We woke to the sound of babbling coming from the living room. The Man looked at his clock: it was two minutes short of his alarm going off anyway, so he got up from the bed and went to investigate.
It was The Kid. The light was on, he was almost finished dressing himself and he proudly announced that he'd gone for a poop, too, so all The Man had to do was give him a Skittles and a sticker, and that was it.
The Man said it made him feel kind of... redundant.
It reminded me of a blog post I read on Hannah Help Me. It was about a mother who got a second chance at washing her daughter's hair after she'd fractured her wrist, and the gratitude she felt for it.
Shortly before The Kid got the hang of using the toilet, I was very much over washing bums and clothes - very much over. But if I'd known when I washed him for the last time, that it was going to be the last time - would it have been a little bittersweet, in all of its celebratory mundanity, for the lack of a better word?
I don't know.
Today I saw a Ferrari driving on the streets of Christchurch and I was... blown away by its driver's courtesy.
He was behind me for a very long time. He drove at a polite, consistent speed; he indicated; he allowed for space when passing cyclists; he slowed when approaching yellow traffic lights and I was, like, whoa!
I mean: when was the last time I saw a Ferrari driving well!?!
Though I've got to admit: the car had a left-hand wheel. Chances are, both the guy and the car were from Europe.
In a few weeks' time me and The Man are going for a leisurely, beautiful Saturday morning breakfast whilst a friend (who is making such a difference to my life on an almost everyday basis!) will look after our children for a few hours.
A Saturday morning breakfast. At a chocolaterie. Without kids. Just the two of us.
And it reminded me of an evening a few months ago. In the middle of a tough patch me and The Man actually talked about potentially moving back to Europe for it's hard work raising a family on our own here; and then during one of our Skype conversations with family The Man's brother reminded us that for all the reasons New Zealand isn't a paradise - it's not paradise in Europe, either. Not with two little kids it isn't.
And he encouraged us to hold on, for soon enough we will get to a part of our lives where we will have time again, and where we'll get to travel again, and where days won't be so long - or if they will, for different reasons.
This upcoming Saturday morning breakfast feels like a glimpse into what my life may one day be like again. I'll get to sleep a little better, and shout less, and read more.
Basically: spring is coming :). I can feel it :).