The morning had gone as most mornings do: hustle the older two kids to school, go to the field with Youngest and the mutt, do a load of laundry, clean up the dishes, run a couple of errands, play Yahtzee (making sure I never win), and then drop Youngest at school for his daily dose of kindergarten. I came back to the house and the funk dropped in on me.
Was it listening to sad Springsteen songs? Was it reading the headline online about the little girl who was run over by her mother? Was it getting a missive from a friend who I've not heard from in a long time? Was it hearing from another friend who has moved to Las Vegas?
I couldn't tell you. I can't pinpoint what it was. But it was there. And by the time I was at school, picking the kids up, it was hanging over me, Eeyore-style.
And, then, as if God snapped his fingers -- quiet-like, so I couldn't hear -- it was gone. I was running around with Youngest and his playmate at the field for the mutton head's second daily romp, and I realized I was happy again. Whatever it was that had had me in a vise grip was gone. Vanished. Vanquished.
Perhaps by little boys with their toy guns and light sabres?