Weekend Coffee Share: Is it Thanksgiving yet?
If we were having coffee, I’d likely cough and sneeze before I’d finished asking how you’re doing. I’d tell you I’m not especially surprised to be sick, what with the tiny pee-soaked fist my toddler cheerfully jammed into my mouth earlier in the week.
Littler J’s got it even worse, naturally. The bad news is that he doesn’t feel great, which is really a bunch of bad news bundled up in one bad news banner. The good news is that he looked adorable trying to get comfortable in my bed when he found his own intolerable last night.
I’d keep a safe distance while asking where you’re at. Was the last week hectic, calm, or somewhere in between? Is anything exciting–or, heck, relaxing–in store for you for the coming week?
After we’d chatted about you, I’d tell you my last week was both hectic and exhausting. Visiting with my sister last weekend was fantastic, but oh! Missing sleep hits me a lot harder and longer than it did when Rache and I shared her first apartment most of a couple decades ago!
I zombied my way through a few of the days and found myself fervently wishing it were Thanksgiving weekend already. I’ve been working as a contractor for most of this year, which means no paid time off and no sick time (or did, until a California law mandating some sick leave went into effect a couple of months back). I’m now desperate for four consecutive days to (relatively) relax, especially with the additional home responsibilities I’m shouldering while my husband‘s away from home fifteen to sixteen hours daily for work through mid-December … apart from Thanksgiving weekend, when he, too, will have a few consecutive days off. It can’t come soon enough.
(Is it Thanksgiving yet? I’d ask, as if I’d transformed into my six-year-old. No? How about now?)
I’d pause and adjust my ponytail before continuing that I don’t have a whole lot else to say right now. I’d catch myself moments later and perk up sharing something else: My six-year-old, Li’l D, just finished reading the first Harry Potter book with me. This earned him the privilege of watching the movie, which … ahem … absolutely enchanted him.
I’d smile while recounting a conversation I overheard between him and his dad this morning:
Dad: Who’s your favorite Harry Potter character?
D: Because he was protecting Harry.
His dad dabbed his eyes after that, and wouldn’t you know? I’d say:
I found something in my eyes as well.