If Jeff wakes up before I do in the mornings, I wake up to the sound of water boiling in our teakettle downstairs. It’s not for Jeff’s French press. It’s for my cup of tea, which will be waiting for me on the kitchen counter in my favorite mug from World Market.
A decaf Chai with one Splenda.
And if I wake up before he does. I’ll shower, get dressed, do my makeup, and work until he stumbles into the office, pajama-clad and hair askew with Gracie stumbling behind him yowling and blinking her sleepy eyes. I’ll stand up, walk him downstairs and start making him a plate of eggs, beans, and salsa.
The empty mug with my favorite tea means the world to me. My presence as we make breakfast together means the world to him.
And the longer we’re married, the more these little unspoken moments become our language. The one that only we can understand.
