Friday, April 13, 2012
some days (and Eggy memories)
Oh Friday! I had such aspirations for you - a day busy with relaxing! Some yoga, a little meditation, painting, time outdoors to sit and gather navel and brain lint. Alas, it was not to be.
As U2 so aptly put it: some days take less but most days take more, some slip through your fingers and onto the floor.
Heading out for what was to be a quick oil change and then jaunt to the grocery store, I was stalled for three hours waiting for my car which meant dashing home, no lunch, walking the dog and then zipping over to the school to pick Cowgirl up. And it got worse.
Yes, on Friday the thirteenth I took on the most dreaded of all errands: grocery shopping with a young child in tow. A hungry, end-of-the-first-week-back-to- school- after-break child.
And the dollop of whip cream on top of that: said child and mother both tired and cranky after a night of thunderstorms which involved multiple waking ups to cries, claps of thunder, pinched shoulders, boney limbs thrashing, hot bodies squeezing in upon me, returning child to her bed only to have the entire scenario repeated hours later.
All of which means I went grocery shopping, dropped some serious cash and came home with nothing to eat. What we do have: pretzel bread, cinnamon toast crunch cereal (purchased for the Star Wars pen inside; Cowgirl will eat one bite and say she's finished which means daddy gets the entire sugary box), a HotWheels car (I'll pay you back when we get home mommy - promise!), fudgesicles, an apple pie (I thought I was grabbing black cherry), watermelon and a surplus of spinach and spring mix salad greens.
I forgot to buy the wine I very much want to be drinking right now.
So here I sit ... a Friday night and we've been to martial arts class, walked the dog (again) and Cowgirl is almost almost in bed. For a few hours before the next wave of storms is set to move in.
Good riddance to you Friday. I am ready to try again tomorrow ... except tornadoes are in the forecast and now I really wish I had that bottle of wine.
Here are some recent memories of better days.
Do note: our children do not need parents to help them score some major Easter Egg booty.
The moral of this whole story (because I want to find meaning in this otherwise squandered day): some days you find your eggs are rotten but other days they may be marvelously multicolored or even - gasp - chocolate!