Headway

I've got to get pictures when Zorak's not looking, because the balcony is really looking NICE. (It has to be when he's not looking because every time I mention it, he says, "Let me pick up down there, first." It's been, what, over a month now? I tell him you know all about our slovenly construction site habits, and that you love us anyway. But he thinks I'm delusional.) Anyway, I love the railings -- they are very worth the seemingly endless engineering that went into them. Lovely, lovely, immobile railings. I can't reach them, yet, as we have no floor up there, and I don't do the balance beam on the joists bit, but they do look nice as I peer out the kitchen windows and doors. That's something.

We have a riding mower, now, which I think I mentioned. I thought I'd mow the upper meadow today, but that didn't go so well. First, I managed to hit an old rusted somethingorother, although, thankfully, that didn't kill the mower. Unfortunately, my stopping the thing to touch base with the boys about what, exactly, "picking up the meadow so we can mow" means in our native tongue gave the thing an opportunity to curl up and die on its own. Hmpf. I tried jumping it, but perhaps it sensed my fear of bottled up electricity, because it only turned over once, backfired, and then laughed itself into silence while I tried to gather my composure. Stoopid post-partum bladder.

Smidge has announced that he would like, for his fifth birthday, "a bow, some arrows, and that thing you wear on your back that holds the arrows". His wish is Zorak's command, so Zorak has spent his free time (say that with a straight face - the man never stops!) this week designing a NEW bow, just for Smidge. We have the material for a quiver, and will only need to track down buckles. I'm not sure who is more excited over it. It may be a draw. It will be a joy. Good, good stuff.

Smidge also asked when I'm going to put a table back in the school room so that he can start school. Whatever happened to enjoying summer vacation? Weird. And, evidently, working at the dining table or the breakfast bar (my fallback plan) simply doesn't feel "official" enough to him. So now I have guilt. Enough so that I probably must DO something with the school room. Which is fine. It needs it. But it's not coming to me - not the furniture, nor the arrangement.

Neither is the guest room/nursery/playroom speaking to me. It's like the house has fallen silent. (It's probably ignoring me until I get the rest of the trim painted. Who knew we'd get the pouty house?)

Let's face it, nothing's coming to me right now. I have funk. It hangs on me like the stench of fear. Only less endearing. Yech. Gotta shake that off and get moving, or give in and buy a mu-mu and a box of bon-bons. (Guess which is more appealing in the heat of summer? Yeah, this'll be an uphill battle.)

But the lure of headway beckons. It calls. It feels mighty darned fine. Forget the mu-mu (although I may hoard a stash of bon-bons, just for emergencies, of course). We'll beat the beast back, sure enough. Because it feels so very good to be tired at the end of the day for a reason, for a purpose, and know that it is good. Yep.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy