The Green Couch

So, I have been thinking about all kinds of things I want to ramble on about all week (torture. ordinary women. birthday parties. imperial weights and measures versus metric. a light cheese cake recipe I tried this week.) and maybe I'll give those subjects a chance later on--or maybe not. But right at this very minute, my husband is sitting on our old green couch in the library. He has four little people on his lap and crowded around him as he reads. They are all eagerly clutching their book--waiting for their turn. It seems to be Classics Night, as so far he has read "Where the Wild Things Are" and "Madeline," and it looks like a Jan Brett book is on tap.

We spend so much time with the busy-work that goes into living (and remodeling, and going to school, and homeschooling, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.) It's easy to get stressed out and get my priorities out of whack. But this thing that's happening on the green couch? That's who we are. That's the heart of our family--love and tenderness and togetherness. There isn't even any pushing or yelling or name-calling. Can you frame a moment and keep it forever?