The clouds parted for a few minutes and the sun beat through the big windows.
I looked at the cake. I looked at the kids. I looked at the porch.
We sat on the deck and shared a behemoth slice. In between bites, Gage would take a messy swallow of milk, jump down and fall into the grass. When I say 'grass' I mean the boonies. Our back yard is a painfully unkempt wilderness of tall grass, furry dandelions and clusters of yellow and purple flowers. We just need to break down and buy a dang lawn mower, but there's something magical about it all back there. The kids feel it too - they'll lie down and peek at each other through the clumps of green.
Anyway, it was kind of one of those moments where you think, "I love mortality."
The sun hid behind storm clouds and soon there were deep rumbles that rushed both kids back into my arms. They took a long, warm bath and could barely stay awake while I lotioned their little feet and sang along to Mumford and Sons.
The storm eventually broke through whatever resistance had kept it at bay for so long, and I think the rat-a-tat of rain on the roof and the purring of the thunder lulled them into an unusually deep sleep because they both woke up happy and rested.
Some days, things just work out. Pieces fit together. Memories make themselves without being forced or planned or even really hoped for. They just happen.