Busy Life, Tired Wife in Day by Day
- Jan. 28, 2017, 7:44 p.m.
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- Public
Last week was full on and this week will be nuts.
Business:
First quarter/end of year tax stuff continues and will be a sorry pile of papers and deadlines until late March.
We have a dozen bids out. I know what’s coming. They’ll ALL want the guys at the same time and I’ll get the e-mails and calls pushing for the guys AND deal with the guys telling me they’re working on it.
I’m bleeding money, which is what happens in the first quarter every year. $1K here for this insurance, $3K there for that insurance, renewal fee for that company, etc., etc. I expected it and I’ll be able to meet my obligations, but, man, some days I wonder why I’m not sitting on a beach in Tahiti, stringing shell necklaces.
Church:
I spent 6 hours on my feet today with no break, making 150 chocolate eclairs for Claudia’s funeral service tomorrow. In my younger years, I could spend 10 hours a day for several days in a row, baking 3,000 Christmas cookies every year with no problem. Now, I’m ready to quit after 4 hours. By the 150th eclair, my back was a vise, my feet hurt on the tops and bottoms and I was sick of Bavarian cream and cherry chocolate. Thankfully, I’d made the pecan tarts last week and froze them.
I took some of the eclairs to church with me and stuck them in an extra fridge with stickers saying it was for a funeral and please don’t eat.
Since my fridge is full of eclairs, I could not shop for groceries after church, which is what I usually do. I’ll stop tomorrow after the funeral.
I made WAY too much dough. I have enough to make 150 more! No, I’m not that crazy, but I will make a couple of dozen for Friday night’s Life Group. I have to buy more chocolate, though.
Church was good. I took a Tylenol 3 beforehand because I knew I’d never make it if I didn’t. I also turned on the heated seats on the way and that helped ease the back pain.
Non-Profit:
The matching funds fundraiser grant orientation is on Tuesday. I have a lot of the info already gathered since I’d researched what I’ll need, so the two month process should be fairly easy. All of this for a drive in the fall, but it should result in some serious money, so I’m chasing it hard and am really working hard to present flawlessly.
I have several things on my agenda to complete before next week’s meeting.
House:
In turmoil. The bathroom remodel is going slow. It’s looking gorgeous, but I wish the shower was finished. The clawfoot tub in the front bathroom is beautiful, but taking a shower in it is scary. The bottom of the tub sort of curls so there’s not much flat surface to stand on. I don’t have time for a long, soothing bath right now. I wish I did!
The garden is pouring out tomatoes and lettuce. We have all we need and are blessing our eldest son (youngest is in Costa Rica), friends, and neighbors with what we don’t need. The cucumbers are not at all happy, and I don’t think the broccoli is, either, but the carrots are coming along nicely.
Writing:
The second issue of the magazine was well received. They’re adding more pages and told me to send them more articles.
Kids:
Youngest went to Costa Rica for a short vacation. Eldest is going to Iceland for a vacation soon. We’re planning out a New England family vacation in the fall. They’re happy, so that makes me happy. I sometimes jot down conversations and came across a phone conversation I’d had with Nick, back in 2005. He was driving back to college after a Thanksgiving holiday. Emmy was our foster daughter when the boys were growing up. She is still very much a part of our family:
““Hi, Mom! Just calling to say I’m on the road, but I really loved being with you today.”
“What a gift we all got today.”
“Yeah, Mom, that’s exactly what it was: a gift. I couldn’t have said it better.”
“I felt so blessed today, to listen to you kids chatter away memories. I felt as though I could reach out and touch the love that floated in the air between you kids. Don’t ever lose that. I want you kids to never let anything rise up between you, if necessary, one of you will have to let it go, but always love each other.”
“I will, Mama, I promise. I’ll always watch out for my brothers.”
“And Emmy, too.”
“Oh, yeah, of course Emmy.”
“I know she’s got other family, but we all know she’s really ours.”
“True. True. She feels that way, too, you know.”
“Yes, I know. It’s because that is her place. I think God made it. There’s no denying the truth.”
“Sweetiepie says she’s comfortable with us and she and Emmy really liked each other.”
“That’s because Sweetiepie fits, too. When it feels right, it feels right.”
“I just had such a blast, Mom, I wish we could stay a week.”
“Maybe next time she’ll come for longer.”
“Well, it was good to see you doing so well.”
“Am strong. Like bull.”
“You didn’t sound so strong a week ago. You scared us.”
“Ah, baby, now you know that one day both your Dad and I are gonna hafta go, but I promise to take good care of myself till I do.”
“Okay, Mom. I love you.”
“I love you, too, baby. You take good care of yourself and keep your seatbelt tight and put that seat back upright and stay off the blackberry text messaging. Oh and don’t speed because you know the cops will be all over I-4 and we can’t afford a ticket. And watch out for all those other drivers. They’re crazy, you know.”
He laughs. “Okay, Mom. I promise.”
“Don’t lie to your mother. It’s a sin.”
“I promise. No text messaging.”
“Good. Because that was the most dangerous thing I ever saw.”
Oh, Nick. How I miss you. Everyone said we were exactly alike. They were right. I’m grateful I found this.
Politics:
Trump is drunk with power. His lack of political experience is already proving out to be disastrous. Pence is no better, suggesting that some women go out and “deliberately get raped” in order to SKIP WORK. Okay, ladies, raise yer hands: how many of you have gone out to get raped (and wouldn’t that make it consensual and therefore NOT rape or am I not understanding alternative truths again?) to get out of work? Anyone? Yeah. I thought so.
I guess that’s it for a Saturday night. Be well. Be safe. Be kind-hearted to others.
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