I want to sit with K on the patio of Chipotle or Panera and listen to him talk about all the things he is passionate about, in great detail--like the names of all the pieces of equipment on a firetruck and their individual purposes--just because I love to watch his face and see the passion that I pray doesn't become impaired with time and routine.
I want to sit on the back step with Petey on my lap--because he thinks, despite his chunky, sausage-like physique, that he is a small lapdog. And because, for some odd reason, he loves me despite the fact that I never seem to have enough time or energy to walk him or pet him. Then I want to rub Topsy's belly, despite the fact that she's a fat cat and is torn between trusting me and just enjoying it. Then I want to run my index finger along the bunny's nose back between his ears because this makes him melt into a drowsy sleep and makes me smile just because.
Then I want to lie down in my bed with too many feather pillows and a Country Living or Mary Jane's Farm magazine or some read that inspires me, close my eyes while looking at the Divine Mercy image of JC on my lampshade, thinking "Thank you for all of this--and more."
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