Posted by Duff

Yesterday, my husband and I took The Dervish to the local pumpkin patch.

She couldn’t have cared less about the pumpkins. Those that were in tact, that is. She gravitated toward the smashed pumpkin area and tried to re-affix broken stems, went and waved to the llamas, and introduced herself to a scarecrow.

She has never been one for the planned photo-op.

As she found her way to row upon row of multi-colored mums, a young, obviously new couple walked into the patch, hand-in-hand. The woman spotted The Dervish lavishing affection on bloom after bloom.

Hi flower. How you doing? Awwwww, love you, sweet flower.

In between threading my way through the colors and admonishing The Dervish not to pluck flowers and fill her pockets, as I know she’s inclined to do, I caught the young woman’s eye. And her obvious appreciation of the budding botanist before her.

The Dervish and her father went to chase each other in the hay maze, and I sunned myself on a bale of hay, watching the couple choose a pumpkin, then a mum. They held hands, walking slowly, a whole lazy day ahead of them.

And I felt envy. But if I’m honest with myself, I have already had my turn at that, and here’s where it led. I’m Dervishful, and happy. Not a sleeping-late, sit my couch all afternoon watching football kind of weekend-haver. An entirely different kind of enviable.

When we got home from the patch, my husband mentioned the couple, and how they might have spent their day in comparison to how we spent ours. And of course, being him, he made a reference to an activity that the newly in love and child-free spend a lot of their weekends engaging in.

“I envy them.” he said.

“I know,” I said. “We were them once, though. That’s what got us here. One day they could be us.” I hugged him, and The Dervish came careening across the room to hug our legs in punctuation.

Advertisements