Photo Credit: © Mrsash174 | Dreamstime.com
I piled the 8-year-olds into our trusty Honda Pilot for the 7:30 a.m. run to their Saturday futsal (soccer) game and backed out of the drive. I took a sip of coffee—hoping it would magically turn the cold and gray January weather to 70 and sunny.
It didn’t work.
I glanced in the rearview mirror. The always irrepressible twins were chatting happily about the lives of their stuffed animals—and everything that had already happened to them this morning. I smiled. That felt better.