A few weekends ago, Mike and I had a case of what I like to call 'simultaneous-cabin-fever-February-freak-out.' I'm sure you've heard of it...The sun was shining after days of coldgray and we had a conversation that went something like this:
"Hey, what do you think about flying to Florida, tomorrow."
"That sounds great! Let's go!"
We didn't look at our calenders, we just sat in front of the computer and surfed destinations and airfares until we woke from our stupor and realized there was no way in hell we could get on a plane and head for the beach...tommorrow...with absolutely no planning.
So plan B was to get out of the house and absorb a little sunshine.
And cook moose-burgers over a fire, because that's what we do.
It was just warm enough to shed coats and hats. I lay down against the warm ground and imagined I could hear waves. The sunlight was dazzling, the sky was achingly blue.
Amelia is a bit of a peak bagger. 'Can we climb to the top of that, mom?" I hear every morning as we drive into town and she looks out her window longingly at the Pioneer Mountains. She and Mike took off to climb to the top of a hill, and ended up walking along the ridge.
A long way for three-year-old legs, I think.