Boys sleeping. Bagel for lunch. So many things to do. Like maybe it a real lunch. Or clean up from breakfast. For that matter, clean up from dinner last night. Make my bed. Pick up the living room. Make a list of the bigger projects I need to tackle and always forget. (I'm hoping to make a list and whenever I have a spare moment [ha ha] I can just go to the list and get something done. It says much of my days now, since I haven't even made the list yet.)
It's grey and raining outside, which always sucks the motivation right out of me. There are toast crumbs on my chair that are grinding into my jeans, because I didn't even wipe them up before sitting down. There - I just brushed them onto the floor. Now I need to sweep.
I can't stand dull days like this. I've been out and about all morning avoiding the house. But my husband and mother-in-law will be home in six hours. So I've got six hours to get it all done.
Or, I have 5 and a half hours to procrastinate further.
These are the days mothers generally don't write about or talk about. The really great ones and the really lousy ones make great conversation. The grey ones just sort of pass in a haze of quasi-depression. I sure hope spring arrives soon. I'm starting to think the calender needs an overhaul. What's the point of calling a specific date the "first day of spring" when the weather is still cold and snowy? It just gets me excited that winter is going to be over, and then doesn't deliver on its promise of sun and warmth.
There are palm trees outside my parents' new house. And my "French sister" (Aurelie) went to the beach last week. Australia and southern France: two places I would move to in a heartbeat on a day like today.
Grrr. The cat just licked some leftover breakfast milk on the table while I was writing this. I was too lazy to bat her away, and now she is throwing it up.
And so endeth this stream of consciousness.