A year. Twelve months. Fifty-two weeks. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes (if Rent is to be believed.) We made it.
I made it. I blogged every single day (with three exceptions because I was unable to) for a year. I’m amazed at myself.
Oh yeah, and our family survived a year of lockdowns and thrived.
It’s been a year since our children walked out of school for the last time, and we’re still glad to be rid of it.
It’s been a year since I’ve hugged my friends, my cousins, and my in-laws. Since I’ve been at a party. Since I’ve eaten inside a restaurant.
It’s been one heck of a year.
Today was almost magical. The sun was shining and it was warm for a change, so the kids spent almost the entire day out on the trampoline. Mr. December and I sat down in the middle of the afternoon and played two full games of Wingspan, uninterrupted. I went for a walk in the ravine. And just when it seemed the day couldn’t get any better, Mr. December announced that we were having ice cream for dinner.
Yes, ice cream dinner, followed by an hour at the park. It doesn’t get any better than this.