“Hurry up and notice,” it whispers. Whispers that surround each passing glance and shared laughter. Laughter over movies, YouTube videos, jokes, and home cooked meals.
“Mom, there’s no space at the table,” my oldest son claims, in an attempt for a separate dinner space with his brother. His eyes fall to my backpack resting in the chair. Filled plate and cup in hand, he awaits my response.
“Really? You’re going to make me use my bad arm to pick up my backpack?” I joke.
I get up, walk over to the chair, and scoop up my backpack… with my bad arm.
“Mom… stop!” My son urges with a smile for mom’s cheep shot at a guilt trip.
“Adam!” I call back playfully.
“Adam!” Calls his father in a lighthearted blaming tone.
“Dad!” He responds, returning the lighthearted blame.
“Marina!” Says my husband pleading me to stop.
“Mom!” My youngest son chimes in… just for fun.
“Ayden!” I respond.
“Ayden!” My husband calls out for no reason at all.
"Adam!" Ayden calls to his brother.
“Dad!” Adam calls again.
Our home… like a small circus. We are good at making each other laugh. We are good at it.
Our dinner scene is perfect. A picture perfect memory.
“Hurry up and notice,” time whispers. And I understand. There is love.