Yesterday I ran the air conditioner earnestly for the first time this year. I was vacuuming and my thermostat said 83*. Which is just too hot to really enjoy your vacuuming.
This morning Savannah called from her room, "Mom, can we cut off my jeans tonight? I don't have any shorts." And then wondered aloud if we were at the end of winter or already in spring.
I told her to wear a skirt. I'm not quite ready to sacrifice her jeans. I bought them for our Christmas trip to Michigan. Two months ago.
Yesterday afternoon Ethan and I were outside enjoying the sunshine. I sat in the shade because I thought it was "hot." He declared the weather to be "only warm" and "just perfect" and planted himself purposefully in the sun. After a few minutes he said,
"Wow. You were right. It is hot." And scooted over to me in the shade.
We stared up into the leaves of the orange tree.
A minute or so later he asked, "Mom, are you right about everything?"
I said, "Your dad thinks so."
(Sometimes I think, "Am I really writing about this?" Take this last week, for instance. I've given up writing about my husband's colon in favor of talking about the weather. All of it Pulitzer material for sure.)
David is back at work. And no worse for wear. My work is suffering however, as I no longer know what to cook. The doctor said to take it easy for a while. Not too spicy. Nothing with fat. That leaves me with....rice. I'm supposed to feed the sister missionaries tonight. They like curry, which is probably considered "spicy." I had plans to make the Chicken Tikka Masala. Luckily for David, I am serving it with rice. Honestly, I have my doubts that rice will be enough to tempt him home. Perhaps I should whip up a nice salad with no dressing as extra incentive. It is quite a shock to discover that everything you cook has either spice or fat, and usually both. (This used to be one of the "pluses" for marrying me. That list is getting alarmingly small.)