Lovely frozen people of the world (and if you happen to be in a balmy clime, I’m sorta gonna need you to keep it to thyself for the next week):
I hadn’t intended to blog only two-ish weeks into my “maternity leave” (hahaha), but decided to do so for a few reasons.
Namely, I missed blogging. And you guys. And sharing simply crucial minutiae. (Incidentally, Crucial Minutiae would be an exceptional name for a book of essays, no?)
Also, my daughters are watching a Silly Symphonies marathon and my son has- for the moment- concluded that nursing for ten hours straight should tide him over for at least fifteen minutes. Leaving me with entirely too much time on my hands (but not enough for a respectable nap).
Hence, blogging.
And basically, all I have to report is that my state of being is currently blissed out and exhausted and rather grubby and off-the-charts foggy. We’ve had a nonstop parade of [wonderful] family members, including both sets of parents, my oldest sister, and at least one Aunt whose Arizonan extremities may never thaw. I’ve awoken a few times in the night wondering a) who’s sleeping in the guest room, b) where the heck I am, and c) if that bodily fluid is mine or Jasper’s or the cats’. Christmas and New Years were, to the best of my memory, exceptionally great but bizarrely quick. My big sis (and her youngest son) have been playing a game with Southwest Airlines for the past 48 hours called Will A Representative Please Pick Up And Let Me Fly To Some Major Or Minor Airport On The East Coast.
Unrelated to that situation yet entirely tied to houseguests- I’ve never eaten better in my life.
And Chicago is, at this very moment, in the razor-sharp clutches of something that the media has already dubbed “Chiberia,” due to the negative one gazillion weather. (And however you feel about “Chiberia,” you’ve gotta admit that it’s slightly less obnoxious than 2011’s “Snowmageddon.”) This city doesn’t take “cold” and “snow” the way other parts of the country do- this is the second public school closing in 30 years. It’s like that old adage of how a Real Man shouldn’t cry unless something heavy falls on him. Like a baby grand piano.
That’s what this weather is. Baby-grand-piano-to-the-face weather.
But we’re warm and snug and jammied, and even though I’ve ditched the heavy artillery meds (sigh- it’s been fun, heavy artillery meds), I’ve still got that glorious I Know And Care Not What Day It Is feeling in the brain.
I hope it lasts until May.
Although a bit more sleep might feel downright spa-like.
But with a few faces like this staring up at you ’round the clock, sleep can wait.
Speak Your Mind