Weathermania

It's hard to believe that spring is here. It's been hitting 60 pretty regularly, and I don't mean 60 as in, we wake up with six fresh inches of snow on the ground and by rush hour home it's gray slosh.

I actually went out in my bare feet today to put stuff in and out of the car... something I'm sure, if Joe noticed, is killing him, because he's a strict no-shoes-in-the-house guy, and while I'm not wearing shoes in the house, I'm still tracking in every germ festering in the thawing driveway that is coming to bloom. (In fact, the first time he kicked me out, when I was three months pregnant, I thought about which would hurt him most before I exited: tossing his Waterford collection off the deck, or running around the house in my shoes.)

But I'm sure he didn't notice. He doesn't notice much at all about me these days. He makes dramatic points about not noticing me, like when I scream "pick up that crying baby!" and he takes a long look at me, then turns back to staring at the tube. (You know what would really piss me off, Joe? If you started turning off the light in the kitchen as you left, as if I'm not standing there slaving away, as I do all evening. Guess you haven't thought of that one yet.)

Driving is a rich experience these days. The potholes are ripe as hell.