We now have a sizeable hole in our front yard, and the rose bush has been relocated to a spot in the back yard next to a couple of its distant cousins. The driveway looks like a significant but sloppy burial mound. I’m considering absorbing some of the cost of this project by charging admission to see the Holy Hillock, the final resting place of Sweaticus Alotium, patron Saint of Home Improvement.
The street in front of our house looks like flood waters have receded, leaving only a thick coating of mud and detritus.
My husband is exhausted.
The bobcat doesn’t even look winded.
Tomorrow friends are coming to visit, so I’ll rise early and do what cleaning I can after having run to burn off all the calories I consumed at a co-worker’s housewarming party today.
And somewhere in there, I’ll pack up R. for 4 more days of camp and drive her and a friend and the friend’s mom to the retreat center/campground at 2pm.
Next week is Sophie’s birthday party. We’re having a party here. Mostly the kids on the street and my in-laws – in other words, people who already know we’re insane, so when they see the state of the place they won’t even blink.
I’m so glad I dropped out of church so I could slow down the pace of my life. (ha!) Space abhors a vacuum, and I have a hard time with down time, obviously. The glass of wine today did help, but alas, the effects of alcohol are temporary. The problems brought on by over-committment are harder to coax out the door.
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