Getting older, maybe wiser.

We’ve quietly fallen into a rhythm—unplanned and unprompted. Our steps have synched up and we’ve developed a pattern over these past couple of months. Our youngest is now driving and is busier than ever; which means we expectedly-slash-unexpectedly received a raise in time together that we knew-but-also-forgot we’d receive.

And without meaning to, with extra margin in our days, we’ve found something of a groove.

We drive to church on Sunday mornings—the late service, of course, who likes to rush on a Sunday?—and pick up coffee on the way. We complain about the slow-poke drivers who seem to still be out of sorts. We amble inside, coffees in hand, say hello to our friends, and find our seats. We worship and amen and nudge each other during the sermon (he’s talking to you), and hug everyone goodbye. We walk back to the car commenting how hungry we are and what do we have for lunch? We drive home discussing the weather—it’s always too hot or too cold; I wish I brought a sweater for church; why is Atlanta always either 80 or 40.

We talk over our plans for the afternoon, eat a late lunch, and maybe doze on the couch for a spell. We take care of the tasks that will gain us a little easier momentum come Monday morning and the rush of the week begins: I order groceries. He tackles some planning. I check a few emails and make my to-do list for work. We say goodbye to our son as he heads off to his Students gathering. Drive safe. Let us know if you go eat after.

Now that the weather is nice, we walk in the evening several times a week. We always mention how glad we are that we sucked it up and replaced the siding on our house last year. We lament over all the house projects still ahead of us and how we have got to do something about the fence one of these days. We almost always find ourselves talking about how fast time has flown by—we discuss her college graduation and his upcoming camps. How we need to spend less, eat better, and does he look taller to you? How nice it will be to be at the beach soon. Where we might move once he graduates high school; how I’ll travel with him more on his work trips. How much we will adore being grandparents. (Someday. In a long while. But we’ve already picked our names and we are going to crush it.)

We come home and graze for dinner. We turn on our shows and catch up with our TV friends. I hear him say Liv will get to the bottom of it too many times to count. We laugh and we cry at the same things. We might even reach out to hold each others hands if it’s a particularly tender moment. (He’ll be so mad I just shared that.) He gets exasperated at how many times I get up and down off the couch and can’t be still. I remind him he’s free to clean the kitchen so I won’t have to get up at all. I get exasperated at how loud the commercials are and ask him to turn down the volume. He yells, What? I can’t hear you, the volume is too loud. We laugh. Sarcasm was always our first love language.

I’ve never simultaneously felt so old but also supremely content; it’s kind of surprising, this routine we’ve fallen into. We check in on our birds; we complain if we ate something too heavy too late in the day; we’re in bed at 9:30. The creaks and groans that come with aging are sadly more real than they are memes, and it’s almost a competition on who feels worst at times: his car sits too low for his knees; I have a permanent pinch in my neck from over-mousing. He loves his “trampoline shoes” because they make his back feel so much better; I can’t have caffeine after 1 o’clock anymore. He’s graying in his beard, and accepting it with grace. I’m trying to forcefully turn back the hands of time, no grace for it whatsoever.

But in the midst of these aches and grays, we’re savoring these little moments—springtime walks as the sun is setting, spontaneous meals on a patio somewhere, and hey-let’s-run-to-TJ Maxx jaunts—building layers of memories of just the two of us on the foundation of family and faith and laughter we’ve spent the last 23 years building.

We got married fast and had kids in a flash and the rest of life happened at lightning speed…

I wouldn’t change a thing.

What we have right here and right now, though—these little luxurious pockets of time for just me and him—isn’t anything we’ve known before. We didn’t have years of just us before US to laze on the weekends or travel or simply hang out. And while we only have slivers of it a few times a week right now, I can’t wait until we can have more.

It turns out, these are also the good ol’ days. They’re small and they’re quiet, but I really, really like them.

10/10. Highly recommend.