He wears his reading glasses and I wear dust and fatigue and we both wear looks of mischief. The longer we’re married the more looks of up to no good we seem to wear. We’re in a good spot and the move from needy children into the launching-little-birds phase of parenting is good for us. We’re relishing new found freedom and longtime love and we’re happy-
Over the moon happy.
We’re midstream the blah blah blah’s when someone knocks at the front door and it’s late, even for our neighborhood. He pulls himself up from the chair and closes the door behind him. I scroll Facebook looking for my friends while he meets our neighbors on the stoop.
And I sigh, full.