Even when you love a job, you know you do it. Especially around 1:00 on Friday afternoon. You're using all your energy to work for the weekend. I've been using all my energy for that since 5:25 this morning when the alarm went off for Justin to get up early and head to Connecticut. Except Justin slept another twenty minutes to 5:45 when I finally made him get up and help with Robbie (who was also up some time around 2:30; I'm fuzzy on the details because he wasn't upset enough to warrant me actually getting up).
I was still working for the weekend when Robbie and I got home around 4:45. Roberto and I took a slow walk to the house from the car, my child showing his Kentucky roots in bare feet. He stopped every few inches to pick up a new treasure - a leaf or semi-decomposed pine cone - gathering them in his hand with care. He then gingerly placed them on the steps as he climbed them to get up to the house. All of them but one. That last one? He handed it to me to safeguard and he climbed his way through the door. It almost broke my heart to have to leave it outside!
My head has been pounding all day. My ears are blocked. My body is just tired. On days like this, the weekend doesn't start until Robbie has gone to bed and I am off the clock. From 6:34 on, it has been perfect. Every married woman's dream Friday night. You guessed it. A husband who finally turned to me and said, "Are you sick?" Chinese food on the couch. Pawn Stars on the TV. Two episodes. And I'm getting ready to put a third one on and watch from bed. After I take a healthy dose of NyQuil.
To my dear seester... This posting was just for you. I wanted to go to bed without doing it but didn't want to disappoint you.
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