Well, it’s begun. Winter is becoming oppressive to me, as I predicted. I wish I could have held out until at least half-way through February. The view out my front window is gorgeous. There’s a tangle of trees, every branch caked with new snow. I like that. But I don’t like the stir crazy that is getting mixed in with my usual crazy. After this long of not being able to just step outside in my bare feet, but instead having to get Liam and myself all bundled and booted up, I’m beginning to feel buried.
This morning I was about to empty the dishwasher, but when I opened it, I found that I had already done so. I muttered, “Oh right. Good job, Angie.”
I’m congratulating myself verbally for remembering to do my housework! I need to get out more. But I don’t want to get out, not until spring! Soon I will be reduced to a muttering puddle of a person who will only leave the house once Dan has shoved boots on my feet, swaddled me in my coat and wound a scarf around my whole head. Oh, and has thrust a steaming cup of coffee in my hand for me to perpetually clutch and sip until I am warm and snug again.
Bright side: Liam’s face when we pull him on his sled. It’s the rosiest, brightest, happiest of faces. How can I stay mad at winter after that?
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