John is building me a wonderful present. He asked if I would rather have a raised bed for gardening or a chicken run first. I said the latter. He has been researching plans for awhile now and came home with a car full of lumber. The twins were away for a class trip and Ben was watching Bob the Builder so I went out to the porch to help. We measured boards and drilled a few holes when I wondered why the vertical beams extended above the roof.

His smile was instantaneous. "It's a surprise." 

Unable to contain his joy he quickly offered to tell me. "It's a raised bed!"

I laughed out loud. He had figured out how to combine the two. The chickens would stay out of the seedlings, and the garden bed would keep them out of the rain. Brilliant. 

We worked together for awhile until the wind picked up and the sky promised to deliver on the predicted rain. He tried to stand up from the base where he was drilling, and needed a chair to push off from. I knew the feeling. When I play with two year olds I pull a small chair up beside them rather than plop on the ground cross legged as I have done for two generations of little ones. My limbs are less supple than when I was a nanny in college, and could catch the runaway preschoolers. Now I probably can't. 

John and I are getting slower. That is not always a bad thing. Our bodies are less exuberant but so are our tempers. Having weathered a few hurricanes, and trips to the ER I am a tad less likely to jump to worst case scenarios. These days a nap on a sunny afternoon sounds as inviting as a day at the zoo with three small children did when I was in my twenties.