Big Feet, Little Feet

Big Feet

• Yesterday evening, after a particularly full, event to next event-to next event-to next event etc. few days, my husband and I collapsed on our couch. He stretched out on one end, propping his feet upon me as I sat on the couch’s opposite end. Tiredness had befallen us quickly. I absentmindedly began kneading my fatigued spouse’s feet as we chatted. Perhaps it was because I was quite so drowsy, but my mind began to wander as I studied my husband’s feet. 
• As I scrutinized, I began to consider them. I had never noticed their shape, really. It was like I was looking at the feet of someone with whom I was newly acquainted. For some reason, looking at his feet made me realize I have much yet to learn of my husband. 2+ years of marriage (prayerfully many more to come) and I don’t yet know my husband’s feet. His hands, yes. Their strength and masculinity I noticed the first weekend we met. I wonder what new things of him and his life I have yet to discover.
• He asked–smiling at me in the way only he does–what I was doing, perusing so diligently his lowermost extremities. I simply told him what was swimming through my head. He laughed a little, continuing that me-only smile, and continued his rest. 

Little Feet

• The 6 y.o. has a friend who’ll be with us all this week. We had decided last week we’d have a day to paint nails soon. After playing imaginatively upstairs for a bit, with hot pink and sparkly purple shellac in hand, they bounded downstairs and shyly asked me to paint their nails. The glee appeared on their faces when I agreed.
• As I played mani-pedicurist for the last half hour, they mused back and forth about whether or not I should paint a heart on their big toes, or maybe purple polka dots on top of the pink base, or stripes! When they beheld the lovely sheen of the fuchsia’s second coat, they decided to leave their toes plain.
• As for their hands, something must have compelled them to branch out a bit…