Nothing is a testament to the crappiness of February like the silence on this blog. February is the worst, is it not? But now it is over and I have nothing on which to blame my binge eating of Oreo cookies and so I write.
January was a rollercoaster. One Saturday my husband said, "Hey, you wanna do somethin'?"
I said, "Always."
And so he goes, "Let's go to the beach."
To which I will always reply, "Yes! Let's go to the beach!"
So we drove to Corpus Christi, which is an industrial-looking city on the southern coast of the Republic of Texas. I had low expectations. I envisioned oily trash on oily beaches with oily oil rigs looming on the horizon. You know me, always the optimist.
Maybe we were there on a good weekend, but the beach was perfect: silky sand, 72 degrees, and sunny. There were sand dollars, starfish, and hermit crabs to catch. AND it turned out to be one of those fee-free weekends at Padre Island National Seashore, so the whole adventure was FREE! ...if you don't count the gas and hotel and Subway sandwich expenses.
The weather has fluctuated from 32 to 78 degrees every week since January. We had a bunch of cancelled school days because of ice. And a bunch of toasty warm days when we wore shorts and flip flops and forgot what month it was.
This was one such toasty Saturday:
Some time after that I injured my ankle while out running. It is one of those mysterious injuries that makes me walk with a limp and makes my husband think that I am faking it so that I can sit around all day reading books on my kindle, as illustrated by Macey:
For the record, there is something legitimately wrong with my ankle.
I guess that's all for now. I'll be back in June.
Ha ha ha, just kidding.