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| It’d be great if you’d point that camera somewhere else, yeah? |
I may be the first person to actually be driven insane by spring fever.
My normal state of being is fairly tightly wound. I’m cheerful and playful, but I’m also borderline OCD. (Undiagnosed, actually, so there’s a rather good chance they’d be all like- borderline? You are textbook. A neatly bound textbook, placed alphabetically and color-coordinatedly in a descending size row.)
These orderly tendencies keep me firmly planted in the day to day business of running a household, raising smallish people, and staying on task with completely unpredictable writing assignments. I make lists. Loads of them. (Those descend in size and color and stuff, too.) When I clean, for instance. Or when I section off [small amounts of] time to write (even if the writing is just “the the the pfbbbbbt”). Even stuff I do with the girls during yicky weather; I put museum free days in my calendar, make dates with pals so we can climb on their furniture as opposed to our own, and determine which days will be spent at the library (so we can also pay the unfair fines levied by power-hungry librarians. For example).
But this weather is destroying me.
It has been so unseasonably fantastic in the normally frigid city of Chicago (seriously- negative 20 wind chills is nothing new for March), that I’m not truly sure which end is up anymore.
It was eighty degrees yesterday. And sunny. At the same time. Out of doors.
During the past few months, Wednesday morning would mean some quiet activities with Nora, some writing while Susannah napped, and toilets. All things bathroom would be cleaned on Wednesday.
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| BABIES NEED HATS!! |
Yesterday, however, it was a solid seventy degrees by 9am. Obviously, we had to go outside and marvel and try not to stare directly at the sun with our mouths agape. Actually, we went to the Nature Preserve in Peterson Park. We were joined by our friends Angie and Emily and we had the best time ever. (Even when Suzy decided that she was DONE- ten minutes in- and Nora fell backwards off of a log…best time ever.) We came home, the girls were zonked, and I was so flummoxed by the morning’s fresh air that I promptly did nothing of note until they woke up. And then I got all stressed like- darned kids aren’t giving me any free time. I had time. I just apparently didn’t have brain.
And it’s been like this all week. We’re so confused by the nice weather that we keep going outside and having a fabulous time.
And not one toilet has been cleaned.
I’m behind on my writing and my cleaning and my projects and I do not believe anyone has fed the cats. (And today’s their 8th birthday! Happy birthday, Ender and Bean! I’ll feed you so soon!)
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| You think you’ve got problems. I’ve got no arms. |
But it’s pretty hard to stay grumpy about a boggling amount of unfolded laundry (and/or a potentially dangerous shower mold) when one’s cheeks are pleasantly flushed and freckled, and when one’s blonde children have faces that smell like apple juice and sunshine. (Yes, both of them. Even the infant. It’s a long story.)
It feels like a test. Will she snap before the summer if: The dishes harden in the sink? The towel smells suspiciously like someone has peed on it? The cat hair actually stands and slinks away?
I’ve never been very good at tests.
But summer- that I’ve been good at. So I’ll work on it.
(After I close these taunting, ajar, cabinet doors.)
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