Peaceful

Rarely do I have a serendipitous moment in which my spirit and my external life are quiet in tandem. This morning, as the rain thrums and my coffee boils, only one of my three children has awakened. She sits with her nose in a book, tucked into a warm corner, nibbling on cake.

"Would you like a pretzel?" I ask, having unearthed the frozen treats while digging for tonight's dinner. We are not overly fond of breakfast foods. She says yes, so I add cheese to a few and pop them in the oven.

I flip through one of a dozen homeschooling books while we wait, but she has a concern. She shows me the passage in which Jill calls her teacher a bitch -- she is reading Judy Blume's Blubber -- and asks how much more of "that kind of stuff" is in the book. I am pleased at her questioning; last night, she turned down an opportunity to see a PG-13 movie with her friend because she doesn't like violence. I share some thoughts about the book and she moves on.

Soon, my coffee will kick in and the day will move on. My sons will wake and everyone will need assignment lists, meds and breakfast. The painter will call -- or not -- about my living room wall and ceiling. Laundry, housework and meals, pets and crises met or avoided...those are my days.

But for just this morning, just this moment, I am peaceful.