Early this morning I headed out to the grocery store to get Saltines and 7-Up, because while we're very lucky that our kids rarely get sick, when it does happen, we are never prepared. I hurried to the store before Kevin left for work, throwing on dirty jeans and putting my hair back in a pony tail. Mascara was smeared under my eyes and I had blue paint on my hands and arms after a long weekend of home improvement here and at my sister's new house. I looked like hell, but I was just happy that I remembered to put on a bra before rushing out the door. The grocery clerk looked at me with a smile and asked if I was on my way to work. I wanted to take a step back, let her really take me in, then ask her where she thought I worked, where looking like this would be acceptable. A windowless call center? Prison?
My sister and her husband got their first house last week, and we spent the weekend taping, sanding, painting, and inhaling the Simple Green that my sister was spraying liberally everywhere, with one day off to work on my own house, which needs to be packed up and emptied before the remodel begins. We have so much stuff, and in the end, this will have been a great exercise in downsizing, but in the meantime: boxes everywhere. My new hobby is panic attacks.
In the last week:
I drove to five stores in order to find name brand Wiffle bat sets and Nerf footballs. Last summer, Cape Cod was lousy with Wiffle balls and bats, but here, all I could find is branded, thick bats that look more like something from the Flinstones than a baseball bat. What's up with that, California? But success happened! We are ready for a summer of Wiffle ball and touch football.
Softball ended, Girl Scouts is wrapping up today, and there are only three more weeks of baseball. I love this time of year.
I cannot get any work done today with the incessant sounds of Cartoon Network blaring for the sick kid's entertainment. I'm consoling myself with 7-Up and crackers.