The house was still quiet.  The children all snug.  First light was barely streaming through the vintage lace curtains in the dining room. 

I opened the refrigerator, searching for inspiration for the morning’s nourishment.  

And there they were.  

Crayons.   

Sitting atop the lettuce and aside of the bagels. 

How could this be, you ask?  For anyone already acquainted with my life (or this blog), there can be only one explanation… 3-year-old, Lovey.  Like they were heaven-dropped, just for me.  I could do nothing but smile.  Surely, this was a love message from my sleeping angel, meant to be stumbled upon at this precise moment in time.

I like to think God does something similar.  Dropping love messages in completely unexpected packages at the most appropriate of times.

I really thought we had this figured out.  I thought I had a plan.  But there He was, right in the center of life, making it all a little more interesting.  

Come early March (or hopefully February), there will be one more of us.  If I have still left you guessing (and possibly because I am still wrapping my head around the idea and having trouble putting it all into words), this means… baby.  

And believe me, no one could possibly be more surprised (or undeniably thrilled) than us.  (I get to decorate a nursery.  Happy dance.)

For me that also translates into massive coffee withdrawal.  I’m basically dying.  My 4-a-day habit has waned into a 1/3-cup-a-day-fill-the-rest-of-the-cup-with-skim-milk-routine that just isn’t cutting it.  

I need a good decaf, preferably water-processed and chemical-free, so I can psychologically fake out my brain for the next 18 months or so.  

Taking recommendations now.  

Ready.  

Set.  

Love & coffee.