I’ve been wallowing in some mucky emotions. From those emotions sprung a post that made me weep, but for once, I decided to withhold the melodrama. Which leaves me with nothing but a recitation of daily events. Which may make you weep.
Can I just complain one more time about Pee-Wee football and how it sucks time right out of our family? My 9-year old only has to practice three nights a week. He has a game every Saturday morning. My husband is the former athlete in our family, the one who keeps signing up our kids for activities, so he is the one to stand in the damp cold, watching practice.
Except when he is busy, as he was Tuesday and will be tonight. I have permission, though, to drop off my son, alert another parent that I’m leaving and then pick him up later because nothing will make you want to cry like standing on the sidelines while darkness falls and your 5-year chatters and complains, “Is it over yet?” (Well, nothing except being rejected, but that melodrama is behind me.)
Tomorrow, I am leaving my family to spend forty-eight hours scrapbooking with a bunch of other escaped housewives. Oh, sure, some will be important career-minded women, but for the weekend, we’ll all be creative fools, fussing with our pictures as we adhere them to acid-free scrapbook pages. I, personally, will be reliving 2003, which, as I recall, was a fairly good year. Except I was very fat.
Oh, and get this! My husband mentioned that he’s invited over the new youth pastor and his wife, plus a military chaplain. They’ll be here Saturday night (while I am gone!) . . . which means I really need to straighten up around here and perhaps mop the floor. And maybe I’ll remove the dirty sock stuck to the fireplace. (Why, yes, that is a hole in my ceiling. Thank you for noticing.)