The Sweetest Thing

After taking my keys out of the ingnition and holding my coat over my head to keep dry from the rain, I ran for the front door. Strangely, no welcome banner, no crowd of people waiting for me in the foyer with a homemade cake and a bouquet of balloons. None of that.

I opened the door and heard the hum of the vacuum.

My daughter, wearing her pink baseball hat, a halloween t-shirt, Dora socks and pants that were 2 sizes too small said, "Momeeeeee, you're home!" before running to me and squeezing my leg.

I love it when her Daddy lets her dress herself.

I noticed that my husband was diligently vacuuming downstairs, so I decided not to disturb him and instead, headed upstairs to the boy's bedroom where I could hear the cacophony of their laughter sprinkled with the sounds of some playful wrestling noises.

As I stood in their doorway and waited for them to notice me, it occurred to me that their behavior didn't bother me at all. I wasn't annoyed with the fact that McRae was basically sitting on his brother's head. I wasn't annoyed that there were two night's worth of pajamas wadded up in a corner and a bright green slime starting to grow on the walls of the fish tank. I wasn't bothered by the "odor" most likely coming from a cereal bowl that had been sitting on someone's nightstand for more than I want to know.

It was a moment frozen in time.

And no longer than a few seconds had passed before they both noticed me standing there and jumped up from their floor and ran to my side, wrapping their long boy arms around me and looking up at me like I was Miss America, or Hannah Montana - to them.

"We missed you mom," they said.

And no sweeter words were ever heard.

Ever.

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