Sunday, December 13, 2009
Pride Weather Station in Sudden Deep Freeze
Last night, in all the glorious, ridiculous, -38 winter wonder, J and I went out to have dinner and watch a play.
Yes, there was a "winter weather warning" (see the pic) but to us tough Albertans, what does that mean, exactly? Oooh, big, bad storm warning. We bite our thumbs at you, bad weather! We're going out!
The sitter got there, and I got gussied up, wearing my new boots with tights and my new-ish (from October?) skirt. I had a red silk top with a black drapey cardi, and I looked great. My makeup was perfectly smoky and hot-night-out, and I strutted my stuff. To the door at least.
When I opened that portal to freedom, I had the sinking realization that it just MIGHT not be that fun of a drive. Half an hour's drive didn't seem so bad, until we were in a fridgid borrrowed vehicle (after ours wouldn't start), and the cold seeped into our bones.
Dinner was great, but I admit I was distracted by the fact that I still couldn't feel my feet. Or calves. But I looked wonderful. In keeping with that, I had a plate from the buffet, consisting of a dressing-less spinach salad with oranges, and a greek salad, and some mixed veggies. J ate my ham. One slice of potato. Rock ON!
The evening turned out great. I got feeling back in my limbs, and J started the rig about 20 mintues before we actually drove home, so it was passably warmish. Headed home feeling full of the gloatingy feelings of someone who has looked -40 in the face and laughed. AND looked hot, doing it.
Fast forward to the dinner table tonight. After a busy day today, baking and Christmas-ing, I still managed to pull off a chorizo bolognese over spaghetti, and the family was sitting down to a Sunday dinner with their Martha-Stewart-worthy matriach, moi.
Oh yes. I was feeling rather high on life. Or maybe, on me. I'm such a gosh-darned good woman!
Then my 4 year old son made a dinnertime announcement.
"Well," he sniffed, with a half full mouth of spaghetti. "Looks like we're gonna have another baby."
J and I both stopped chewing. My heartrate slowed down and simultaneously sped up. "What?" I asked, wanting to clear things up right away.
"Yeah," he nodded.
"Oh? What makes you say that?" I asked, lightly. AS LIGHTLY AS I POSSIBLY COULD. WAS HE REALLY GOING TO.... Ohhhhhh yes he was. There go the warm fuzzies.
"Well," my darling son replied, swallowing a great bite of his glorious dinner,
"I see you're getting fat."
Insert knife here. Rip out proud heart. Mash vigourously. Chuck into bolognese. Stir. Serve with a nice chianti, and a side of popsicles.