Peace. It’s quietness, aloneness. It’s peace and quiet. It’s also contentment and love. It’s watching my girls put their heads together, use their imaginations and deem that the blue tile in our dining room is now their ice skating rink. Peace. They are building ‘Elsa Castles’ out of the blocks I played with as a child. They are working together and no one is crying, whining or pinching. They are wearing fairy wings and going on a ‘skunk hunt.’ Peace. They are watching TV and eating cheerios on the couch while we are sleeping in. They are pretending to nurse their baby dolls. Peace. We are in the backyard, cutting zinnias from the garden, arranging them in tag sale vases and delivering them to neighbors. The sound of the ice cream truck fills the humid air. We have our shoes on in a flash and we’re walking through the neighborhood, searching for the elusive ice cream truck. We can just barely hear the music. Should we turn here or walk there? I feel anxious and feel they will be sad we’ve not been able to find it, but instead they are satisfied with the adventure of the hunt. Peace. We’re getting ice cream together or picking out veggies at the farmers’ market, cuddling in bed with a book or all loving on our favorite labrador. We’re making plans and talking about those we love. It’s that feeling you get in your gut, in the pit of your stomach that moves up into your heart and fills it up and overflows it. Even though it wasn’t a perfect day and even though you yelled, it’s still going to be alright. A common theme: I’m watching and observing them. I’m with them. I’m not trying to do something else. I’m just there. Peaceful and content. I’m not wondering what’s next or worrying about the schedule, the time, the to-do list. I’m in the moment, I’m happy, this is enough. Peace.