The good news is that the girls are settling into their new routines. Busy at school, busy with homework, busy with activities and busy with friends. The bad news is that, despite my best efforts, my intended routine evades me. I have lots of time blocked off in my calendar to write, but the kind of writing I plan to do during those hours remains stubbornly trapped in my brain. I’ll get it out eventually.
That’s not to say I haven’t been productive this week. I have accomplished all sorts of things, including overcoming my intense aversion to Home Depot in order to purchase the supplies for our future puppy’s new outdoor crapper. As you can see in the photo below, the result is a marvel of canine hardscape engineering – one that I fervently hope will be more appealing to our dog’s poops than our floors.
I have also begun extensive vacation-related research for next summer, because even though I’m no longer daydreaming about vacations from a sad office desk, vacation planning is an addiction I cannot seem to kick. I’ve always had wanderlust and always will. And next summer’s vacation is an especially meaningful one, meant to mark my and my husband’s 45th birthdays and our 20th wedding anniversary. Our mom will be joining us on this trip, because 2014 is also a momentous year for her. She will be celebrating a big birthday that ends in a zero. If all goes well, next year’s adventure will entail explorations of Zion National Park, Bryce Canyon, the Grand Canyon and the area around Moab, bookended at the start and finish by hedonistic nights in Las Vegas (well, as hedonistic as one can get in Vegas with two kids and a grammy in tow).
A good portion of my time continues to involve chauffeuring Chloe and Sophie around town. Typical exchanges related to my role as keeper of the invaluable car keys go something like this: “Mom, can you pick me up at [so-and-so’s] house?” “Mom, can you take me to [so-and-so’s] house for a playdate?” “Sophie, hurry up and get your shoes on! We have to leave for dance now.” “Chloe, what did you forget this time? Move your ass! We have to go!”
I am happy to report that, despite my failure to follow a writing routine, I have returned to the cooking routine. Problem is that I’m now starting to hear the following refrains from the girls: “Ugh. I don’t want chicken again! Do I have to have chicken again?” “Mom, this dish was better last time.” “I hate sugar snap peas.” “Why do you always forget to put my ketchup on the table?” If these complaints continue, I might just serve up a dish made with sweetbreads. Thankless cretins.