It was seventy-five degrees yesterday.  It was one of those days when it felt like anything could happen, the flowers could come back, the sky could make us laugh and then cry, grab the person closest for a desperate hug.  Today it is cold and gray and angsty.  Today feels like a remembering day, a sit down and line all of your fears up and address them on the chin type of day.  I am on the end of my third semester, I'll take my comps, graduate in May.  My lease will end at the end of that month and then my sister is going to have a barefoot, lakeside wedding and life is going to shift.

And what will I do?  

I will teach.  I will have to move, first.  After I send my sister and my greatest roommate on her way.  Maybe I will find a sweet dog for the passenger seat and teach children about what an essay really is, five paragraphs aside.  After I have a summer.  Summer saves me every year. Lands, I love summer.

And then I'll begin to drink coffee again.  I'll write in red pen and call them darlings, kiddos, men and women.  I'll get bored with my hair and make a hasty decision that I'll probably love.  And I'll go to obedience school, take long walks that turn into runs, shop the pet aisle.  I'll try to eat in as many days as I eat out and I will be proud when I actually do.  

But right now.

The boy I love is on a plane, headed my direction.  My whole family is together in a large way and our apartment, that was just two days ago ransacked by squirrels, is clean, full of white lights and snowflakes and old ornaments.  

Right now all of the babies are sleeping and I am curled on the couch with my homework.  Soon they will tiptoe up the stairs, try to surprise me; I'll make a face and laugh while they celebrate their success.  We'll eat goldfish crackers and talk about Christmas and they'll win at Candyland.  Because they cheat.  And I let them.

Then I'll double check my makeup.  Kiss them goodbye.  And race for Eppley grinning like a fool.  Mostly because of how deeply thankful I am.