Ah, my work-week, the official one that results in a paycheck, has ended. And so, the laundry is piled up (clean and folded, mostly, except for the towels), the family room floor needs to be vacuumed and I am wiped out.
But tomorrow I’m taking my daughter garage-saling. (Normal I am opposed to nouning verbs . . ha ha, I mean, turning nouns into verbs, but is there a better, more concise way to express going to garage sales than “garage saling”?) Anyway, off we go to search through other people’s discards for treasures while my husband takes my 10-year old to his football game. (Is it bad that I don’t go to all his football games? Don’t answer. Somehow, I feel no guilt about that.)
Now that school has started, the weather has turned astonishingly gorgeous. September in the Pacific Northwest makes up for January. And February.
My daughter seems to like kindergarten, aside from the fact that she is STARVING to death. She eats breakfat, but despite the mid-morning snack, when I pick her up she says, “I don’t like school.” And I say, “Why?” and she says, “Because I am so hungry!” Clearly, we need to beef up her breakfast. Literally. Maybe I should broil a steak to go with her whole-wheat waffle. Okay, maybe just a piece of string cheese.