This morning Mary asked, "Is it summertime?"
True, the sun is shining. And we haven't been wearing coats or snow boots. And the kids went on a bike ride and played at the park yesterday. So it was a fair question.
On the way home from church, David asked the same question.
"Is it summertime?"
No, we explained. It's winter. Greg pointed out that it was 37 degrees, which is still pretty cold.
Then we looked out the car window and saw a guy driving his convertible Beamer with the top down, wind in his hair.
It's February and we're in Wisconsin and it's 37.
37!!!
Yes, it is summertime.
P.S. What I'm going to say is blasphemy, I know, but I'm going to say it anyway: I hate this unseasonably warm weather!! You want to know what unseasonably warm weather in February equals? MUD. Mud, mud, mud, mud. Muddy shoes, muddy snow pants, muddy cars, muddy floors, muddy socks, muddy everything. November is muddy. March is muddy. But I expect two to three months each year where the world is so frozen that mud is physically impossible. I thought my dream would come true here in Wisconsin. But, no, not this year. This is the year of the never-ending muddy fall/spring. (Also known as "summertime" in our house.)
