Here are a bunch of photos I took the other night when the light was doing the most incredible things. On my way home the stormy sky was suddenly ripped open and sun burst through, right in front of the rainâ€”creating the most remarkable and vibrant rainbow I have ever seen. Of course, I didnâ€™t get the camera until after it had faded (rainbows never look as beautiful as they do in real life anyway), but I did walk out onto the cold damp grass to see raindrops hanging like bright jewels from every twig and branch.
I can make no guarantees about where this post will go because Iâ€™m sick with an awful stomach bugâ€”the second time this year, and Iâ€™m hating every minute of it. My head feels like itâ€™s in a vice, and I feel utter anguish that Iâ€™ve left my class to some poor substitute the week before vacation. The kids are so excitable right now; weâ€™ve discussed where Santa lives about a hundred times, and still, the conversation seems to wend its way there. As they terrorize the sub, Iâ€™ll spend tomorrow on the couch with Bean patting my cheek and saying, Mama, sick, or more urgently, Mama, get up!
I got whatever I have from DH who woke up yesterday morning feeling sick. To make matters worse, the garbage disposal chose yesterday to jam, which in turn caused the dishwasher to spew its backwash into the sink drain and the sink to start filling. Lovely, no? In a moment of flawless teamwork, a very feverish DH and I worked together to find and remove the pieces of broken plate that had fallen into it, and then, as he retired to the couch threatening to faint, I had to wrestle the darn thing back into place. Sort of like wrestling a greased pig made out of metal. I reinstalled it, to my credit (all kudos are welcomeâ€”it was the most disgusting, awkward, frustrating thing Iâ€™ve done in a long while!)
This is possibly the least festive Iâ€™ve felt at the approach of the holidays, EVER. We bought wreathes the other day, but besides that and baking cookies, our house is decidedly un-holiday like. Oh dear, Iâ€™ll stop moping when my stomach stops feeling like someone is excavating it with a childâ€™s sized plastic bulldozer.