I felt pretty darn smashing on Thursday. Lord knows I did.
Friday I paid for it.
I wore myself out with my newfound feeling goodness, and by the time I went to sleep on Thursday night I knew, deep down, that I was going to feel like ass by the morning. I did. I had heartburn all night, not sure why... and slept upright on the couch, which of course means I didn't sleep well or comfortably, so stretches of sleep were short in duration and punctuated by horrid dreams. Geoff woke up at 5 and wanted to watch cartoons, so I put the TV on for him and skulked off to my own bed. I managed another hour of sleep in between Doug's alarm clock going off and him barking orders at me to get up and get Geoff ready for school so he could drive him.
After everyone was gone, I crawled back into bed and slept the sleep of the dead. No dreams. No recollection of letting the dogs out and bringing them back in. Nothing until about 11am when a telemarketer called and woke me up.
I spent the day feeling like warmed over dried out meatloaf that no one wanted. I took a nap. I went to bed at 11:30 and slept more.
I feel a little better now. But the lesson for me is that when you START to feel better, you AREN'T better, you are just on the WAY to better, so you better take it easy still or you will feel infinitely LESS better than the better you thought you felt.
It is gorgeous out there today. So gorgeous in fact that I threw Geoff into the truck with the sled and took him up to the sledding hill in town. He hasn't wanted to go this year unless it is like 9 at night and we're all ready for bed. He's had a lot of energy that we're not able to channel when it's beeezin' freeeezin', so this opportunity could not be passed by yours truly to get that boy out there and get some ya yas out.
The sun is shining brightly, and it is a hot sun when you stand in it. There is absolutely no wind... and the console temp my Mighty Truck was registering was 41 degrees. Damn. Feels like friggin Ft. Lauderdale compared to what it felt like just a couple days ago. (The crappy thing is, in two days from now it will be negative 10, which is why I take such joy in 41 friggin' degrees today).
Geoff had a good time sledding. We only spent about a half hour there, but it was just enough without having something for me to park my ass on to sit and watch him come down the hill.
There was a little three year old there with a snowboard and his dad was teaching him how to do it... the kid was so good. Start 'em early. Dad said that he wants to go ski Nashoba or Cannon mountain next... I think when you're three snowboarding the hill in town as well as you do it's good to aim high. Why not?
I've never been snowboarding or downhill skiing. I've cross country skiied a few times, but I found that tedious and boring. Sledding is a great time, but I wished that we had inner tubes instead. Those things fly.
I went down the hill with Geoff once today, and with my added [excessive] weight we motherfuckinheartattackhavin FLEW down that damn hill, I tell you what. By himself he didn't go fast at all, but my heart was in my throat when we went down together. Damn. I would have gone down with him some more, but getting up the hill is a bitch when you don't exactly feel wonderful, and I am applying the "you still aren't 100% better" lesson I learned from the other day.
Here are some quick shots of the boy in action.
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| Step One: We drag our sleds up the hill, as such, turning around to get one last look at mother. Because we are sure to die! | Step Two: We gauge the terrain and the slope angle, take readings of the relative consistency of the snowcover, determine position on the hill to maximize velocity without being too too scared and ... we stop here. |
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| Step Three: We take forever to position the sled pointing nose-downward and try to get in without sled flipping out from underneath us. We descend, screaming and laughing. | Step Four: We go kooky laughing because that was a rush and we begin again at step one, without looking back this time. |
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