there is a reason strong moves slow

i want a tire swing in the backyard.

i want to wash off dirty feet in the laundry room sink. i want to pack lunches before the sun comes up. i want to make up lullabies with moonlight streaming in through plastic blinds. with my hands folded under a floral pillowcase and a warm baby's breath melting against my cheek. to wear aprons and tie my hair in loose buns. i want to look good in the kitchen. confident.

i want all these things. one day.

but for right now:

there's a clothesline in the backyard. i fold blankets over it during summer days and let my dresses dry in the sunshine. we don't have a sink in our laundry room. but we do have homemade curtains and a warm rug. i pack my own lunches, usually racing against the clock to make it to work. but every morning, there's a bowl of warm oatmeal at my desk, with blueberries and sugar swirled in.

robert's exhales tickle my cheek. when we finally make it to bed around midnight, a sleepy pablo quick on our heels. we talk for hours into the darkness, our words echoing in the black room. our room right outside the work shed, with the flood light spilling in.

and i'm learning in the kitchen. with every splatter and total mess, with every victory and cake that rises properly, i learn more about myself and feel more like my mama.

so maybe my one-day wishes are a little different. maybe i'm still muddling my way through my twenties and figuring it out hour by hour, looking for the glimmers of hope that come when the smoke clears.

but these are blessed days too. and i'm glad they're moving along slowly. to savor. the desires of my heart take time, as most desire do. and when these days are gone, and replaced by new times, new houses, new faces and new expectations, i will mourn for them. mourn for the days when it was just me and robert. miss the flood light outside and the shrubs that bloom in april.

but i'll also smile.

and swing, in my backyard, with  my head thrown back laughing.