Blinded by frozen eyeballs, I send you this message
Man. Still winter. The last time I trekked through my backyard, the snow was up to my knees. My knees are tall. So that's, um, a lot of snow to have sitting on the ground in March. We have a fire hydrant in our front yard that the public works homies occasionally come and plow out. This plowing has created a mountain of snow so high in my yard that my kids sled down it on a regular basis. I don't know when the last time was my kids went outside for recess at their school. It has to be 9 degrees for them to go out. That doesn't seem like a very high bar, but Wisconsin just can't seem to meet it.
My husband, who occasionally likes to fancy himself a person who goes outside but who is actually not a person who goes outside (unless forced), is actually experiencing winter rage. I have never known him to give two hoots about the weather, unless we're camping and it's hot/humid, in which case he is incurably pissed. So him caring is like a thing. He states that the day he started his new job in July 2012, it was 110 degrees out or some such thing. This winter, it has gotten to -25 degrees here (not counting wind chill). He says humans shouldn't inhabit places with 135 degree temperature swings. It's kind of hard to argue that they should, when you think about it. He wants to move to Pensacola or Tallahassee, Florida. He's researched the job and housing markets, and thinks we could probably trade even-up. I don't know anything about either of these places, but in my mind they sound like bug-infested hovels. I mean, no offense to Pensacola or Tallahassee. I've never spent appreciable time in either place. But if you randomly mentioned either of those cities, my first thought would be a buggy shithole. Hey, the city I live in is pretty much a dump, so it's not like I have any standards on the subject. But I don't think I can move to Bug, Florida. My husband, however, might already be packing.
I don't know.
I am 14% less insane than I was the last time I wrote. I think it's just resignation at this point. Spring is not coming. Summer is not coming. And this is quite unfortunate. But I'm just sort of over it. Not because I got happy, but because hope has been beaten out of me and I can no longer make much of a psychological fuss. That's really depressing, if you think about it.
I am marginally cheered by the fact that I'm leaving for my annual Florida vacay this coming weekend. I am nervous that my children will catch some plague this week or we'll encounter horrific weather-induced travel bullshit. I'm trying to not have actual panic attacks on these subjects. I'm not good at being calm once I get myself worked up about something though, so I'll probably sleep about 45 minutes between now and the time we get to our destination.
God, what a shithead. Complaining about vacation. That's the sort of thing that makes you hate a person.
So, I guess what I am saying is that something positive is going to happen in the relatively near future but I'm a big dick and too much in anxiety-mode to be pumped. My husband has rubbed off on me. I used to be a huge anticipator of awesomeness (Christmas, vacations, human beings...) and half the fun of anything for me was the pre-excitement, but my spouse does not believe in counting chickens before they are hatched. He experiences no joy until the positive thing is actually occurring. Spares him the pain of disappointment. Somehow over the past couple years of watching him be non-pumped, this has rubbed off on me. Which is kind of a bummer, but is probably a better way of handling oneself in adult life. But in all likelihood, I'll probably be experiencing extreme joy in a week. It seems so absurd that it's hard to type.
This year, the family is going down and staying in a rental house, the same one we stayed in last year, with my bestie and her family. Then Big K and Phook and Bigs are coming home a week later. But me and Parkie are staying for another week with my bestie and her shorties, and going camping in a Florida State Park that happens to be on an island. It's decidedly rustic...no hot water, no food of any kind to purchase, no humans really except a few other campers and the occasional ranger. Some wild pigs might be hanging out. Me and 20 of my closest friends used to go there camping for Spring Break when we were in college four eons ago, and some of my most bombtastic memories of my youth are from those trips. I've been back for day trips a few times since I became a shameless breeder, but I haven't camped there since I was preggers with Phook. I am, if I let myself think about it, really excited to do that again. I wish our whole family could make it for this part of the trip, but my spouse has a pretty lean time-off policy and my big kids have to go back to school at some point, so it's me and Parkie for this year. We're going to sun ourselves like cats and hike a lot. I think it will be neat. It just doesn't seem real right now.
What I really hope, is that if spring/summer ever does bless us fools in Wisconsin, that I remember how this winter felt. That I don't, on the 4th decent day of the year, start to take it for granted. I want to have a great summer with my kids. I want to be outside a ton, garden a ton, swim a ton, eat our meals on the deck a ton. These are my standard operating procedures, but I just hope I remember to relish them once they're here again. I don't want to be too busy. I don't want to become complacent. I sure as shit don't want to complain that it's too hot out.
Oh, the feel of warm outdoor air on my skin. I can only imagine.