What I would most like to do right now is sit here and write this with my hot cup of tea. The weeks of winter-below-freezing (rare in Washington) finally broke yesterday, and the kids could run outside during recess for the first time in what feels like ages (they don't go out when it's below freezing -- is this crazy? what do Minnesotan kids do?)!
Last winter, waking with a few-month-old and standing by the kettle in the cold kitchen with Silas at my elbow, I learned to love the morning skies that seep rosy through bare tree branches. They are different than spring's skies, or summer's, feel more generous blooming behind all that gray. Many mornings I think of all the people living outside in this city who watch the light come up like that each day. Some Friday mornings at Miriam's Kitchen we talk about the sunrises, and unlike most everyone I know, one man named Robert, when he's missed it, says, 'what did it look like?' and wants me to describe it exactly.
Today is Saturday -- no rushing, no leaving, no packing lunches. Saturday in no stage of life has felt more like a freebie. As well as staying in sweat pants for hours, Saturday also means screens in the morning, and Silas right now is downstairs playing Super Mario brothers. As he walked down the wooden steps he said over his shoulder, I wish you'd come play with me. And then he was gone. Play wii. I have yet to do this since we bought it off craigs list in December. It would be so different than savoring this house-silence at the kitchen table. But sometimes it's worth being unexpected to love someone, and so I go for Silas -- Silas and Super Mario Brothers...
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