Easter Monday and I don't have that much to say; after a four-day weekend, any remaining spin feels internalized and sluggish like the slow swirl at the gaping-mouth end of a drain. And I still don't know what it was all about (please don't say 'family' or 'chocolate –– you might as well say 'bears' and 'ray guns'). The house will be dirtier, then cleaner; Oona will have had fun finding chocolate eggs (maybe a third of which she'll get to eat, eventually), then enjoy a few epic meltdowns when not allowed to win every game of Snakes & Ladders ("... but I want to win all the games!"), or when served toast in the wrong manner for optimal butter melting (and when that butter doesn't melt fast enough); we will have blown a small packet of money on ... something?; several inside headaches (the headache you get after spending too much time inside) will have been had; I will have lost a day of work; and time will have been spent watching dead, leaden skies, and more snow fall on the ground.
Maybe I am truly middle-aged now but I like routine. Progress is made. Kids follow the day's rhythm, become reassured by that and are more even-tempered. The day has a shape. And a reason.