We’ve been homebound for the better part of a week while she’s squabbled with a relentless case of the sniffles. By noon both our noses are pressed against the cold glass, pining for fresh air. I’ve actually found myself looking forward to letting the dog in and out. It provides a compelling case for opening the back door and allowing December to creep in and steal kisses from our bare feet. But then I imagine the rest of the world, clamoring for parking spaces at the mall or hemmed in by an overflowing inbox and barking deadlines, and suddenly I feel free as a bird. What better place to be imprisoned than our balmy kitchen with my favorite little person, painting snowflakes, munching graham crackers and ignoring the dishes.