We love our mornings around here, especially as the sun is drawing us out into activity and hopeful attitudes earlier and earlier every day. On the more temperate Spring days that we’ve been experiencing lately, I’ve been opening the back door off the kitchen first thing in the morning. I leave the screen door locked only because Evelyn does her version of a sprint to it as soon as it’s open, to which Simone dramatically declares “She’s trying to exape!” Open windows and doors are close enough to the outside where we all want to be while I’m prepping breakfast and we go about our morning routine. I can’t help but frequently pause mid-task, hungry as we all are, and turn to take in the sight of our pajama-ed girls playing on the floor in streams of morning light. They have no idea how incredibly rich their lives are, though their contentment, at least for a time, expresses what they can’t articulate. So many thoughts go through my head. I think how I want to burn these memories into my brain and return to it long after we outgrow the ritual. I think about how much I love having two kids. I pray that God would give us more, there’s still plenty of room, and I know there always will be, wherever we go. I think of my own deep bond with my sisters, wrought in moments like this one when we were young and growing into the thickest of companions. I think of my mom and my mother in law and marvel at their love that I’m beginning to understand. I’m reminded of that special grace that comes with the newness of a day; everything about my being needs that dependable sun to set in the evening so that it can rise again in the morning and make things new.