even if I really wish it were a rain-day. What has happened to my typical Pacific Northwest June? Where is the rain? My lawn is already browning and I have green tomatoes on the vine (that part is good). But I digress...
1. Bubba called me "brilliant" last night. There's just nothing like having an excellent idea acknowledged by your husband. Lola turned seven last week and her birthday party was last night. She wanted to host a sleepover for four of her best friends. Having not completely recovered from the drama that was Eve's last sleepover two years ago (tears, "she's leaving me out," "Eve likes her better than me," "I can't sleep," "they won't let me sleep," - you get the idea), I was struck dumb. For a minute. Not wanting to deprive Lola of some rollicking good times with her pals simply because Eve's party had disintegrated into estrogen-fueled tears and bickering, I had to think fast. What's the worst part of a sleepover? The time when you, as a parent, want the children to SHUT UP AND GO TO SLEEP and they won't/can't. Okay, let's avoid that part. Enter: the pseudo-sleepover. The girls showed up in their jammies, squealed, pigged out on pasta of their own creation, screamed in delight, decorated their own pillows with which to pummel each other, did each other's hair, squealed some more, made masks to hide their faces during the scary parts of the movie, crafted ginormous gooey ice cream sundaes, screamed a lot, had a massive pillow fight, ran through the sprinklers in their pajamas and melted into a mass of squirming, screaming bodies when their parents came to pick them up at 10:00. No sleepover. All the fun. Well, Bubba was a bit put out by all the squealing and screaming and I'm sure the neighbors were thrilled to see it over by 10, but Eve and Lola collapsed into their beds and were asleep within minutes and Bubba? Well, he sat on the couch, knowing he was going to get a good night's sleep, and called me, "Brilliant!" (Sorry for all the run-on sentences there, but you can't properly describe a 7-year-old girl's birthday party without them.)
2. Haircut appointment. Yup, I've got one. Just me. By myself. Heading into the city to do something very different with my hair for the summer. Today. Did I mention I get to go by myself? Oh yeah!
3. Eight days later, the phlegmy nastiness that is coming out of my eyes (yup, you read that correctly), nose, and mouth is finally not chunky, heading-deep-into-the-Asian-jungle-camoflauge green. It's more smooth and creamy yellow like butter. I know that's disgusting, but give me a break. I am the one that had to suffer on the couch for EIGHT DAYS with a throat so sore I would have paid the first person who devised a way for me to avoid swallowing altogether. I slept no less than 20 hours a day and had to peel my eyelids apart every time I needed to open them. But let's focus on the positive, people! I FEEL BETTER!
Now, for a Monday where I wake up without a sore throat. Let's all envision that, shall we? I'll let you know if it happens.