plans for a fruitful weekend
2004-05-08, 6:50 a.m.
Well happy Saturday. A weekend where I don't have to go to work? I won't question it--just savor it. Small pleasures are called for today, the wonderfulness of fresh-ground, fresh-brewed Sumatran, the deliciousness of a bed freshly made up with clean sheets and blankets, and the comforting feeling of achievment one can get from putting the house in order. Not to mention the return of Spouse! He will be rolling in this afternoon, and I hope to welcome him in that hopelessly June Cleaver way, with a tidy house and a loving wife.
We have some fun plans for this weekend--we'll be going down to visit Mom and dad for Mother's day tomorrow, of course, bearing gifts and taking the parental units out for dinner. I'm quite looking forward to seeing them--I've missed them a lot, and marathon phone calls are nice, but not the same as seeing them in person.
OOP...I'd better run out and put the grocery bags on the porch for the postal carriers food drive, before I forget...
Done. Everyone knows I can't pass up a chance to contribute to a food drive. I did fairly well for the postmen this year; pasta, spag sauce, soup, fruit juice, the ever-popular mac & cheese, cereal, rice, and tuna. Not as much fun as the big Thanksgiving shopping extravaganza, but I always enjoy it. I never know whether to count the postmen and the scouts as extra, though, or just figure them in to my regular donation schedule.
Another activity we have planned for this weekend is a care package for a soldier in Mosul. My friend DS has a son over there, and he recently emailed his mom with a few names of people in his unit who never get anything from home. She gave me one of the addresses, and Spouse and I are going to put together a package and send it. So far, we have decided on: chapstick, white socks, gatorade mix, magazines, paperbacks, microwave popcorn, gum, and hard candy. Most of this is on advice from DS's son, who was able to advise on what would be appreciated. I don't know whether to send a letter, or just a short note of explanation, or to be anonymous. I suppose at the very least he shouls have the note; I don't want him to think it is a booby-trap or something. Just let him know that I got his name from JS and am a friend of J's mom, who wanted to send someting over to show support. Well, all this typing isn't getting my house in shape, so it is off to the laundry room with me.
12:38p.m.
Well, the house looks better, the bed is made up fresh, my laundry is getting caught up, and the mailman picked up the stuff. Good morning all around. I haven't heard from Spouse yet, but I expect him sometime this afternoon. I hope he's not too late, or he'll be worthless as far as running errands.
Raj help me make up the bed--well I made it up, and she broke it in. It just wouldn't be right without that special aura of black lab-iness she brings to everything she does. I'm glad her person is on his way home, because she's been impossible since Tuesday when he left. Messes, incessant barking, disobedience, the whole nine yards. She usually listens to me better when he's gone, but I've noticed that when I have my period, she hates me like poison. A couple of nights ago, I was ready to give her to the pound--whining, barking, throwing herself against the window. I was busy, and not giving her much attention, except to tell her to be quiet. after a while, she's sitting in the window whining, and Just. Won't. Stop. Finally, I called her to come, and she just sat there whining pathetically. That worried me, so I went over to check on her. She had managed to rip a hole in one of the curtain panels, and then proceeded to get her head caught in it. She wasn't struggling or pulling--just trying so hard to tell me she was stuck. Poor baby--I felt terrible, but honestly. That dog is a moron sometimes. And she brings these things on herself. I don't know if I can take another neurotic pound dog ever again. First B, and then Raj--if I ever get another dog, is is NOT going to be another bundle of anxiety with abandonment issues. After two, I feel I've done my part. 18 years and counting of dealing with these poor tortured pooches is plenty. It isn't that I don't love them. I truly do. B was a dog in a million, and Raj is the cuddle queen of all time. But I'm not as young as I used to be. I don't have the energy, I don't have the time, and I don't have the money to replace the things they destroy. Now, I feel guilty for thinking bad thoughts about my baby girl, so I have to go cuddle her and scritch her belly. (She owns me!)