Imagine a day. A cloudy day. The marine layer has rolled in over night and socked in the coastal communities under a fog. That's what it's like in San Diego during the months of May and June.
Locals call it, "May Gray" and "June Gloom."
Now, imagine that as the day progresses, the clouds start to break up.
And slowly - but surely - they give way to the most perfectly blue sky day you've ever seen.
Except, you saw one just like it yesterday.
And you'll see another one just like it, tomorrow.
The weather in San Diego is absolutely perfect. While I know "perfect" is a relative term, the weather here is ideal for the average human being who prefers to not sweat or freeze. The humidity is approximately 40% and the temperatures are typically in the 70's and very rarely vary more than 20 degrees in either direction.
It's like that on average, 355 days a year.
At night time, you'll almost always want a sweater, or you will if you've lived in southern California long enough to have your blood thin out like I have and you go in to a shaking fit when the temperature drops in to the 60's. But those days, those warm and perfectly clear blue sky days...
Where you'll often see parachuters appear out of thin air ... and gracefully float down to earth.
I will really miss those days.
Our children on the other hand, are very (very!! very!!) excited about the prospect of living where it snows. Today, after I shredded several years worth of financial documents that we no longer need and certainly don't want to trek 3,000 miles cross-country, I took a quick break to go talk with my husband who was doing some home improvement work in the back yard.
And when I returned, I saw this...
(A shredded paper snowball fight.)
I've concluded that since I've been so busy trying to get my current work responsibilities wrapped up, while also trying to handle the administrative aspects of this move ... and Charlie has been entirely consumed trying to get most of the home improvements completed, the children have received what I'd like to refer to as 'peripheral' supervision.
Which means, we're aware of the fact that they are in our home and safe, but compared to a normal day, we're not as intensely involved with what, exactly, they are doing.
So, it's very much like Lord of the Flies around here.
The children have assumed control.
"Maybe there is a beast ... maybe it's only us."
I don't know at what point, exactly, in one's life they decide that living in squalor does not suit them and they'd much prefer to live in a clean and tidy environment ... but I can tell you this much ... it sure as heck ain't at five.
Right now, they are working against us as hard as their little minds and bodies will allow. (Yes, Henry has de-clothed himself. When children rule, the norm is nudity.)
Our children would be perfectly happy to live in this disaster every single day.
Why, I'll bet that if I didn't spend two solid hours cleaning up this paper blizzard and the children woke up to this tomorrow ...
They'd think it was Christmas.
And not just any Christmas, a WHITE Christmas.
And everyone knows a white Christmas calls for snow angels.
(It also calls for brandy. Whose got some they could send me, STAT?)