I woke up this morning hoping that the tossing, turning and moaning of last night meant he wasn't feeling good...
No song and dance routine of happiness here. I mean I am happy, really happy, honestly happy that he is feeling well. But that means skiing is on again. Oh how does one sing "Happy" with frozen toes and a red nose?
I leaned over the pillow and asked, "How do you feel this morning?"
His faint smile meant, we are going.
Sacha has been packed since time began.
He LOVES to ski. Fast.
Chelsea is ready but has a nine page thingy to do for school, so someone will be sitting with me by the fire... for a moment or two.
I am taking a new cookbook "PLENTY" that Jill (a blog reader and friend of mine) sent me for Christmas... cooking is on my agenda since skiing is not. Also I plan to read my cousin Francobolla's partner's new book, "Dying Words."
French Husband isn't packed... but that doesn't mean anything, he never is, and he manages to fly by the seat of hs pants since that is all he ever packs. And now he doesn't need a razor either.
Oh the joys of living with a bushy face pretend to be wild man.
So here he is drinking a mixture of stuff to ease the bug, and there I am looking ever so thrilled. Reeking happiness.
I hear it is sunny in the mountains...