I'd like to know who on earth ever decided that this particular climate would ever be a good environment in which to live. Seriously, if I was a settler, and I experienced anything like this winter in any place I found, come springtime, my covered wagon would be loaded and I'd be headed back home. Before anyone suggests that perhaps the settlers who stayed here had come from areas with similar climates, I'll respond that anyone who left a place like this to come to another place like this would have to be off their rocker.

Just as the big snow was starting to melt away, last night we had a thunderstorm. Water, water everywhere, and since the sewer grates hadn't yet been uncovered from the snowfall, that meant standing water everywhere. Then added to the deepening puddles came sharply dropping temperatures; today we have snow, and it's supposed to get below zero degrees (that's Fahrenheit, for the rest of the Celsius-loving world; more than 18 degrees below zero for you guys). So all those large pools of water are turning to great slabs of ice covering the land, and there are icicles dangling from the wet, freezing power lines. Those "in the know" were predicting power failures and houses suddenly without heat.

I've got the boys in layers should anything happen to our power, and I've got candles and lighters at the ready. I do wish that we had some sort of kerosene heater; I wanted to get one a while back, actually, but Eric didn't think it was a good idea then. Now, of course, we'd pay through the nose for one, but we'll see. All I know is that I really miss living back closer to the coast, where even though we'd get snow, it didn't really last long and it seemed way less apocalyptic.

Sam says, "I don't want snow anymore." Smart kid I have.

Gabe's amid growth spurt, as is evidenced from a sudden switch to frequent nighttime waking and nursing. Of course, I initially forgot about the three-month spurt and assumed that my recent habit of a cup of coffee during the boys' afternoon naps was the culprit. Interestingly, if I look back to Sam at the same age, I thought that it was teething. The obvious answer always manages to elude me.

I'm exhausted. Gabe doesn't just latch on and go back to sleep; he pops on and off, flailing at me with his arms, loudly smacking his lips and doing everything he can to try to convince me to give him just one more letdown. Sleeping through it is nearly impossible. Even Eric woke up to the racket once, wondering whether the wet, smacking sounds were water running somewhere in the house. I hope this ends quickly.

As though he needs a growth spurt, anyway. He had a well-baby doctor check on Tuesday, and at fourteen pounds, five ounces, and twenty-five inches in length, he's in the ninety-fifth percentile for both. He's strong and healthy, too, which is the important thing. (Smashingly adorable, too, though I didn't need the doctor to tell my that.)

In good news, I enrolled Sam in the preschool. Well, I still need to fill out a few forms, but his deposit has been paid and he's been put in the smaller of the two three-year-old classes (nine kids instead of eighteen, one teacher instead of two). I got a list of things he'll need (a lunchbox, for instance; I wonder what they'd do if I sent him in with my Evil Dead one), a list of ways to volunteer my time (I don't recall doing fundraisers when I was in preschool), and an introduction to his teacher, Miss Sara. While I did feel a little faint with the desire to frantically proofread and edit the packet of papers for all the grammar errors, I felt, all in all, a little excited about this whole thing. I actually liked school, and though I remain a staunch supporter of homeschooling, I think that a good school experience isn't as rare as some would say. I'm looking forward to seeing how Sam likes it, once the novelty wears away.

And maybe Sam won't be the only one who gets to make friends through this experience. Maybe if I get involved, I'll find some new friends of my own, as well. I remain convinced that this town has to hold more than one or two people with whom I can forge something beyond "some woman I slightly know who seems kind of nice." I want to meet people with whom I can have a strong connection. Is that so hard? Is it too much to expect, or should I just resign myself to the idea that most grown women don't get to have more than one or two close friends over the rest of their lives?

Eric says that one of his coworkers and his wife want to go out to dinner with us. Meeting people socially through Eric - well, that's new. Normally he's the one meeting husbands of people I know. Wisconsin brings all manner of changes. Maybe this is will be one of them.

I don't want to say anything concrete, but we may be replacing this computer in the very near future with something...let's say "smaller." And sexier.