Ah, Friday. I have such plans for you. You were supposed to be a peaceful, easy day. And you will be.
This morning, though: dashing out of the shower, hopping around on one leg as I dry myself and holler: "We need to get in the car now! Now! Everybody stop what they're doing and get in the car!"
Charley is in the backyard, covered in unidentified poop. Bea is rolling around on the ground and groaning: TUMMY ACHE! which is par for the course, since that's what she says every time she doesn't want to go to school or finish her food or do chores. And on the short car ride to the bus, Elspeth whips out a a field-trip form and says desperately, "If I don't get this in TODAY I won't be able to go. I'll have to sit around at the school while everyone else goes."
So I sign it on the dashboard of the car, despairing at ever being able to get all the white blanks filled in, and we pull into the parking lot and Elspeth's bus is sitting there, waiting JUST for her and she is tangled in the seat belt and moving slow as molasses and I swallow my dignity once again, jump out of the car and wave wildly to the bus driver with my sloppy wet hair and crazed, end-of-the-week eyeballs popping; SORRY! THANK YOU! SORRY!
Bea still hasn't finished eating breakfast so I sit in the parking lot of the elementary school while she nibbles on her bagel and finally at home on the back porch I meet Charley in my rubber boots, shampoo bottle and pitcher of water in hand. At the end of his outdoor bath, I pick him up to rub the water from his paws and I this proud, sassy terrier reflected in the glass of the french doors: legs splayed, belly-up, all shred of dignity drained away through the deck boards with the last of the dirty water. And I'm looking at myself at the end of the week: worn out, dignity gone, mouth open in one long pant.
Hopefully my tongue doesn't loll so goofily. And I don't have cute little freckles on my belly like Charley. And I don't roll in excrement. But everything else fits.
Friday, Friday, I salute thee!
Two great things that I have accomplished this week:
I finished the rough draft of my new book and am ready to proofread and whack-a-word;
and
I finally downloaded the photos from my camera. Never mind that they are from last summer. I did it. I am poised to post photos again. Suspend all snarky comments, therefore, as I show you a few images from August 2014, when we'd just moved into our house:
This morning, though: dashing out of the shower, hopping around on one leg as I dry myself and holler: "We need to get in the car now! Now! Everybody stop what they're doing and get in the car!"
Charley is in the backyard, covered in unidentified poop. Bea is rolling around on the ground and groaning: TUMMY ACHE! which is par for the course, since that's what she says every time she doesn't want to go to school or finish her food or do chores. And on the short car ride to the bus, Elspeth whips out a a field-trip form and says desperately, "If I don't get this in TODAY I won't be able to go. I'll have to sit around at the school while everyone else goes."
So I sign it on the dashboard of the car, despairing at ever being able to get all the white blanks filled in, and we pull into the parking lot and Elspeth's bus is sitting there, waiting JUST for her and she is tangled in the seat belt and moving slow as molasses and I swallow my dignity once again, jump out of the car and wave wildly to the bus driver with my sloppy wet hair and crazed, end-of-the-week eyeballs popping; SORRY! THANK YOU! SORRY!
Bea still hasn't finished eating breakfast so I sit in the parking lot of the elementary school while she nibbles on her bagel and finally at home on the back porch I meet Charley in my rubber boots, shampoo bottle and pitcher of water in hand. At the end of his outdoor bath, I pick him up to rub the water from his paws and I this proud, sassy terrier reflected in the glass of the french doors: legs splayed, belly-up, all shred of dignity drained away through the deck boards with the last of the dirty water. And I'm looking at myself at the end of the week: worn out, dignity gone, mouth open in one long pant.
Hopefully my tongue doesn't loll so goofily. And I don't have cute little freckles on my belly like Charley. And I don't roll in excrement. But everything else fits.
Friday, Friday, I salute thee!
Two great things that I have accomplished this week:
I finished the rough draft of my new book and am ready to proofread and whack-a-word;
and
I finally downloaded the photos from my camera. Never mind that they are from last summer. I did it. I am poised to post photos again. Suspend all snarky comments, therefore, as I show you a few images from August 2014, when we'd just moved into our house:
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| Our wood delivery--four cords if I remember correctly |
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| It took us a while to wheelbarrow the contents of our driveway to the backyard! |
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| Our new, hardworking wood stove! It' been keeping us mighty toasty all winter long! Martin laid the Pennsylvania grey stone. |
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| Our toothless wonder |
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