Not me. My kids. Two of them are wandering around the house in various states of moan. Nobody is vomiting–this is what luck feels like. They ache, they leak, they cough, and they remind me of sweet, listless zombies. Poor dears.
The house feels small and tight, not because of sick zombie children but because of snow banks. Look out the kitchen window at the front yard and you need to crane your neck slightly to see over the mound of snow to the street. Look out the back and you’ll be confronted by a porch full of the white stuff (we really should shovel that off) that renders the back yard invisible. We are being slowly buried. There are tunnels that lead us to the driveway, and we discovered last weekend that we could exit via Barno’s bedroom window and jump off the porch roof if we need to escape (or just for fun, as you do on a Saturday afternoon) but downstairs it does feel like we’re animals in holes, waiting for a spring that might not come.
And it’s cold. I went for a run yesterday, out of desperation, and oh, it was bitter.
Apparently, the Grand Canyon is in Arizona. We are thinking of going there for April vacation, which is a mere six weeks away. We are not the kind of people who plan well. But at least now I know what state we’re aiming for.
Is it warm in Arizona in April? Will we be able to stand outside without hunching our shoulders and wincing? Will there be T-shirts and sandals? A desire for salads? Will I have to pull my hair back so the wind can find my neck? Because to hell with scenic vistas and educational sightseeing. I just want to feel not cold for a couple of days.
I think I’ll make a chicken pie. It’s been a while since I made a chicken pie. The older I get, the less I like to cook. But chicken pie–that’s a perfect meal for the cold tonight. And I know at least one kid likes it.
Stay warm, dear ones.