Boys (and one girl) in the Backyard

Like shepherds without sheep, they wander the back yard, walking with staff-like sticks in hand, discussing important matters. I can't hear them. I would love to eavesdrop, but when I open the door, they stop and stare at me.

This afternoon, the sun shone and even my daughter scampered outside to play in the warmth--in her Carter's pajamas with the zipper and built-in feet and floral-patterned boots. She holds her own with the boys, scooting along on their skateboards and swerving to avoid swinging sticks. I sat indoors, feeling the pressure of Pacific Northwest guilt . . . for when the sun shines here, it is mandatory to go outside immediately, for you never know when the next thirty-day stretch of rain might begin.

But I stayed indoors anyway, savoring the semi-quiet.

My husband is home again, but will leave in less than forty-eight hours for a reunion, of sorts, with his best college buddies. He will have a fantastic time and I will be fine, knowing that he owes me and next spring, I'll be enjoying paybacks.