37 Degrees and Worth It

It snowed this morning. April 7th. I was grumbling under my breath about moving to Florida before the day even got going.

So naturally, we flew kites after dinner.

It was cold. Like, hands going numb, why am I outside right now, kind of cold. After this New England winter that just refuses to end, flying kites in the backyard was pretty much the last thing I had any interest in doing.

But the boys wanted to. My nephew was over and all four of them were losing their minds out there. Laughing, running, fighting over who got to hold the string. We played some basketball, threw the football around. The kite went up, came down, went up again.

My hands were freezing the whole time.

A year ago, this window between the end of the workday and bedtime was something I dreaded. It was rushed, chaotic, and whatever semblance of "my time" I could scrape together after a full day of work and a commute. I was present in body only. Just trying to get everyone fed and through the routine and into bed so I could breathe.

Tonight I actually wanted to be out there.

That's the shift I'm still learning to recognize. It's not just that I have more time now. It's that the time I do spend with them actually means something. When you've had a little space to yourself throughout the day, the evening stops feeling like a finish line and starts feeling like the good part.

Now we're doing popcorn and a movie.

Not a bad Tuesday.

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