Chasing the light of day.

I'm coming back from my run this morning and the sun is just coming up. It's still hazy-dim, and in the distance I can just make out the figures of Madeleine and Wayland standing in the street across from our house. Madeleine sees me and starts running down the street, full speed ahead, in her pajamas and bare feet. I am exhausted from my 4-mile run, but run to meet her anyway, and scoop her up in my arms. "Mama!" she exclaims, happy. Then she grabs her foot. "That hurt my feet a little bit," she says. I squeeze her foot. "I bet it did," I tell her. "But I'm glad you ran to meet me anyway."

Later, she is sitting at the table, eating cheerios. She looks outside. "Wow," she tells me. "It's getting cold out there." She hops out of her chair and runs to stand in the window frame. "GO AWAY, FALL!" she exclaims. "TURN SUNNY! AND BE A TREE!"

Waking up Violet is one of my favorite things to do. She's so heavy with sleep, always, and she stretches her body out, arms overhead, eyes closed. She turns to her side and she's got a raging case of bed head, as usual. I pull her into my lap and she drapes her body over me, head nestled on my shoulder. "Good morning, Violet," I say softly. "Good morning, Mama," she replies in a sleepy, quiet voice. I ask her if she wants to go say good morning to Mad, and still heavy in my arms she says, "Yes," in her decisive way. I ask if I can kiss her. "Just two kisses," she dictates. I kiss her once, twice, then steal a third. She smiles, scrambles out of my lap, and heads down the hall clutching her blanket, looking for her sister.

Listening to "Light of Day," by The Plastics Revolution: