Slayed

It was just one of those mornings after one of those nights.

Thunderstorms, torrential rains and a leaky diaper made our usually peaceful sleeper restless.

Morning brings the need for bedding to be washed.  A little girl with shockingly strong lungs is having a tantrum because beloved blankie has disappeared into the washing machine.  She is equally angry to be taking a very necessary shower.  All this while a fussy baby is crying for his nap.  I think back wistfully to the days my college roommate and I had a "no talking before coffee" policy.

I wrap the yelling, kicking child up in a towel and send her off with a stern warning to be quiet while I lay down the baby.  Later, I tiptoe out of the nursery and close the door behind me.  I steel myself for another battle with a decidedly stubborn two year old.  But as I turn the corner I see that the angry, screaming child is gone. Instead, my sweet girl is sitting cross-legged on the floor with a newly discovered library book in hand.

Read it to me, Momma?  Please?

I wrap the towel tighter around her bony little body and pull her onto my lap.  She turns, gives me a kiss and says,

Momma, you the best whole world.

With that, I am slayed.