"Ezra," I call, staring out a clear airplane window. "Come look at the view, it's beautiful!" Ezra turned his dark blue eyes to my hazel ones to look out the window and gaped at the beautiful sight. The magnificent view- large mountains sprinkled with snow at the top, the bluest waters you will ever see and a clear, shimmering sky.
"Maddie, Jay," I call two my children, who are playing some game that I apparently don't understand on their phones. "Look out your window," I say, gesturing towards the clear window and the beautiful view.
"Not now, Mom," Jay grunts, obviously annoyed by my comment.
"Seriously, you guys, you don't want to miss this!" I try to convince two of the most stubborn children in the history of the world.
Both of them sigh in unison, turning their heads to look at me and then back at the window.
I breathed out of my nose contentedly, marveling at my perfect live. My friends and I had stayed in contact all these years, despite not being in the same place. My new family was picturesque; Ezra being the perfect, loving and caring husband I had always fantasized about and the best children I could ask for; however stubborn. Maddie, having just turned 15, around the age I was when my family moved to Iceland for a year, looked so much like me it was astonishing. Maddie had long, dark hair that was carelessly pulled into bun that rested gently on the top of her head. Her hazel eyes were fixated on the window, and she seemed to be wallowing in the natural beauty of a country foreign to her. She, quite alike her mother and father, enjoyed writing, and had even one a short story competition with her prize winning "I Saw A Rainbow." Jay, on the other hand, reminded me of Mike, and Ezra always said that he had a touch of Wes, his brother, and Byron, my father. He had caramel colored hair and Ezra's blue-gray eyes. He was definitely a feisty little creature, his temper sometimes running as high as Mike's had. But he was still a caring brother (for the most part,) much like my own. He didn't happen to enjoy writing as much as his sister, but he did enjoy reading- he would sometimes say that reading was like indulging in the fantasy that was not your own world. Maddie would always roll her eyes whenever that comment was made but I basked in the glory of the intelligence of my son's demeanor, considering that he was only 12. I looked back out my window, getting lost in my thoughts.
