I can't take it anymore so I'm making a list. Will check it twice. Not going to be nice about it, but things need to get done around here, as it's all just piling up. I can see on the calendar that next week has me fully occupied, so now's the time to get everything else done. It's raining. You're stuck in the house for the weekend. Take advantage of it.

I don't think I've ever been more worn out after a marathon, its resultant pain having hung around all week, but neither have I spent a full day with a 55 pound jackhammer after a marathon either. That was Wednesday, and if there was an unsore muscle before that, we took care of him then. I was roundly angry about it, but had no one to blame. The inspector signed the rocky holes off yesterday. I'm sure he could feel the vibe that his very life depended on his initials in a certain box, on a certain building permit.

So that all got unexpectedly delayed, jamming up next week and piling us all headlong into the holiday whether we get our shopping and wrapping done or not. The rain doesn't exactly help. Neither do those typical year-end few who have a mite drip or two from their solid-ceilinged cover installed some ten months ago, when it was dry as the moon. I'll get to you. Soon as the clouds part.

But 'tis a happy time. I lit a fire tonight, put on some old Christmas jazz, poured a wee dram of Drambuie, and took a walk in the rain with some kids. Went out to the wet wood pile and was reminded of a poem. I may just read it aloud to myself later. It's called "relaxing", and we've heard whispers, rumors about it from other tired parents. Yes, it is the thing of myths: this place where the children sleep and parents recline. But we have hope all the same.

Have a peaceful weekend. Tidings of comfort and joy.

~