The Limit

I've finally reached my limit on being cooped up indoors with several feet of snow outside and several feet of dirty laundry inside. The nasty stomach bug is on the wane--what did we do wrong, God?--and I repeat to myself over and over how lucky I am NOT to be a single parent. What would I do if I had no one to help? I shudder to think.

And once this limit has been reached, I approach near insanity with rapid-fire thoughts about what to clean first, cook first, organize first, throw away first. Of course, because EVERYTHING MUST GET DONE NOW!

Whatever. Truth is, nothing will get done today except some snow shoveling, bathroom cleaning (we've reached critical proportions), and perhaps coffee / hot cocoa drinking at the local coffee shop. For if I create a swirling mass of intensity around myself for the next two days, I will continue screaming at my preschooler for no reason ("How much tape does one person need??!!!"), and telling my poor toddler with a chapped bottom to "Come on, stop whining."

Who is this person? A shadow of my former self. And I blame it all on Old Man Winter and his minions.

And now, as Jon Stewart would say, here is your TBurg Thompsons moment of zen...

Snow on twigs.

Snow leaves.

Ian on top of the world.

Will snarfing snow.

Our lovely abode.

The sun is back there, I swear!

Ian snarfing snow.

Um, maybe they were hungry?!