savor the moment

This quote by Mary Jean Iron inspires and haunts me at the same time:

"Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are...Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in my pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return."

Yesterday Justin flew to Portland, OR for the day to pitch an ad presentation to some executive at the corporate offices of Fred Meyer. He's been working on the presentation and planning the trip for weeks.

The night before he left I got an anxious feeling in my stomach. I told myself that things would be fine, that airplanes are safe and that he'd return home to me late the next night. But I was still restless. There was something about his packed briefcase: maps of Portland, multiple copies of proposals, earphones for the plane. There was something about knowing that instead him of being the usual 10-20 miles away it would be hundreds. Something about planning to drop him off at the airport in the cold and darkness of the next morning.

As I laid in bed and thought of all these things I grabbed Justin's hand and made him promise not to crash his plane or wreck his rental car or walk into downtown Portland traffic. And when he laughed and told me he wasn't planning on it, I felt a little better. But I still layed there- as our house got quieter, as Justin's breathing slowed and deepened and I knew he'd fallen asleep- and tried to stop fretting and savor the moment. Regardless what the future holds, right here, right now, everything was good. Right now my daughter was in her room down the hall. Asleep and beautiful- I'd just checked on her, tucked the fleece blanket around her myself. Right now I have a husband who loves me and he is safe and sound, warm in the bed next to me. Right now there is a tiny miracle growing inside me, moving and squirming. We are all happy, we are all healthy, we are all safe. And that, right at that moment in time, was all I needed.

The next morning at 5:00 am we dragged a sleepy Audrey out of her warm bed, put a coat over her princess pajamas and wrapped her in blankets, then headed out into the cold morning air to drive to the airport. She and I kissed Justin goodbye and then drove home and had breakfast. Later we bought a new blanket for the cat's house, played at the park, and looked at shoes in the mall. Audrey spotted a few planes in the sky as we were driving around Boise and would shout from the backseat, "Look Mama! There's Daddy's hairplane!"

When it was finally time for Justin's flight to arrive we sat in the airport watching people walk past us impatiently. And then there he was- just as we'd left him that morning, safe and sound (despite my worrying) and giving me a thumbs up that the presentation had gone well. And in his hands was a small cardboard box stamped with a gourmet bakery's icon. He'd brought two big cupcakes home for Audrey and I. Chocolate ganache and red velvet yumminess that showed that he'd been missing us just as much as we'd been missing him.