My husband is finally home. He doesn’t have another gig out of town until late next month and for that, we go with him. Afterwards, who knows? Maybe no more gigs away from his family. Maybe more than I care to acknowledge. Right now we are flush with touch, smile, support, and comfort, my twin spirit wrapping his strong arms around my big girl or cradling the tiny one off to sleep.
This morning a trip to the beach gave us the opportunity to hunt for treasures from the sea, build sand castles, and watch Maya romp in the channel or chase dogs in the waves. Anya crawling across the sand to chase an errant mother who had run off to take pictures and giggle with Lily at the waters edge. Sand everywhere, down the babies onsie, framing her eyelashes, shoved into her mouth with her own gritty hand. Lily dancing around excitedly in her parrot costume, shrieking with delight at all the dogs tumbling over each other and digging her toes into soft, moist sand, warm at the top layer but cool underneath.
Now I sit and type while Mark and Lily nap. Anya is chatting to and waving a sock around, happy after her own short nap. We both breathe in the smell of wet dog at my feet, salty and dank, sweet and pungent. We have no plans for the rest of the weekend but to be together; the sweetest schedule I could ever hope to keep.
