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Browsing Tag: peace

Because Peace on Earth Isn’t Really My Strong Suit

I told David recently that sometimes my idea of a heaven–a true heaven, entirely imagined but wholly a real place where we go when we die and live forever and ever, amen–would be the chance to relive our lives, exactly how they were, just without all the mistakes: none of the yelling. None of the gossiping. No fights, no personal cold wars, no shunned friends or hurt family members or crying children. It would be a chance to live our lives exactly how they’re supposed to be lived, in Ideal Land, where the children know they’re loved and you’ve never hurt anyone and you never go to bed at the end of the day cringing over that thing you said or that moment you let slip away. It would be a place where you made sure your neighbor knew you cared, and where you ensured the hungry were fed, and where you never turned away from someone trying to meet your eyes. It’d be a place where, if hurt or offended or upset, we’d get to react or move forward or jump past the pain in…

Because It’s Really Not That Hard

Last night, around six o’clock, David and I were cleaning up from an early dinner. His mom and cousin had come up to visit for the day and had just left, and now all three kids were playing, quietly, in the next room over, building towers and castles with some big baby blocks we’d unearthed from the basement. They call it “the new playroom,” the kids. The girls had stopped going down to the basement to play with their toys once it got cold and school started (funny thing, how young kids always want to be around us. I’m going to miss that one day, aren’t I?), and Cian’s at the age where he wants to do more, but I still have to be a responsible grown-up type and make sure he’s not climbing up bookshelves. Not the high ones, anyway. So Dave and I did what we said we weren’t going to do (HA), and shoved our giant dining table over to one wall to use as a craft table, threw down a rug (and by “threw down” I mean…

Morning, Beachside

The dappled sunlight was growing brighter through the thin white cotton curtains, dancing on the powder blue walls of the room.  David had already gotten up, leaving me to wake on my own in the silence of the early morning.  Both girls appeared beside me, asking to climb into bed. Saoirse:  “Can you you help me?” Quinn:  “I want down.  HELP.” I was on my side, eyes still half-closed, as the girls played beside me on the mattress with the new cars they’d gotten as souvenirs.  Saoirse was sprawled against my legs.  Quinn sat at my head, her little toes resting against my arms, driving her train in and out of the tunnel she’d made under the sheet.  The room was quiet save for the girls’s questions about their cars and the sounds of the wheels rolling over the bedspread.  It was 6:45 in the morning, on the fifth day of our vacation.  We had nowhere to go in a hurry.  Orange juice was waiting for them in the fridge. The sun grew brighter against the sky blue of the walls, and I closed my eyes again, listening…