I hear him come down the stairs.
It's the same every day.
Step, pause...step, pause...
The sound of little feet wearing Crocs.
He is careful coming downstairs. His balance and his vision are not good. He knows that.
I've been up a while. I've seen Jim off to work and Clark off to school. On the days Joshua and I don't have to go into LR, I will come back to my room...to my bed...and post up with a cup of coffee, my Bible and my lap-top.
A little quiet time.
I hear him in the kitchen. He's trying hard to be quiet. Honestly, if I was asleep...he would not have woken me up.
But I can hear him walk. Croc...croc...croc.
On Saturdays, when we make a big family breakfast, he will "croc" down the stairs half-way...just til he can bend his head down and peer into the living room/kitchen area. He just wants to survey the situation. If he sees me cooking, he goes back up. No sense coming all the way down. He'll just check again later.
But this morning, I hear him put his pop-tarts in the toaster. I struggle with whether to go in there with him or not. Most of the time, I do...sometimes, in the mornings...because I know his routine, I just let him be.
I can hear him get his juice. He loves him some orange juice. I can hear him quietly pull the chair away from the table. I can picture him now. It's the same every day.
I've already been up, so the blinds are open. He will sit at the table...he will not turn on the light. He thinks everyone should "learn to enjoy the sunlight." He looks out the window while he eats...and he checks his phone for messages and updates.
When he's done, I hear him lift the lid on the trashcan. He rinses out his cup and puts it on the counter. He will use the same cup all day. He thinks it's wasteful to do otherwise.
I hear him on the carpet runner that's in the hallway. I know he's coming to check on me. The door is barely cracked. I can hear him breathing. His hand is on the door...opening it ever so slightly. And then I see his head. He peers in and smiles..."you up?"
His hair is disheveled. His almond-shaped eyes are crinkled up with his smile.
He asks me how I slept. He always asks me how I slept. Sometimes he comes in and gives me a hug. Sometimes he eases out the same way he came in.
After a few minutes, I hear him go up the stairs. Stomp, stomp, stomp.
It's easier for him to go upstairs.
Later, when I come into the living room...all of the "couch blankets" are folded neatly and piled on the couch. There are at least 3 of them...sometimes more. He stacks them up on the couch. He always folds them. I don't ask him to...he just does.
No one else ever does.
I love this sweet, funny, sincere, caring, sensitive man-child. So thankful for him.
"...how beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news." Romans 10:15