Over summer weekends are even more work. As I look out through the kitchen I can see JOBS everwhere. I went shopping today and the wine is waiting to be put away. Fermenting pineapple should be slopped into the compost bucket which in turn awaits a journey to the compost bin waiting for collection on the curb.
Frost and Wren have been playing with car tracks which now snake across the persian carpet around discarded shoes, colored pens, various remote controls and empty bags from this morning's shopping.
I can smell stewing apples (from the fallen crop I was given, helpfully peeled by Josh)which I have steamed for Wren's mush AND we're cooking rice for sushi dinner tonight.
In 20 minutes [countdown is on] we are heading out to buy an oak desk advertised on Craigslist and then to return the library books. Now that Frost is reading so much on his own I have an even heavier bag and I hope to get something escapist and lively for myself. I expect it to contain guns, a gritty detective and a mysterious socialite / anthropologist / scientist who is a girlfriend/ victim / accomplice.
But of course, on the cusp of my various plans Frost has vanished up the street with a boy looking for a friend to play with. "Argher," says Josh, collapsing on the couch from heat and the imposition of effort. I don't feel the heat much but while summer is nice when wet, I would like it better with a nanny, a personal chef and a pool.
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