Yesterday it snowed here. Some other time I'll talk about what DC is like in the snow, where people freak the hell out at the sight of a single snowflake and fortify their houses as though for a 40 year famine. Yesterday they were calling for "up to an inch of snow" and, as usual, we got about three. The big kids were at school, I was cold and tired and grouchy, so the littles and I were hunkered down in my front room with the television on, and I was trying to figure out how I was going to get a nap in without the little kids destroying the house while I did it.
Some sort of nonsense song came on, and Nemo started to shake his little booty, grinning and giggling like the concept of a simple booty shake was the greatest thing in the world. Sunny joined in, she too giggling and grinning, so I hopped up and shook my big ol' booty, too. The snow continued to fall softly, gently, outside cold and gray and silent. Inside was warmth and song and movement and joy.
"Mama, let's do Ring Around the Rosie," urged Sunny, so we each took one of Nemo's hands and we held hands, me on my knees to take care of my back, and around we went, singing and gently tugging Nemo around in a circle, collapsing in a great heap of giggling and tickling on "all fall down." We did it two more times, and after the third time we lay there on the floor, Sunny, Nemo, and I, and it occurred to me, briefly, that I was happy, and it was not the first time in the last month or so that has happened.
Recovery is, indeed, possible.