Sunrise Over the Suburbs

My Seasonal Affect Disorder has been well documented (and I do apologize for that).  There is an upside, though.  The depression that I feel in the absence of the sun is rivaled in intensity by the elation I feel in it's presence.  And no sunny days are better than the first sunny days of spring or the last sunny days of autumn.  But I'll take a sunny summer day.  Hell, I'll even take a bright sunny winter day.  It's those gray winter days that.... no - we're not talking about that today.  Today is all about the sunshine.  It's a sunshine day.  Sunshine, almost all the time, makes me high.  Works for the Brady Bunch.  Works for John Denver.  Works for me.

I drive both of my girls to school.  With the exception of those dreary days that we're not talking about today - those long short days of winter - I get to watch the sun rise every morning.  It is always a pleasant way to start the day.  Sometimes it is spectacular.  Sometimes it just - strikes me.

This morning was one of those times.

I was taking Liv to school when I first saw it peek it's gorgeous orange face over the horizon.  The sky around it was pink and the starkness of the silhouettes of the trees juxtaposed against the softness of the sky was nothing short of breathtaking.  I mentioned this to Liv.

"I love that big ole orange sun!  I want to hug it and kiss it and squeeze it!"

"Don't.  You would die."

My youngest is quite logical - not prone to flights of fancy or romance. 

"Metaphorically.  I want to hug it and kiss it and squeeze it metaphorically.  Not actually."

"Good.  Because it's just a big ball of gas, anyway."

"Oooooooh!"  I squealed, as we turned a corner, "Look at it in the rear view mirror!  It even looks good from behind!  Oooooooh I just want to kiss it on the lips!'

"It doesn't have lips, Mom.  Big ball of gas.  Remember?"

Now she is not quite as cynical as this is making her sound.  She was smiling.  We were playing.  It was that delightful sort of play when the parent knows that she is being over the top and embarrassing and the child rolls her eyes and pretends she's mortified but in reality is pretty amused.  (I'll keep telling myself that, anyway.)

"I'm gonna pull in here and take a picture."

"You can't go in there, Mom - it says buses only."

"All the buses are gone.  And I'll only be a second.  Here", I said, handing her my phone, "jump out and take a quick picture."

"I am not jumping out of the car."

"Fine.  I will."

I took the picture.  It was pretty.  Not as pretty as the sunrise actually was - it was taken with my phone, for Pete's sake - but pretty.  I jumped back in the car.

"You are a rule breaker."  

"I am a scofflaw."

"Scofflaw?  One who scoffs at the law?"

"It's a real word.  I looked it up.  Isn't it great?" I said, as we pulled up to the drop-off point.

"It's pretty great."

It's all pretty great.