“Good morning, Mommy. Can we get in your bed?”
They like it cause it’s warm under the covers. I concede. Even though it’s early and no longer quiet or still.
We make a sandwich, all of us facing the window.
“Look how pretty the sky is this morning, guys.”
“Mommy, it’s pink. That’s called the sunrise.”
“And, Mommy. That’s God’s gift this morning. His ‘I love you.'”
Indeed, it is, precious boys.