Might Could

In Texas there is a phrase that people use that, as a writer, annoys the crap out of me.  "might could."

"Y'all wanna go get something to eat?"

"Yeah, we might could do that."

I am sitting here in the comfort of my bed, door slightly open to let the cold air in, and I just want to sit here.  I have resisted the urge to fully embark upon snuggling under the comforter and going back to sleep.

I made my favorite kind of coffee and have been listening to random music.

In other words I have been slacking the morning away.

I need to pay bills.  I need to look for a house to move in to.  I need to do dishes.  I need to go grocery shopping.  I need to contact a few clients.  I even need to shower.

Instead I am sitting here doing nothing but playing around on the computer and thinking.  Thinking about yesterday and what an amazing day it was.

I took the children to get our Christmas tree.  We go to the same Christmas Tree farm every year where we sit on barrels of hay in the back of tractor pull and are let out in the fields of trees.  The children have been doing this since they were actually young enough to be called children.

Now my car is stuffed with the ever growing teenagers, children who are adults, and of course two dogs.  From the moment we got in the car the average age level dropped.  Christmas music was played on the stereo, giggles emitting from the back seat.

In the field of trees my mostly grown children, ran, laughed, and even leapt over what will be next years crop of trees.  They wanted hot chocolate, and to run through the maze made of hay.

It was cold and the wind biting.  They all huddled together to keep each other warm like a pack of puppies in sleep.

As always I had my camera on hand to capture as much of it as I could.  There is no way to capture the feeling I felt watching them play.  Seeing them just enjoy the moment.

Yes I have bills to pay, clients to call, a shower to take, and numerous other items on my never ending list.

Or. I might could sit here with my coffee and the memory  of a cold morning spent with my adult children running around a Christmas Tree farm all of us "acting a fool."