Ok, the California girl in me HATES this weather. Tonite our low is supposed to be 7 degrees. Yes, that’s right, seven! When it’s that cold, you cannot even do anything outside- getting the mail is a polar expedition, and forget letting the monkeys out to burn off some steam. I had to explain what frostbite was to my four-year old, and now he’s all worried about his fingers falling off. He even asked me for another blanket tonite when I put him to bed- to which I then had to backup and re-explain how we have a nice warm house, we are safe, his fingers are not going to fall off, etc. I guess I gave him a little too much information.
The desire to drive out the airport and hop the next flight is strong. Maybe, if I wear a big coat, I could convince the Southwest people I am just really fat. Then they won’t ask for the doctors note that would allow me to fly this pregnant, and I would just have to buy a second seat… hmmm. Now I know how important that trip home is each winter- it gets me though and allows me to continue to live up here with some semblance of happiness. Grumble, grumble gripe.
Mo Mommy and Mr. Mo Mommy came by today and surprised me with another cutie-pie un-pink thing for the maybe-girl. Aside from feeling mortified at the fact I was in my big preggo (home made) tent dress and socks and hadn’t had a shower yet, it was so nice of them to come by. MM always looks totally pretty and put together, and I seriously felt like a big noxious garden weed answering the door! But friends don’t care, right?
Ok, one word: Curling. What the #*&% is up with that? I really like the Olympics and look forward to seeing strange sports we only hear about every four years, but DFM wanted to watch Curling today… I have no idea what to even say about it! Four people sliding around on a sheet of ice, with big rock things, and brooms they rub the ice really fast with? Is there nothing to do north of the 49th parallel?
DFM was doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen after the kids were in bed, and I was standing around being in the way, really as much as possible. After maneuvering around me several times, I knew I was bugging him, but it was kind of fun- maybe that’s why he does it to me all the time- especially when I’m cooking. He looked all annoyed at me, and I told him I was being Jack, our old dog who was big and always under foot, but really, I was being him. To which he said “Move, you big buffalo!” and we both cracked up laughing. I told him I was going to tattle on him to you all for calling me a buffalo.