarm at 7:30. If I'm lucky, that means a whole hour before the kids start to join us! This morning was especially quiet since Alan had a meeting and was gone by the time I made my way downstairs. The house was so still. Last night my mind had been burdened and racing with various (silly) anxieties, but this morning, sitting in the cloudy morning light in the kitchen and eating sourdough toast (with plenty of butter) on a bunny plate, they had faded to the background, as I knew they would. I was able to sip tea and have several complete thoughts before going upstairs to wake Indy. I set her up with breakfast before running a bath for myself. For a long time Indy has been taking baths with me, for convenience sake, but recently I've been letting her fly solo so that I have that time to myself again. Don't underestimate how good it feels to run the bath as hot as you want to. And I'm talking three degrees short of poach-an-egg hot. With a cup of tea balanced on the side of the tub! Which no one is going to knock over! Ahh. Much better than convenience sake. I was even able to get fully dressed before I heard Tenny grumpin' out upstairs. A good morning.

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look closely

(More lemonade, this time with fresh mint. Late night bath time, with a little brother who thinks splashing is hilarious. After-dinner smoothies, a can of full fat coconut milk with frozen tropical fruit. Seedlings under the grow lights, peppers and tomatoes pictured.)

Even though it's only 45 degrees out there right now, make no mistake about it: spring is nudging its way in. If I squint hard I can see the buds on the neighbors' trees just beginning to show the faintest whisper of green, and I can hear the birds (thank goodness they go by the hours of daylight and NOT the temperature) chirping faintly through the window. Monday was in the mid-sixties. Alan cleaned the porch, the cousins came over and played in the yard, and I raked the leaves out of one of the raised bed in preparation for some of the early seeds. I uncovered the garlic that Indy and I planted in the fall, and when I crouched down to check on it (it has, indeed, sent up beautiful green shoots!), the uncovered soil was teaming with thousands of new worms. The sight made me gasp and nearly brought me to tears. All winter long, stuck inside, and feeling so lifeless. Even looking outside you see only monotone shades of brown and grey. Yet there in the soil, so small that you have to lean close enough to smell the sharp notes of rotting leaves, there is life! (If it wasn't lent I would have let out a hallelujah!) It is undeniably gracious and good. 

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