Repeated phone conversations last week and weekend with my sister and my brother, each nearly halfway across the country. Getting to hear my almost-four-month old niece make niece noises into the phone.
Watching a first grade class sing with finger shaking vehemence, the lines, "He knows if you've been good or bad, so you better be good, for goodness' sake!" They obviously were familiar with both the sentiment and the proper delivery. Downright fierce.
Noting our daughters' reactions to two twelve-hour days of watching Hercules. The younger would bounce up and down on the couch and call out, "Get 'em, Hercules! Whack him! Blood! Blood! Blood!" The older would cross her arms, raise her eyebrows pointedly and declare, "THAT girl needs to put on more clothes! She's going to catch pneumonia running around like that!"
Lying on the couch listening to Scott read the Christmas story aloud from Luke. Letting the ages-old words heal aches I hadn't let myself realize were there.
The quiet of the house at three o'clock Christmas morning as I was finishing up gifts for the next day. I didn't want to go to bed. I wanted to stay in the quiet, in that restful unhurried place forever, the cat curled beside me in front of the stove, everyone I loved safe and whole.
My mom and dad bringing homemade beef stew with them when they came over Christmas evening. It broke a three day migraine and made the whole day better.
Stepping outside into silence last night and seeing the white moon in a midnight blue sky etched with black branches.