His popped-balloon face, despite ice cream in hand.
It's been cold. Unseasonably so, the last gasp of winter trespassing on the first full month of spring. We had heavy coats out earlier in the week, battling the wind on the way to the playground. The wind won't win when the sun is shining.
I am grateful for the sun. I am grateful for a healthy three year old. I am grateful. But not all the time. I try, and often fail - when they're crying or refusing a bottle or disobedient or just three - to summon gratitude for my living children. I try, with partial success, to remain grateful for having carried their sister to term, for having shared nearly five years in the world with her. For the knowledge that she drew her last breath from a nest of loving arms. For a long list of things that deserve more than just transient thanks.