It’s 20 degrees warmer than usual in Online Offal Town and for the past two days we have been overdosing on Vitamin D and seeing our neighbors for the first time since Thanksgiving.
Although I live in suburbia, there are lots of farms nearby. I threw open all the windows to let in some of that good country air, promptly panicking the cat, and immediately inhaled the pungent aroma of manure. (People who have lived here long enough can differentiate between the various kinds of fertilizers that are used throughout the year. I always ask natives about that at parties and play dates.)
When it’s this pleasant, I give my kids the option of playing outside before doing homework. We’re at that glorious time of year before spring sports have started, so I don’t have to rushrushrush them to make sure we get somewhere on time. They can ride their bikes and play with whomever they run into. I pretend I don’t know what television is. They are legitimately tired at night, instead of just being worn out from ignoring me all day long.
But in just two days, things have gotten out of control. Yesterday, my son came home and tried to plug in a big electric fan near the couch in front of the black talky box. I reminded him it was cooler outside. Today he got off the bus and asked if I could set up the sprinkler. (I have to remind him to shower most days.) We’ve been spending so much time reacquainting ourselves with neighbors that dinner and other subsequent activities–like, BEDTIME–have been pushed back to the point where I have to wake my children up in the morning. And if there is one thing I hate doing, it’s starting the day with sleep-deprived children, because my patience vanishes before the school bus arrives.
Everything is supposed to come crashing down this weekend, which is coincidentally when Daylight Savings Time begins, when the temperatures will plummet to a seasonably appropriate 55 degrees. (It also snowed this time last week.)