So last night Philip and I cooked dinner TO.GETH.ER.
Seventeen years of marriage, and I dare say this has seldom happened. [read: never]
We were outside playing baseball. Yes, WE. All Johnsons.
From the pitcher's mound, Ashlin asked, "Are you making pancakes for dinner, Mom?"
From deep center field, I was about to give the affirmative, when the really cute catcher/hitting coach piped in, "No, I am making pancakes for supper."
Well, then.
After our team scored the go-ahead run, we called the game, put away the gear and came inside for showers. While Philip began mixing the sandy, whole-wheat batter and waited for the griddle to heat, I chopped some vegetables for my famous "junked-up eggs"...scrambled eggs with spinach, potatoes, onions, peppers, ham and cheese.
After a lengthy, potentially stressful discussion about serving sizes and measuring options, I offered my blanket statement of submission, "Whatever you decide will be great!"
Anytime he asked me another question, I just hit rewind and play, "Whatever you decide will be great."
We silently worked side by side until dinner was served. The freshly bathed kids joined us at the dinner table for the second breakfast-at-night in eight days.
Over dinner, we pondered all the people and places on the earth where Christ is not known. We discussed our all-time favorite flavor of chips. And we all did our best impression of "Daddy when he drives." Hilar.
Clean kitchen. Two episodes of vintage Cosby. Bedtime for all.
Thank You, God, for my sweet, beautiful family. You love us well:)
