And by Slightly I Mean Totally

February you say? I've got nothing against February. Bring it on, little month. Surely winter is pounding down without mercy 'round these parts, never letting us forget who's boss, but the jump away from endless January gives me hope that despite it all we're one day closer to the spring, and 14 days closer to deeply discounted, extremely disgusting-yet-delicious boxes of Valentine's chocolates. What, you thought that was a pregnant thing? Silly. I am Stella's granddaughter in the chocolates respect, there's no getting around it.

At the heart of it, I agree that the snow is a bummer. As Scotty would say, "She can't take much more, sir!" Ain't nowhere to put this stuff. But I can't stop it, so I might as well embrace it, to the tune of getting to do my work from home today, and possibly tomorrow. A steady wardrobe of yoga pants, frequent play breaks with my sonny boy and no pumping. That's pretty close to perfect. Thinking about it, I will miss breastfeeding when it's over, but I will definitely not miss the pumping aspect. Maybe I won't get as much reading done, but I can live with that.

So anyway, I've got some work to get done, and I've also made a date with myself have a major plotting session for the novel so I can wrap it up sometime before the snow melts.

I heard this song this morning and as always it reminded me of the first dance I ever went to, and the first boy I ever slow-danced with. As Sir Elton's catalog goes, this isn't my favorite, but I can't hear it without being immediately transported to the GRCC circa 1980-hmmpfh and that's mighty powerful.



A lot of you know the boy in question, and it's a slightly mortifying story I may tell someday. Er, maybe. Wishing you all safeness and warmness and cuddly-ness against the elements, whatever they may be in your neck of the woods.