I considered just not writing anything for a while, and anyone who’s checking could just assume that it all finally killed me off. But here I am. I am not, apparently, dead. And another week has passed.
On Tuesday, I thought for sure that Peter was going to give up on high school. And we found out that the bank won’t even give us a loan with a co-signer unless we have proof of future income. And it was dark and very cold and I felt pretty awful. My students seemed to be feeling pretty awful as well, bless their hearts. And they got to cry about it. I had to hold it in.
But here it is, Saturday. It felt wonderful to wake up, and snuggle in deeper. Peter seemed happier. At least happy enough to discuss whether he can finish the year at Beaverton High or if we’ll be doing the on-line option. And my parents have offered to give us the loan for the house. At least someone in the universe trusts us to make mortgage payments.
It’s still cold though. So cold. I’ve kept my coat on most of the day. I’m fantasizing about warmth and sun. And yes, I know that in July I’ll be fantasizing about the cold, crisp air of a Portland winter. If only it could even out a bit.
My daffodil bulb wisely stopped growing after peeking up that first inch or two. Now it’s just huddled there, cold, waiting. I see it every time I leave the house. Except in the mornings on the way to work when it’s too dark to see anything except the rain (or frozen slush) falling in the feeble glow of the yard light.