Thursday

At least once a day I think of something remarkable that I feel must be written down before I forget it.  I almost never write it down.  This is why I am sitting here now, on February 1, with a blinking cursor and nothing to say.  Not that I will let that stop me.   How about I tell you about Thursday?  It was a perfectly ordinary day, but I’m sure we can find a nugget worth chatting about.

I rolled out of bed and immediately order Ian to feed the chickens while I busily make breakfast (get down the cereal boxes and get out the milk.  Mercy.) Still in my pajamas, I make myself some tea, gather a load of laundry and make the 10 yard trek over to my Mom and Dad’s house for a chat with Mom about life according to me while I take over her laundry room.  She is great for that, always smiling at all my wild ideas and offering any conflicting views with a smile and laugh that leaves me still convinced she’s on my team.

I arrive to find that Mom is ready to leave the house and is hurriedly finishing up on cleaning her kitchen.  I sit down at the table and she tells me that my older brother is coming to run some errands with her.  He is in the military and has just returned from overseas.   He has only a few days to visit with us before he leaves for his next post, so each moment is carefully planned.  Not wanting my first, “Hi!  Welcome home!” to be offered in my pajamas, I kept my comments on the world at large brief (though I am sure I said something brilliant) and hurried out the back door to get back to my place.  Almost there, and a big SUV pulls into the driveway.  I don’t recognize the car, but there is no getting around the, “Hello, Amy!!”

And so, I began my day by greeting my dear brother in my pajamas and with my three month post bone marrow transplant bald head.  It was great to get to hug his neck and compare hair follicles, but I wished I had been wearing real pants when he showed up.

They left and I returned to my kids.  I had big plans for the day, but they all unfolded in a mess of 1) forgot to start the crockpot 2) I’mtheonlypersonwhodoesthelaundryandnobodyappreciatesanythingIdo,don’ttheyevencare? and 3) “I’ll take a shower after I finish ___” repeat once an hour, never taking a shower.

5:30 rolls around and all I have to show for my day is washed laundry and brushed teeth.

Having failed at life (not really, but isn’t that where the brain goes when we aren’t taking charge of our thoughts?), I wait for Eric to get home.  He comes in the door, tired from work, and very much deserving a home crockpotted meal.  Instead, he finds me, still in pajama pants, though I’ve managed a real top, and on the verge of tears.

Not appearing put off by the display, Eric tells me to get the kids some dinner and put on some real pants “cause we’re going out.”  It’s a luxury, having my parents so close and kids aged 10 and 11, and I never want to forget how great I have it.  Parents alerted, kids settled, pants on, we head out to a near by Rosa’s Tortilla Factory for dinner.  I may have put on real pants, but I was still wearing my fluffy socks and Crocs.

Ever the magician, Eric made me feel like the most glamorous and put together lady in the room.  We ate and laughed for almost an hour and then returned home to find the kids finishing up the housework.  We all settled in to watch “Star Trek” and then the kids went to bed and I returned to my pajamas.

All in all, it was a pretty fantastic day.