Two. The smell of coffee in a half lit gym. The girls in the far corner working bar releases. 2 moms sitting together pausing in the morning hum. As the city outside wakes to winter's revenge.
Three. The sound of girls and silver spoons of stolen ice cream. Their laughter lofting over the smell of the bacon and eggs they were supposed to be eating...
Four. BC once again to the rescue. Returning home to pile girls into his big truck so I could stay at home nursing a sore throat and a small fever. As the snow continued to swallow the world.
Five. 2 and a half hours of peace & NPR. Tapering snow fall, a clean kitchen, 3 loads of fresh folded laundry, and dinner ready for baking.
Six. Roads turned to rivers and a pick-up at the Children's Theater that included witnessing the death of a seagull. Giggling girls and splashing puddles. A puff of white feathers on the front of a Toyota truck. Steamy windows and cranked car heaters.
Seven. A warm fire, a snowman turned snowdog, wet hats & mittens hanging to dry, hot chocolate chip cookies, and more NPR as the day put itself to bed.
Eight. A dinner of spicy enchiladas dripping with cheese. For the gown-ups 2 short glasses, lean on coke & ice, and thick on whiskey.
Nine. A fort of blankets, an episode of X Files, and more ice cream.
Ten. Right at 9:00, 2 little girls excuse themselves to bed. Their whispers hush the night. The white world drifts beneath the warm swirl of whiskey, down comforters, and flannel sheets.