an hour

Sitting at a table watching the rain fall through a window that touches the ceiling.  I walked the 1100 feet from my front door to Starbucks, thanks to this amazing sister that I have.  A lively French tune is playing and my favorite aroma fills the air.

“An hour? just one hour, that’s all you want?” She asked.

“Yes, an hour will be nice,” I answered.

An hour alone in the world of motherhood is much longer than 60 minutes to anyone else. Is this not true?

And so, I casually walked out the door, nearly 50 lbs. lighter.  I ordered my drink and found a tiny table that seats two, but is ideal for one.  In these moments of reprieve, every little thing seems extraordinary and a gift.

To drink an entire coffee before it cools to room temperature.

To watch the rain fall, as the rest of the world blurs into stillness, with each drop streaming down the glass.

To leisurely pursue blogs or listen to a random conversation or just revel in the fact that no one in the room will need me for anything.

To write an entire post in one uninterrupted sitting.

And then, a sweet, lingering walk home in the rain, under a polka dot umbrella.

Yes, an hour will be lovely.

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Sabrina:  This is what you do on your very first day in Paris. You get yourself, not a drizzle, but some honest-to-goodness rain, and you find yourself someone really nice and drive her through the Bois de Boulogne in a taxi. The rain’s very important. That’s when Paris smells its sweetest. - It’s the damp chestnut trees

What would you do with the gift of an hour?