A Moment Of Calm

The house is quiet.
Sticky surfaces, crumbs and milk have been erased, bricks confined to their boxes, books - spines realigned - returned to shelves and PJs folded neatly on the pillow.
I breathe it all in. The dust hangs undisturbed in the sunlight, willing me to be still.
But there are jobs to be done. Always jobs. Dishwasher, laundry, bills, rubbish...
I turn the coffee machine on, the roar and buzz echoes in the kitchen as the milk froths. Then quiet again. Magical.

I sit at the table, coffee mug warm in my hand, and l look out of the window. Such a simple act, feels like I've forgotten something. Not even the wind dares distrurb me today. And this is it. This moment is everything.

My boy is playing. With other Children. Elsewhere.
My girl is out with her Mama, enjoying the day.
And I am held by a feeling of freedom and space as a I watch a pair of buzzards swoop and drop over the back field and across the mountain.
I never want this moment to end.

I don't like to say it outloud though. I hardly even dare think it. I LOVE my babies. I do. I don't want them to be gone, I want them to come home and be noisy and messy and sticky again. In a bit though.
Because after 398 consecutive days of train tracks, 149 episodes of Chuggington, 40 attempts at cooking together which ended in the bin and in tears, I just want to enjoy this moment.

I want to soak it in to every oily, open pore, every new, undied, uncut strand of grey hair, every wobbly cake-filled inch, in the knowedge that this - THIS - is what I need. No home-made soda bread, no YouTube excercise class, no juice plan, yoga course, night cream, day cream or even ice cream, nothing can heal my mind and my body more fully than just this.
Coffee and silence.