I've tried to be a morning person. Really tried. I go to bed early. I remind myself of the glory of morning. I even married a morning man and gave birth to a morning girl. But I'm not a morning woman.
Added to those missing morning biorhythms are the grayness that is a Michigan winter and the grayness of panic which threatens to suffocate anyone associated with the Detroit 3.
So there I was last week, packing lunchboxes, arguing with one child, venting frustration at yet another who refused to get dressed, and just plain old feeling sorry for myself. There were five people in this house and five really big attitudes at work. Even Pepper the puppy was indulging in self-pity because we don't heat the backyard for her.
I kept subtracting from my, "We need to be in the car in _____ minutes!!" countdown when my boy interrupted my diatribe.
"MOMMY!!!" Stop for minute and look in the backyard!"
I'm ashamed to admit that I only begrudgingly gave in and looked. But what I saw silenced me enough that within seconds, all four kids were standing next to me -- all of us awed.
It really is good once in a while to look up and be still.