In the quiet of the early morning, I slipped outside in my nightgown, rubber boots, and a cozy sweater to hide a few more eggs before the children awoke.
When I came back inside I was struck by the peace and quiet in this sunrise-lit space. So often it is cluttered, surfaces covered in spills and crumbs, yarn and toys. So often it contains the whispers of princesses conspiring with the pirate chief, the cries of wounded feelings, the loud negotiations for a coveted toy. This is truly a Living Room. It is the place where we play, rest, create, argue, veg out, make music, read stories, cuddle, and imagine. It is so rare that it looks this serene and orderly.
Eggs added splashes of colour here,
and a guardian frog kept watch over the Easter treats waiting for my children to wake up.
Soon, we all ventured outside. A quick reminder to the oldest child to let the littler ones find some eggs, and they were off with shouts of glee and discovery.
This oldest child is always so considerate of his little sisters, guiding them to where the eggs were hidden.
The littlest one shows off her Easter booty!
Watching them, I was aware of the fleetingness of this time in our lives, when all three of our children "believe"; they have heard no rumours of whether or not our magical friends really exist, and as of yet, there are no arguments about what an older kid told them about these invisible purveyors of Christmas gifts, Easter eggs, and tooth money.
These are the Wonder Times, and, like that rare quiet moment alone in our Living Room, I have the good sense to pause and truly enjoy them.
I know they won't last forever.