by J.R. Lewis

Created on: June 05, 2007

I love my life by seeing, really seeing, all the wonderful small details of it.

I love the way my husband laughs. It starts out deep in his voice then bursts from his voice in a loud, belly shaking manner. I love to see the dimples in his cheeks pop, the red on his ears, the way his laughter lights up his entire face. It is so genuine, I can't help but smile even when I don't know why he's amused.

I love the way my oldest son concentrates. His green eyes focused under his black hair, he crinkled his eyebrows together, just like me... He purses his lips, occasionally biting that lip in thought. He is in the world of that moment. Whatever it is. He looks so serious. So grown up. I can't believe he's such an adult.

I love the way my middle son is affectionate with his girlfriend. Those shy glances, the hand holding, the way he puts his hand on her back when they they are walking. He watches her so tenderly. She touches his cheek and smiles. It's beautiful. It makes me remember my first love. He will be a wonderful husband one day.

I love the way my beautiful daughter expresses herself. She writes stories and poetry. She has a gift with words. She can poke at herself without being too harsh, she can find her own faults without beating herself with them. She is a good friend to her friends. We've moved and she left so many. She writes letters to them, even if they don't write back. I'm proud she does. To me, I see the way she holds on to people. She sees good in them, too. I'm so proud she does.

It's so much easier to see bad in people. It's a trap in a way. It brings you down, fills your head with the negatives. Seeing good in people is a real talent, one worth keeping and polishing up. It makes life easier.

I love the way my cats play. I can't help but to get tickled when they play fight or chase after a moth who happens to stray in the house. I love to hear them purr. The warm fuzzy bodies curled up to me when I sleep. The cat kisses as they try to groom me.

I love the very smell of my Mom. She always smelled good. That light floral perfume mixed with coffee and chalk dust from her classroom. I can close my eyes and remember hugging her waist to me when I was just a girl. Her perfect fingernail, long and unpainted, running through my hair. The way I could feel her voice through her body when I held her. She was everything good and kind and loving. Everything I wanted to be, and still do.

I love my little house. It isn't grand or large, but comfortable and homey. It smells

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