I could have taken a nap. I could have read a few more pages of In Cold Blood or got busy with any of the other millions of things I can get busy doing. I could have spent a large chunk of the day writing. But I didn't. Because my wife thought we should make a fire.
And as often happens, she was right.
Snow fell from the trees and landed in our laps and dinner and our kids laughed those long and deep laughs that warm the soul.
We sat together as a family.
Elias spit raspberries.
I can't help but constantly feel guilty for not writing more often, for not "pursuing the craft" because I know full well, if this is ever going to happen, it won't just fall in my lap (I already said enough about that).
But then we have a day like today and I'm reminded there isn't room. Nor do I want any. Because Eden "loves the mornings" and Zion asks if she can cuddle and help make breakfast. And I get to be there.
Because they call me Dad.
And because my wife asked me to build a fire.
So we did.
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