Lil Buckaroo

Mommy’s tired,” I tell my kids when I am so. “Mommy needs a nap.” Today was one of those days, after one or two of those weeks. I indulged myself, or rather, stopped fighting the feeling and drooled for an hour or two on the couch in the sunlight. Half-dreams and half-lucid thoughts, visions and plans all comingled and seemed real enough. They vanished upon my awakening.

My girls were gone for the weekend but came home this morning for Mother’s Day, Simone with a red dress for prom. She looks gorgeous in it. It’s a perfect ruby red, and suits her figure. Prom is June 3 and she and AJ will make a sweet couple. Hair, nails, etc., on the way.

It was hot this weekend, a fact which I ate up like ice cream (which I also ate, twice, today). We walked by the beach, also twice — once in early afternoon under muggy sunshine, again in dusk with a grapefruit-pink sky overhead and swarms of mosquitoes after me. Brother-in-law-to-be Joedy is in town to stay with P while he tries out a new job, and we had a nice summer supper, dessert and walk to celebrate his arrival.

My planner is hecka busy this week, and my schedule of to-dos and deliverables chock-full-o-nuts. I will be writing a lot this week, not that you’ll see any of it. Ack and gadzooks.

Books: Just finished Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go, a devastatingly wonderful and disturbing book. Good good stuff. Like opening a charming, sweet, creepy package, one that ultimately just breaks your heart. Don’t want to give it away, but it’s wonderful. Read it.

Now, thanks to that nap, I’m not sleepy, want to cuddle with a book in bed but I still have flannel sheets on my bed and don’t want to change them. I mean I do, but don’t want to do it myself. I want the clean-sheet elves to come in and, in the twinkle of a moment, sort out my clothes, fold my blankies and change my sheets. Alas, I think the elves are on strike right now, or busy with the Shoemakers’ Union. I’ll have to check on the fairies and sprites and see who’s available to do my bidding. I’ll be checking the toadstool down in the glen and the meadow in the vale. Frolicking as we speak.

Scamper onward, little squirrels! Mommy’s tired and so to bed she goes, flannel or no.

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