The Life

Maybe three or four years ago I read this book, passed along from my aunt to my mom, passed along to my mom to me.  

(Isn't that how the books are meant to exist?)  

I have saved one particular piece in my subconscious through these last several years 

just waiting for the right time for it to reemerge, to feel it too. 

It's an intimate recollection from the former first lady, from simpler days, 

when her girls were little and they sat outside before a Texas night set in and the girls played in the yard before them, 

and she just felt it.  

"This is the life.  And it was."

 

And twice this weekend, doing normal, mundane things I thought it too.  I felt it.

 

This is the life.  And it is.

 

Once on Saturday night when Andrew and I were giving the kids baths, old nostalgic country playing like we used to listen to country cruising growing up in our small town where there wasn't much else to do, I had Nelle wrapped up in a towel, and as I lathered her up with lotion, breathed in the best smell in the world - fresh clean baby smell, and she kicked and giggled, I heard Henry playing in the tub talking to Andrew, and I felt it.

 

This is the life.

 

And second, when on Sunday evening, after a gorgeous light, crisp June day, Henry got to start up his lawn more for the first time and help Andrew mow our grass.  He knew exactly what to do, and took his job seriously.  He followed his daddy's footsteps for a while, then set out on his own path, pushing ahead with more and more confidence the longer his "engine" ran.  Nelle played nearby, a neighbor pedaled by and smiled wistfully, 

surely recalling the days his son used to do the same.   

I couldn't take my eyes off of them.  I didn't want to.  

It was mesmerizing, watching them together.  The admiration from Henry.  The pride from Andrew.  

These little people we created together, and they're amazing.  

This is the life.  And it is.