Resurrection.

I love "firsts." 

I get a thrill from the newness of experiences because it's all so fresh.  Every moment feels significant and leaves a crisp impression on one sense or another.  Like Marianne Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility, when she shouts, "Is there felicity in the world superior to this?"  (I tend to identify with Marianne often, and that's not always a good thing.)

I guess that's what it's like to be a kid again.  All that wonder.  Moments like those are a gift, when you catch a child having a "wonder" moment.  It's all in the eyes, isn't it?  A brightness, an eagerness.

Yesterday marked the first non-snowy day of the year when I really played outside with my kids.  And I don't just mean "watching" my kids, I mean playing, sweating, laughing, and running with them.  It had all the magic and wonder of a true "first."  As you know, I hate to be cold.  Hate to be cold.  (I'm not exaggerating my use of that word, I use it with all the passion it invokes.)  But yesterday the world began to thaw, even if just for a day (this IS Idaho).

I smelled everything coming back to life, I sat in the grass, I watched the sun set, I smiled through Lincoln's whiny cries when he didn't win, I kicked a ball over the kids' heads on purpose to prove that I'm still a totally awesome mom who has skills and is good at sports, eventhough I've hibernated for 6 months.  I made them all laugh and kissed their rosy pink, freckled noses.  I let them jump on the tramp past dark, beyond bedtime.  I reveled in my kiddos and they, in me.

In a way, it felt like I was coming back to life again, too.  And it felt SO good.