Our thermostat has this nifty little feature that when we go into an energy efficient mode, it shows a little leaf. I think it’s for temperatures above 72 in the summer and below 68 in the winter. I can unequivocally say that I have yet to see that leaf this winter. Although by this weekend the temps will be spring-like, which will just throw my body out of whack. Pick a season, folks, and stick with it.
Sunday night my son wanted to stay up. “I’m going to watch Downton Abbey with you guys!” he announced.
“You really want to see it?” I asked.
“Any TV is good,” he told us.
I forbade him from starting Downton Abbey in the third season. So today, after school while Pie was at dance class, we Netflixed the first episode of season one. I will say, I now get all that entail crap that I found so hard to follow at first. What was up with me? It’s pretty simple stuff.
He watched the first episode. He was uncomfortable with kissing (both straight and gay, so at least I know it has nothing to do with his own burgeoning sexual preferences, and by “burgeoning,” I mean “nonexistent”), but seemed engaged. Yet, disappointingly, at the end, he declared it “kinda boring.” I was so looking forward to re-living seasons one and two with him, although I suppose the Turk dying in bed is best left unexplained to a 4th grader. Another touching mother-son experience lost.
In the meantime, 2013 is looking a lot like 2012. The girl won’t sleep. The boy is plotting plans too big for his britches. Adam is stressed. And my novel is not writing itself. Bummer.
