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This past Saturday morning, Jen, Sue and I braved the rain for a trip to Dunkin Donuts in our pj’s for coffee – yum, I’m quite fond of DD coffee! Caused a ruckus at the register because we’re just confusing and it gets worse when we’re together because we all interrupt each other and talk at the same time and forget that other people’s ears aren’t trained to listen to our ping-pong conversations. Oops. Yes, I do believe that the Dunkin Donuts ladies were so very glad to see us leave. Then went back to Jen’s house, watched a movie, and held the Maggie…. the perfect rainy Saturday afternoon activity :)

Returned home and Bobby and I cleaned house. Had a little spat that actually carried over into Sunday about the distribution of household chores, which resulted in a new Division of Labor proclamation. 602 North Street – democracy at its finest. Then Sat evening, Ms Linda brought the dining room rug over that Bobby’s Nana gave us – whoa, it’s gorgeous! Matches Mama’s lamp exactly, like they were meant to be. Hand-made in Inda… it’s way nicer (aka more expensive) than anything that Bobby and I would ever buy for ourselves, so we’re pretty freakin excited!!

The new-to-us rug, pre-Coby:

And within a couple of hours, Coby had a little…. (ok, a big) accident on it. Hello, beautiful, heirloom-quality, ungodly expensive rug, welcome to 602 North St! Nothing like a little doggie poopy christening. Lovely.

Woke up Sunday morning in a bit of a funk – dreading going back to work, dreading the end of the weekend, dreading doing the laundry, oh yes, I was filled with dread. I had already coated Bobby in a thick layer of worry-words before even getting out of bed, making him want to run screaming from the house in his boxers. I always feel like I’m racing against a deadline on Sunday – trying to get the laundry done, kitchen cleaned, groceries replenished, everything that I don’t do during the week. Why don’t I do it during the week, you ask? Well, after I come home from work, I’m pooped, kinda like our beautiful new rug… like I’ve been running off a battery all day and have drained that sucker dry. Then as a result, the weekends end up being a mad dash to Monday, trying to cram it all in.

Hark, I do believe I hear the words of an ungrateful wench…. ok, please disregard that last paragraph… I GREATLY enjoyed my weekend because, really, how often do you get a weekend to just do chores/watch movies/hold the Maggie/do nothing?!? That’s right, not very often.

Oh, and kept the Maggie for a few hours on Sunday afternoon. Love her, love her, love her… she makes my heart happy, she does! :)

Maggie-Waggie meets chocolate pudding:
Tonight is our second “Grief Series” session – not as nervous as I was last week. Doesn’t make a ton of sense since this week is supposed to be the most difficult session – sharing with the group why you’re there – who died, how, when, etc. The other group members are going to be sick and tired of hearing about Mama after they hear 6 versions of the story – from 1 husband, 3 daughters, and 2 son-in-laws. Oh well.

*Oh, and just a sidenote: The title of this post is a nod to our childhood – our first (and last) camping trip with our cousins. Jennifer wrote a letter to Mama and Daddy that consisted of only these words, along with a picture of a drooping tent with a disgruntled, soggy little girl sitting inside… Mama always giggled when she thought about our brief foray into the world of camping :)

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