The window is open, the sun is down, and a cool breeze is blowing into my bedroom. I’m frustrated after a long day. Some days, lots of days, I can quickly figure out What Needs Doing and I don’t have much trouble simply doing the next thing. Today was not one of those days.
Today was one of those days when it feels like every hour is a row of crochet that I realize just as I finish it, I’m going to have to pull it out and redo because of some stupid careless mistake. It’s my third day in a row of feeling like I’ve been crocheting for 12 hours and the damn blanket isn’t any longer.
I am not in a good mood.
But my daughter did read me not one, but two stories she’s written, because she wants to be just like her mom. And my surly teenage son was uncharacteristically sweet. Chris made soup and epic grilled cheeses for dinner.
And then there’s that open window, silently reminding me that winter is finally over. Quietly announcing my favorite time of year is here. The frogs and crickets are singing, singing of spring and campfires and dew-wet grass at dawn instead of crunchy frost.
We’ll try again tomorrow.