The morning dew glistens in the sunlight as the rays begin to outstretch their arms into the sky, embracing and welcoming a brand new day. Shutters begin to open and in almost rhythmic fashion, little footsteps can be heard climbing off the bed and trotting downstairs. He stands in the doorway, rubbing his eyes, which are not yet ready for the day but the time will quickly pass and he groggily asks, “daddy can you make me oatmeal?” His father readily makes it as its one of the few things he can actually cook and they sit in the same spot at the kitchen table and eat to their hearts content.
This is a regular morning occurrence while the rest of the house sleeps. They talk about the birds chirping and the cat resting comfortably on the patio furniture out back; discuss the restfulness that the night’s sleep has brought or sometimes the lack thereof and they plan their days. They exchange hugs, kisses, fist bumps and share in a special kind of bond.
I stand back and I admire it, partially because I’m not very fond of making breakfast before the sun actually comes up but more so because I know these are the moments that matter. These small moments are really the big ones.