I pinned up my hair today. A poor choice because it's minus five on the point this morning and minus five here in the damp is the equivalent of minus twenty in a dry cold. Sam helps me into my long woolen coat (teal with as many buttons as I could have put on it just for the methodical factor) and then shrugs it closed around me tightly. He kisses me on the tip of the nose.
So sweet.
So cold, Samuel.
I already called ahead to make sure they turn up the heat and change the fans.
It doesn't help.
Don't take your coat off.
I didn't plan to.
But Lochlan is ready and comes downstairs in his casual suit, a blanket over his arm. Have a bag for this, Bridge? And I run and get a reusable shopping bag from the grocery store and we're set.
Lochlan drives the Jeep. I think he likes it. It only uses five times more gas than his truck so it's a winner for sure but it's so cute who can hate on it?
When we get to church PJ is three minutes behind us with hot takeout coffee. I don't plan to drink mine, instead I consider pouring it down over my head so I can burn from the heat but then I take a sip and who's going to turn down Starbucks on a cold day like this?
(Maybe it will keep her awake this time.)
Pj packs in beside us in his huge parka and in my coat with my coffee tightly tucked in between he and Lochlan it's not so bad with the blanket around me and eventually I forget my shivering fingertips and aching knees, focusing on Sam's words, talking about familiar weathers and the slow winter slide into spring, into Lent, into lighter times, both literally and figuratively.
Mentally I calculate when I need to have the ingredients on hand for the epic Shrove Tuesday pancake dinner I'll be making very early in March for the night before Lent. Mentally I begin to sort out what I'll give up for the forty days prior to Easter. Mentally I begin to get cold again, as PJ shifts slightly and Lochlan's bad arm gets sore, leading him to remove it from around my shoulders. Mentally I feel the cold locking me in it's icy grip and my only defense, as ever, is to fall asleep, head slowly nodding forward, eyes heavy, words running together in my head then disappearing entirely.
(Nope.)
I didn't wake up until I let go of my still one-quarter-full coffee cup, and it landed on my boots, barely spilling but enough of an odd surprise for Lochlan to very loudly, very clearly swear a blue streak in alarm while almost simultaneously lunging for the cup.
Only a drop or two was spilled, mostly on my coat, missing the blanket at least. His reflexes from throwing fire are exactly as incredible as one would expect.
He sits up. Sorry! He calls out to Sam, who was momentarily stunned into silence wondering what was happening. Dropped my coffee. Carry on.
I reach for my cup back but Lochlan makes no effort to give it to me. He's not irritated, ever, by my inability to remain awake while not moving, rather he is always concerned instead and figures I will just fall asleep again.
He isn't wrong and this time my handbag lands on the floor. He leaves it there.
So sweet.
So cold, Samuel.
I already called ahead to make sure they turn up the heat and change the fans.
It doesn't help.
Don't take your coat off.
I didn't plan to.
But Lochlan is ready and comes downstairs in his casual suit, a blanket over his arm. Have a bag for this, Bridge? And I run and get a reusable shopping bag from the grocery store and we're set.
Lochlan drives the Jeep. I think he likes it. It only uses five times more gas than his truck so it's a winner for sure but it's so cute who can hate on it?
When we get to church PJ is three minutes behind us with hot takeout coffee. I don't plan to drink mine, instead I consider pouring it down over my head so I can burn from the heat but then I take a sip and who's going to turn down Starbucks on a cold day like this?
(Maybe it will keep her awake this time.)
Pj packs in beside us in his huge parka and in my coat with my coffee tightly tucked in between he and Lochlan it's not so bad with the blanket around me and eventually I forget my shivering fingertips and aching knees, focusing on Sam's words, talking about familiar weathers and the slow winter slide into spring, into Lent, into lighter times, both literally and figuratively.
Mentally I calculate when I need to have the ingredients on hand for the epic Shrove Tuesday pancake dinner I'll be making very early in March for the night before Lent. Mentally I begin to sort out what I'll give up for the forty days prior to Easter. Mentally I begin to get cold again, as PJ shifts slightly and Lochlan's bad arm gets sore, leading him to remove it from around my shoulders. Mentally I feel the cold locking me in it's icy grip and my only defense, as ever, is to fall asleep, head slowly nodding forward, eyes heavy, words running together in my head then disappearing entirely.
(Nope.)
I didn't wake up until I let go of my still one-quarter-full coffee cup, and it landed on my boots, barely spilling but enough of an odd surprise for Lochlan to very loudly, very clearly swear a blue streak in alarm while almost simultaneously lunging for the cup.
Only a drop or two was spilled, mostly on my coat, missing the blanket at least. His reflexes from throwing fire are exactly as incredible as one would expect.
He sits up. Sorry! He calls out to Sam, who was momentarily stunned into silence wondering what was happening. Dropped my coffee. Carry on.
I reach for my cup back but Lochlan makes no effort to give it to me. He's not irritated, ever, by my inability to remain awake while not moving, rather he is always concerned instead and figures I will just fall asleep again.
He isn't wrong and this time my handbag lands on the floor. He leaves it there.