Jewel

The pre-dawn sky looked clear, and the air coming in the open window at the foot of my bed was not very cold. Peter's sleep breathing rose and fell from the bed across my room. I watched him for a while, a dark shape in the morning dimness of my room, stirring as his sleep lightened with the end of the night. I got up and started making noise in the room; he stirred more frequently and then suddenly, he was awake, rubbing his eyes and saying, "How 'bout you go downstairs, get book, we read story." I snuggled him, read to him, and snuggled and chatted some more. As the rest of the family passed by in the hall, each one peeked in the open door and was enchanted by Peter, smiling good morning to him and also to me. His imagination took flight and we made up silly stories together. Finally, I said we should probably go downstairs to get him dressed.

He was going to the quiz with Papa and Nana and Uncle John, so he had to hurry to get ready and eat his heaping bowl of "moatmeal" (oatmeal) with nectarines and pears. We gathered around the table and ate together, then Heidi and I went out to the driveway in our pjs to wave goodbye to the quizzers. Back inside, we dressed, cleaned the kitchen, and fed Lucy when she woke up. The sun was in full force outside, and when we let the dogs out the frisk of the morning enchanted them and they ran off into the woods. Hands dripping with dishwater, I kept going out onto the deck to shout, "Sophie! Rosie!" The air was cool but mild, and the blue of the sky was bright and unmarred. I felt frisky, too! I told Heidi if we waited they usually returned, and the dogs did not disappoint me.

After the cleaning, feeding, and dressing jobs were done, I made caramel whipped cream to frost a ginger cake for a church baby shower, spreading it in smooth, chunky swipes across the top and drizzling more caramel over the finished cake. I tucked it in the fridge on its glass plate, and then Heidi and I both worked on sewing projects. Lucy wandered around our table in her pink and green plaid jumper, exploring the sewing cords and baskets, carrying her favorite toy cup and fork, reading, and holding up her hands to come up for a snuggle with Mama or Aunt Julie.

At 10:30, it was time to leave for the shower. We turned off the sewing machine, gathered gifts and cake, and loaded into Heidi's car. As a girl, a shower signaled Special Occasion to me, and I retain a lingering sense of privilege and excitement when I am invited to one. I enjoyed the beautiful details of the party, and the fun of time with many dear ladies and girls from the church, and the generosity of the gifts showered on Karen and her soon-to-come baby girl. Heidi, Lucy, and I were among the last to leave. Heidi and I had sister chats on the way home, and Lucy started her delayed nap (after she was caught eating an envelope she found in my purse, which she was rifling through from her car seat).

Heidi carried the sleeping Lucy upstairs to finish her nap at our house; then she loaded up her things (sewing supplies, overnight bag) and went home to catch up on some housewifely jobs until it was time to come back and pick up Peter after his day at the quiz and Lucy after her nap. After a busy and social week, I was suddenly alone in a sunny house with a sleeping baby; I decided to open my window and curl up on my own bed for a few minutes. Refreshed, I went back downstairs to sew and delighted in adding ribbons and lace as the finishing touches to my project. Lucy slept on; the quizzers hadn't returned home yet.

I puttered amiably: cleaned up my sewing machine and all the little threads and implements scattered on table and ironing board, replaced the table cloth, set the table, soaked the dogs' food, checked on Lucy, walked out on the deck barefoot to breath in the sweet air. The grandmas arrived from the quiz, and before they were inside, Mom, Dad, John, and Peter followed them in the driveway. We were just inside when Heidi drove up to get her children, who were both sleeping -- Lucy upstairs, Peter in his car seat. Suddenly all was a buzz of activity: Mom was adding peas and parsley to the soup in the crockpot; Grandma was mixing her salad; Heidi waking her children (and then mothering her tired boy, who started crying the moment he saw her for no apparent reason); John was feeding the dogs. When the dust settled, we ladled hot lentil soup into our bowls and gathered around the table with the grandmas, filling our bodies with nutrients and our souls with the sight and presence of each other. We finished with Grandma Jane's chocolate cake and Dad's coffee. The grandmas left to make their long drive home, and we were a foursome.

Our activities were diverse: listening to an old Imperials song (Grandma had randomly started singing it when a phrase someone said triggered her memory and then Dad wanted to find it); doing the dishes; prepping for John's birthday dinner tomorrow; browsing website building and tracking info with Dad; having a girl chat on the couch. But we were together. And we still had some party left in us, which translated to downloading a "Leave it to Beaver" episode, chatting in the living room, and a rousing set of Boggle matches serenaded by classical music.

And then, shortly after ten, it was time to head towards bed to get ready for the day tomorrow. Mom called Sophie, wanting to zip her into her kennel for the night; Sophie bounded out from under table with so little thought for her surroundings that a dining room chair banged to the hardwood floor behind her. We secured dogs and doors and headed up the stairs, calling the last questions and thoughts from the day to each other down the hall, and then saying our goodnights.

In the midst of the rain, clouds, and shivery mornings of September, a clear, warm day: a jewel.