The Woes of Spring

In our apartments, maintenance turns off the free heat once the nighttime temps remain above 50F for three days in a row. That happened this past weekend. Heat be gone! So when last night dipped to a balmy 38F, we froze. Dang! Keven pulled an all-nighter -- a feat that should neither be foisted on a 33-yo nor attempted by one -- which meant I was left with no cozy bed warmer.

When Juliette thoughtfully wet her bed just before dawn, Keven cleaned her up and tossed her in with me. Ah -- cuddly, warm baby. And she's the one who doesn't wiggle around, which is nice. I had strange dreams about carrying her in a backpack to my ballet class (I haven't taken ballet in almost a year) and meeting my parents on the bus. I wanted to rush home as quickly as possible so they didn't realize I'd left Ilsa sleeping alone. Bad dream mommy! I suspect some horrible fear of parenting inadequacy in there somewhere.

Despite daily use, it took me nearly 28 months to work through my bottle of Chanel No. 5 spray -- my Christmas present from Steve and Silvia way back in 2004. Yesterday, I started in on the parfum spray Karen bought me this past Christmas. It smells just a little bit different, slightly muskier like a man's cologne, so I keep catching whiffs of myself and wondering whose perfume I smell. A little distracting, but good, clean nose fun.

This post is brought to you by my random non-Norwegian musical endorsement, Imogen Heap's Speak for Yourself. Thanks to sis-in-law Jess for the rec. Try this one, "Headlock":

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