Sharing a Moment

I’m sitting in a quiet house – the ticking of the clock on the book shelf and the hum of the furnace are my companions.

The sun is just beginning to rise, painting the sky outside my window.

The kids are still sleeping and I’ve just kissed my husband and sent him off to work.

This wasn’t always the case. For years he worked from home and our days would begin slowly – and a little later.

I am not a morning person so it was an adjustment when he first started the new job. For awhile he told me to just sleep in – he could grab some breakfast for himself.

So I did. I had his lunch packed and sitting in the fridge ready for him. He made himself breakfast and was on the road long before I was ready to start my day.

It was fine for a little while – but I gradually realized that I was missing something. It really didn’t feel right to start my day without my man.

So one morning, while he was in the shower, I got up and fixed him a nice breakfast. He looked confused at first as he walked into the well-lit kitchen and then broke into a huge smile when he saw the spread on the table!

I sat with him while he ate and he held my hand. I could see in his eyes that my small sacrifice made him feel cherished and loved.

I had discovered his love language.

It’s now become our routine. For the last 2 years I’ve had breakfast waiting when he comes down at 6:15. It might just be cereal and juice, but he doesn’t mind. Actually, he doesn’t demand or ask for anything, he just appreciates it.

We sit together for a few minutes in the quiet of the early morning and discuss the little things that couples talk about- the daily things of life.

What are your plans for the day? Can you stop and get milk on the way home? Could you mail the letter on my desk? Do you have any jobs for the boys to do?

Then I kiss him good-bye and send him off knowing that he is loved.

In an episode of The Walton’s, a young house guest comes down early in the morning and discovers John and Olivia Walton sitting at the table sharing coffee.

She describes it so well, “I knew it would be like this, the two of you sitting here together sharing a moment before you start your day.”

Yes, that’s just what we’re doing.

We’re sharing a moment, enjoying each other, reconnecting as we start our day.

We’re taking the time before the busyness of life interferes to appreciate each other.

Now that’s a moment worth sharing.

I‘ve linked this post up with Thought-Provoking Thursday at Some Girl’s Website and Wifey Wednesday at To Love honor and Vacuum.

Of Hair Cuts and Olivia Walton

I finally did it.

I cut my bangs.

Ever since Christmas I’ve been growing them out.

Why? I’m not sure.

I think it started when Dagmar had her hair cut and styled. As I sat there in the beauty parlor watching a professional turn my little girl’s pony tail into a young woman’s style – I started to feel a little dowdy. After all I’ve been wearing my hair the same way for years now.

Maybe it was the combination of country music and the intoxicating scent of hair product –  but I suddenly realized that I wanted a change. I would grow my bangs out and get a style.

The problem is that I have naturally curly hair. It doesn’t like change.  It does whatever it pleases on any given day. I’ve learned to subdue it by keeping it trimmed.

What was I thinking?

This life without trimming was fine at first – but slowly started to drive me crazy.

My subdued locks went wild with no restraint.

I actually bought <gulp> product to use. I gummed my bangs up with hair gel and sprayed them with hairspray – but as soon as I left the house the curls would bounce out every which way.


The family was supportive at first, although their eyebrows went up in amazement when the hair spray came out. Was their minimum maintenance momma actually using hair product?! What would be next? Heels?

When I would get discouraged the girls would say, “Just give it a little more time Mom”. Even my husband encouraged me to let it grow.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday was one of those incredibly awful bad hair days.

The humidity was high after two days of rain and no amount of hair product was going to subdue my errant curls.

I had corkscrews growing off my forehead in random patterns. I cringed every time I passed by a mirror.

I mentioned to my girls that I was ready to chop off those bangs – and in return I got wan little smiles that seemed to say, “Yes Mom – it’s time!”

This morning I casually mentioned to my husband that I thought it was time to cut my bangs. Even he agreed, saying, “Will you cut it yourself or go in to the salon?”

So I cut them.

It was such a relief.

I felt like myself again. It was comfortable. My curls and I were at peace.

I feel a little like Olivia Walton. In several episodes of the Walton’s she feels the need to make a change, to be or look different. Yet at the end of the hour-long show, no matter what she tried – soloist in the church choir or a new hairdo –  she realized that she rather liked things the way the were before.

She went searching for something that she already had.

Me too. It just took me four months.

But I found it – my very own style – the one that has worked for years.

It’s good to be back.