There comes a time every winter when I cease feeling all cozy and content in my house and start getting somewhat claustrophobic. Blackrock Fever, I guess you could call it. This time usually comes around the end of February or early March. Which is really too bad, because winter here does not end in February, or even March. No, real spring is slow in coming in upstate New York. Like May.
Which is why it's somewhat alarming that Blackrock Fever has already struck.
This has everything to do, I'm sure, with a certain small person who requires 24/7 care. Cubby doesn't mind being home. It's not as if we live in a small house or tiny apartment or something. There's plenty of room for him to practice his rapidly-improving walking skills. The distance from the living room to the kitchen is quite vast when your legs are only twelve inches long. Plus, there's all kinds of fascinating stuff to see along the way: boot laces, dogs' tails, newspapers left on low table tops. Who could be bored with such entertainment!
I could. Back and forth all day long, living room to library to dining room to kitchen . . . no don't grab the dog, no don't bother the cat while she's sleeping, pulling on electrical cords is not smart, eating bits of wood isn't healthy. . . . It's maybe a little repetitive. JUST A LITTLE.
Meanwhile, outside, the temperature drops steadily lower, the snow continues to fall, and the wind is howling around the house.
And it's only January. This is not good.