What's in a Day?
It’s probably time we start rethinking Saturday being labeled as “Minecraft Day” around here.
It’s basically license to say every Saturday is Christmas morning.
5:30AM.
Oh, yes, he was up.
After The Bear sent him back to snooze a little longer – maybe…
6:30AM
“Mama! Mama!”
Slowly open eyes…
“Mama!” the eager young gentlemen whispered into my eyes. “Where’s that steel ball that I took out of the mouse yesterday?”
“In your math penny cup,” I mumbled…
I think he spent the next hour rolling that thumb-sized ball bearing across his bedroom floor. Maybe mixed in with some Hot Wheels.
So sometime later, The Bear and Puck disassembled our bedroom this morning to make way for the new mattress that took twelve hours to gradually unfold itself from the vacuum seal. Puck insisted on helping and swept up the general chaos under the bed frame.
It was beautiful outside.
Sort of that unnatural first day in December spread over in white-ish gray by the afternoon mixed with mild wind and sort of like you were actually down south someplace, maybe Louisiana. You felt almost sinful sitting inside, which I did – because this ridiculous genealogy isn’t going to end until I’m 74.
I’ve never really done many handiwork projects around the house. Mostly because they had to be done when I was seven months pregnant, a long wintry six years ago. But this evening, Gloria was hanging gold curtains and batik-print curtains in the dining room. So I participated. We would have done a fine job if it hadn’t been for a few minor, unavoidable complications. Gloria even pulled up some sculpey clay to fix the ends that seemed to be missing on the hidden rod. To no avail. You try, you learn, you try again.
I think our new mattress, which was almost fully settled by our return, is one of those models in the commercials where they set a glass of wine on one corner and have someone jump on the opposite corner. We didn’t experiment with that or anything. But it holds up pretty well.
I joined The Bear in watching an end-of-the-world film over dinner. Which was sort of unsatisfying. Granted, feeling irritated over the end of a fiction movie can’t last for more than a few minutes, especially when you hear that your friend’s little brother is doing worse again… seems kind of silly. But I’m afraid I just have a knack for rewriting “bad endings” in my head.