Sometimes the blurry ones tell the most truthful story, the frantic energy pent up inside on cold, dark nights. The littlest boy insisting on running 'round and 'round the house, begging his brother and sister with new found words--"Come on guys." The little boy who is suddenly not nearly so grumpy, who seems to be defying all my expectations for that dreaded year of terrible. The boy with crimson cheeks and labored breath from his evening adventures is flirtatious and agreeable and so much less likely to scowl.
I'm sure this is how I will remember so much of this time, the two years we were a family of five. The memories of the winter we waited for our girl will likely be grainy and a little out of focus, just like so much of the past.