Very early this morning, my husband looked over at my stack of baskets, and then he began laughing.
“Where on earth did you get these baskets?”.
There wasn’t anything wrong with the baskets though, his curiosity was with the number of the baskets. The baskets have been there for about two months and I’m pretty sure he has been meaning to ask.
I went ahead and explained how I bought them and why. This explanation meandered and led to us talking about some adjustments we had to do in our son SonTer’s room before he came home for the holidays. After the lengthy discussion, I sighed and smiled and said, “I just love that boy. He’s such a contented child.”
My husband’s remark to that was one of worry. He worried that SonTer was just like he and I… and maybe the combination makes him too contented. He explained how he always worries that we are too contented… unlike how it’s expected in the world… especially these days.
I pondered on it for a while, and I asked, “…but are we happy?”.
He looked back at me, smiled, and said, “You have a good point, woman.”
