Monday morning quarterback: we’re swimming in February
At least Shelby is snug as a bug.
And I mean that, literally. I turned on the pool heater yesterday because Weather.com told me the temp today would be about 80° and by golly, they were right. A quick trip to Target to buy some suits and we were good to go. On the one hand, I’m glad because children everywhere are off from school and I had no hard and fast plans for my brood. On the other hand, I hate it. I want to be wearing a sweater. I want rain to be falling from the sky. I want to sit in front of a crackling fire tonight and watch the Olympics all snug as a bug. Himiny, jiminy, it’s February! What the @#% €?! Instead, I’m running around tightening swim goggles for tiny heads, explaining to my girls’ friends that I wasn’t prepared for summer and to please be patient while I wash off the water toys covered in a black and green substance that appears to be mold. There is a mindset to the seasons and Presidents’ Day falls during winter. I’m a winter girl. “Please be patient while I adjust my thinking!” I’ve never been the most popular mom but so far, no one seems to be avoiding our house because of it. Mrs. Neil (most of them call me JoAnn) doesn’t favor being bothered with petty annoyances, and as long as they know where I stand (usually nowhere near them), there will be no grumbling or eye-rolling from me. Makes you want to rush right over with your kids, no?
Abrupt segue: I fear that if I’m not careful, the next two weeks of posts will consist of me talking of nothing else but men and women, boys and girls, and the different ways they slide on snow and ice. Saturday, while I folded laundry in front of the television, I acquired a sudden expertise in biathlon commentary. “Ew, he missed two shots. That’s gonna cost him. And now, with the wet snow coming down, well, he may as well quit, go back to Switzerland and fix clocks. Tough break.” Tonight, so far, I just want to say that the snowboarders are a bit of a mess and the movie “The Green Zone” looks like an Iraqi version of the Bourne movies and that’s just fine with me.
Speaking of movies (not so abrupt, right?), I watched “The Last Station” over the weekend. It’s about Leo “Lev” Tolstoy, his wife and various minions. Romance, history, drama, biography – it comes across like a really good filmed production of Chekhov. I haven’t seen all of the Best Picture nominees yet, but I’m surprised this movie didn’t make the cut. Helen Mirren and Christopher Plummer did, however, earn nods for Best Actress and Supporting Actor, respectively. Go see.
Second guessing: I wouldn’t have gone downtown Saturday afternoon after the girls’ lemonade stand (proceeds to Haiti, of course) to try out the food truck festival. The line to get in snaked around the corner and we were hungrier than a polar bear in springtime, so we headed to Quizno’s. On second thought, it was by no means a waste of time. The five of us took the subway, which is always fun and makes me feel like I live in a city, and then there’s the tall buildings and all. Something about concrete going way up high in the sky makes me feel all tingly.
Valentine’s Day: I made my husband promise not to get me anything because, what with all the cookie making and the girls being off from school Friday (I don’t ever remember “teacher in-service” days when I was a kid), I had only managed to get him a very meaningful card. So, while I napped on Saturday, he snuck out and did as he pleased and Sunday morning, I was the recipient of a Peet’s coffee card, a dark chocolate bar and a really soft shirt from The Gap. My card wasn’t really THAT meaningful, so I’ve already started brewing him a homemade beer and knitting him a sweater for next year.
I ran about 18 miles this morning (five weeks until the big race) and so in honor of my efforts and Presidents’ Day, I’m off to eat a cherry pie (or maybe just a slice). I don’t care that the whole Washington-cutting-down-the-cherry-tree was a load. If it means I can rationalize, I’m grateful. I cannot tell a lie.
