On my last day of single-parenting, I was suffering from a major case of grouchyhead. Ben and I tried different remedies – he would mess my hair to get the grouchy out, or ask me to wiggle and waggle my head. Nothing was working, though the notion that, Yes, we can say that mommy is being a grouchyhead and she’d like to stop was some progress.
And then, like a prescription from heaven, came a snowstorm – big flaky clumps alternately zipping and floating down to the warm ground. Ben and I saw it start from the booth of the Brief Encounter, over our lunch plates. In no time flat, we were laughing outside, trying to catch the flakes with our tongues. Ben was asking if we could stay out – that way, we could collect enough of the little flakes to make a snowman. Sure thing, little man. Let’s catch some more.
The Kitchen Table 