A little joy

This morning you slept in but I got up early to put chocolate buns in the oven. Then I went into your room to check why you were still in bed. I sat on the edge of your bed behind you and put my head down on your side. You petted me awkwardly. Then I went to the other side and laid down in front of you. You put your arms around me as I curled up, and I felt that you liked having me there.

We chatted slowly about this and that, the same way we do when I say goodnight (I lie down and pat the bed, you sit down, then I curl up around you like a snail and put my head in your lap. You get up to brush your teeth and walk around mumbling while I wriggle around under the covers). 

Sometimes I get a clear sense that my presence and affection makes you happy and brings out something good. The days right now are so repetitive and the things we do daily over and over feel like small rituals. I want to build new habits - positive expectations of comfort, safety - of freshly baked things and warm meals and someone being there, morning, day, and night.

Because many other things are hard and often bad, without recourse, beyond control or ability to influence. Because all we have to lean on is our goodness to one another. Because it’s good to arrive and throw a tantrum and let it all out and be scooped up and held. And it’s good to be the one to say come here, where I can look after you.

Before you went to take a shower I sat you down and brushed out your hair. Today the server was down for maintenance all day and with nobody to shoot at you were getting agitated and anxious. I like to think that me brushing your hair was ten minutes that were better than the ten minutes before or the ten minutes after. It’s not much, but it’s also everything.

You look very handsome when you are happy.