

Last night as I was washing the dishes after dinner, I looked out the kitchen window and saw Sacha talking to French Husband. They were doing that male bonding boy thing, talking about bikes, how fast they could go, and his new helmet. Sacha’s face like the full moon was a glow in the pink, twilight sky. As I reached for another dish, and held the sudsy sponge in the other hand, in that very ordinary moment that I have lived many times as a wife and mother; I started to cry. I cried a mixture of many things all labeled with the word love. Love for my son, love for French Husband, love for the moment, love for standing in front of a kitchen sink, love for the stack of dishes, love for missing my father, love for the money to be able to send Sacha to visit my family in California, love for feelings that are raging and simple and often unexplainable. Hot tears, steadily washed my face, without thinking I wiped them with the sudsy sponge– it didn’t matter that my eyes were now burning more because of the soap- my heart felt the same….joy.

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