Note To Self

Note to self: remember this.

Remember this moment.

It's almost 5 o'clock. It's almost dinner time. We could be close to Meltdown Red Alert, but we're not.

It's winter. The temperature is hovering around the mid 50's, and it's cloudy because there's a front coming. It will be rainy tomorrow, maybe even the day after that... but today- right now- it's not. It's still. It's quiet.

The back door is open and the cat is out, but he's staying close. The dog is feeling frisky, but she's being gentle. She has an old plastic bucket that's missing a handle, and she's running circles around the sandbox, carrying the bucket in her mouth so that it comes up over her nose like a muzzle.

She's near the sandbox because that's where the kiddos are. They're out, with their medium-weight jackets on, playing together without yelling, throwing, or hitting. They're talking to each other- having a conversation that I'll never be a part of, something secret and funny and so beautifully innocent.

They're spinning in circles.

They're jumping.

They're laughing.

Dinner is in the oven and in the works- stuffed bell peppers and sauteed carrots with onions and cumin. The house smells like winter air and garlic and browning meat.

I've poured a glass of wine, but have only taken a few sips, and am now standing by the open back door, watching.

Thinking.

Soaking it up.

Note to self: remember this moment.