I dashed to an intimate dinner at our regular table with my girlfriends on Friday night. We drove up the canyon and watched the lights of little cabins appear and disappear. I had braved the city traffic earlier to reward T with imported French cheese I found at a neighborhood grocery. I traded the Camembert for a painting (I think I got the better end of the deal.) That’s the great thing about having a birthday so close to your friend’s: we trade goods with a giggle.
The three of us sat at the table and discussed items which I cannot divulge here (you’ll have to ask in person and I may ask for a retina scan.) I did get one emergency phone call to inform me that Baby Proximo had been crying for 3 hours so far and would I be so good as to return home? That is how I ended up jumping from T’s car in an intersection as the light turned green to get to my car A.S.A.P. Sorry, when my baby cries I say, “How high!”
Saturday night I braved Carrabba’s, which is always On Notice as far as I’m concerned. However, I’d even eat at California Pizza Kitchen if it was to be with my friends (dear friends, that’s hyperbole, I don’t ever want to eat at CPK.) I especially don’t want to eat at CPK if I happen to have forgotten to replace my breast pad and it fell on the floor and then stuck to my shoe so that I walked around CPK with a pink paper disc on my foot. Not that that actually happened or anything.
Is it right to be incredibly stressed on a Sunday night, well, Monday morning? By all rights, Sunday is the best day of the week, and Sunday night ought to be the cherry on top (except I don’t like cherries, so someone pick another analogy.) The little ones are in bed, the dinner is put away, the floors are clean, and I’m staring down the impending week like the freight train passing Folsom Prison.
Tonight I did not win at Scrabble, but I did nearly finish a baby gift I am hand-quilting. This is usually the point in a project when I put it down, thinking it’s nearly finished, and never pick it up again. I’ve been using the quilt as stress relief. Is it strange that I’m making a baby quilt to give away when this quilt has become my security blanket? I don't care, I'm using it, the baby can just learn to share.
My for-pay job is hitting crunch time and my for-love job has a mountain of laundry (who knew love meant clean socks?) I need to read Song of Solomon by next Tuesday, and I’ve been asked to speak in church in t-minus seven days.
Altogether now: I can do this!