SO LONG, SUMMER!

It was 33 degrees when I woke up this morning, loveys. Almost to the freezing point, when it was 80 degrees here just the other day. *sigh*

I know, I know. We're knee-deep into October now, so I should get over it. Summer has left me. Even the calendar says so.

But you don't understand. Summer is not only my favorite season, she's like a BFF, waking me up with her warmth and sunshine and happy critter sounds every day.
*picture me doing a Mary Tyler Moore twirl here*
Her open skies, gentle breezes and blooming flowers all inspiring me, and encouraging me to do what I want, to go places I didn't think I could go, and to be anything I want to be. Gosh, I love you, Summer!

And I know I'm not the only one who feels this way.

See?

Summer says you're never too big for the kiddie pool.

Now let's further examine some super-scientific evidence. Shall we? Let's.

You see this?



Power-lifting

This is me, using my super-human Summer strength to lift my six-foot-something brother. No adrenaline or PCP needed or anything! Just the love and encouragement of my ol' pal Summer.

And now look at this:



Must...fight...back...

 Same me. Same brother. Totally different season.

Cold weather is my Kryptonite, guys.

Wintery temps render me immobile underneath my layers. My fingers can't write properly when they're cold. And my tan? Psh! I'm practically glow-in-the-dark pale when Summer isn't around.

Now that's not to say I haven't ever disagreed with my favorite season. Sure, we've had our fights, Summer and I. In fact, this year she brought temperatures so hot, my makeup melted right off. That stain on my shirt? That was my face, before I stepped outside. Thanks for noticing.

Along with that brutal heat came a myriad of critters, trying to seek refuge in my house.

Not cool, Summer. Not cool.

But still, absence does indeed make my heart grow fonder, loveys.
So as I pack away my swimwear and unearth my sweaters, I vow to myself that I will be brave this year.

*sniffle*

Winter brings a lot to look forward to too, you know.

There is no yardwork to be done, for one thing.

Also, I get to swap out my swim goggles for these sweet winter goggles:

"You look so much better through my beer goggles, Helena."

Also, on cold nights, the hubs and I can tuck the kids into their beds, go downstairs with our coffee and a blanket, and sit in front of the fire. You know what that means, right? You guessed it, loveys. We'll be roasting marshmallows, and not sharing with the kids! *naughty, naughty* So there's always that.

*casts around for legit reasons not to miss Summer...*

Well, any excuse to rock a Snuggie is halfway awesome. Yes?
And there's hot cocoa in colder months - extra marshmallows when I make it. That kinda rules.
No need to go out. Stay in and write. Hello, deadline. Fancy meeting you on time.
And the cinnamon rolls, hot and fresh from the oven.
Winter's perfect for feety jammies. For the kids, I mean. No self-respecting grown-up over the age of 35 would ever be caught wearing feety jammies. *yanks curtains closed*
Pumpkins are the rock stars of gourds, so I guess the pumpkin patch is cool.
Oh, and we always have the holidays to look forward to. I've been extra-good this year, so there's no telling what Santa will give me.

"Sit on Santa's lap and tell me what you want."

Uhhhhhhhhhhh..............I'm sorry, loveys. Lost my train of thought. What were we talking about again?

FRIDAY FLUFF

So yesterday I was cruising around the internet, and saw the Twitter pic Mariah Carey posted of her husband in a hospital bed. She said he's having kidney failure. I'm not usually one to give much energy or focus to the latest haps in the disconnected celeb world, but I have thought a lot about poor lil' Nick Cannon (a lot more than I'd care to admit) since yesterday. I liked the way they seemed to stick together, and face that monster head-on and chin-up.

See, two years ago, my husband's brother's kidneys started failing. Rapidly. Almost immediately after we got that news, his sister's started failing, just as fast. The family huddled, decided who would be tested for kidney donation, and the wheels were set in motion which ended with my sister-in-law Marie donating a kidney to her brother, and my husband donating a kidney to his sister. The 2 transplant surgeries were set to take place 1 after the other, 1 week apart.

My husband had no qualms about the surgery. He took a month's leave from work, left St. Louis for Los Angeles, and spent his days shuttling between his sister's apartment and the various departments at the hospital at USC for labs and other pre-op fun stuff.

The decision to be a live donor isn't just a matter of saying "Yes, let's do this," though for both donors in this case, the answer was immediate. There are a wide range of tests, physical and psychological, that span weeks, and last years. The physical pain after surgery is pretty significant, and the risk of any surgery is nothing to sneeze at.

My husband never once complained about the hoops he jumped through to donate his kidney or the pain he endured afterward. He came home, proudly showing off the photos the surgical team took of his healthy kidney, next to his sister's dead one. And the snazzy certificate USC gave him is displayed in our house. Not for bragging rights, but as a reminder.

Any one of us could suffer health crisis. I guess the decision to be made is how to handle it: Pretend you're an ostrich and bury your head in the sand, or face that monster head-on and chin-up, saying "Let's do this."