Foul, foot stomping Monday morning mood. Laundry strewn about like an art installation, dry cleaning still here, not off being cleaned, not even neatly heaped in the corner any longer, have to wear the black slacks again, scrambling to find a clean uniform shirt for the boy (and failing). Trying to remember what the hell it was I did all weekend (and failing). Light snow outside, meaning more muddy yard, muddy dogs by tonight, traffic. Doesn’t matter because the floors weren’t cleaned anyway. But my boy’s big brown eyes, sad, after yelling at him to COME EAT BREAKFAST NOW AND WHY AREN’T YOU WEARING ANY SHOES? And my girl dancing and spinning under the kitchen lights, watching her shadow on the dirty kitchen floor, and laughing. A deep breath, and I join her. Clean-ish shirt procured for the boy, and a hug. French braid for the girl. It will all be ok. They will remember the dancing and spinning, maybe. I hope.