It was a good weekend for sandbox. I haven’t been back there, but I hear tell it’s still pretty icy behind the garage. We got a brief taste of spring this weekend, but it’s back to temperatures in the 40s later this week. It was nice to be outside with out a jacket . . . and gloves . . . and a hat . . . and boots.
I was looking back at some early blog entries. My writing was far less concerned about who was reading. Do you know what I mean? I just laid it all out there warts and all. These days I temper things. Maybe that’s why my writing has been sparse lately. I’ve shifted to the “If you can’t say something nice” school. Not every season of life can follow a carefully, well laid out plan. Some days you just can’t breathe.
I think it’s a combination of factors leaving me melancholy these days. (See what I mean in the above paragraph by my use of the word “melancholy.”) Spring allergies are bothering me. I am freaked out about running my first race of the season next Saturday (Although I had a very good training run Saturday. Check it out Coach Sam if you are reading this.) The end of the school year makes me think the boys are growing up too fast. An old friendship ended in a flurry of rude behavior and I am struggling not address it like a junior high girl on Facebook. I had several incidents last week where I ended up feeling misunderstood and ugly.
It’s my birthday this week. It was cute being 40. 44 feels less so.
I can’t breathe.
Don’t feel sorry for me.
If you see me in real life, don’t look at me with puppy eyes and say, “Awwwwwww, how arrrrrrre you?” That’s so not helpful.
Better is “You look FABulous! I can’t believe you aren’t 35. You’re doing GREAT! It’s ALMOST spring/summer!”