I'm in a weird headspace today, so forgive the rambling nature of this post. It snowed here Friday and Saturday--30 inches of snow, to be precise--and I'm riding the little-kid highs of the thrill of snowstorms (everything's closed! We can walk in the middle of the streets! Oh my god, it's *still* snowing!) and the adult-like lows of the dangers of them (do we have batteries? Will they ever plow our street? Where will they put all of this snow? Is the furnace return blocked outside? Why don't I have any water pressure-omg-is-it-a-frozen-pipe-I-have-no-idea-how-to-own-a-house!?).
It's the conflicting nature of my feelings that is confusing to me today: I am sad to see the storm go, sad that we never lost power, that we weren't forced to build a blanket fort and read by flashlight (sad, perhaps, that we chose not to build a blanket fort and read by flashlight anyway). I am grateful for two days of guilt-free rest from running, but my legs are itching to be back out on the roads. I am thankful for a chance to hibernate this weekend, and also stir crazy, and also convinced my hibernation was too short.
I want a drink. I want a cookie. I want a nap. I want to read every book on my shelf.
I need to do the dishes, fold the laundry, and figure out how to get my car out of the garage over 3 feet of unplowed snow, and go back to work tomorrow.
I want to be a child. I have to be an adult. I need to learn how to live between those two things: how to appreciate the moments--like 30" of snow--that bring childlike wonder into our lives, and using those moments to bolster me through the harder parts of being responsible.
Is this what it feels like to grow up?