I slept in this morning, which means the alarm was set for 6:45 instead of 6 (or 6:18, the school day time that gives me a few extra minutes but also gives me the weather report and enough time to wake The Princess for her preparatory routine). I moved over to snuggle with my husband, drowsily, and enjoyed his warmth. It will be colder in bed when he goes away next month.
As it got closer to 7, I told him the time. The dogs eat at 7, and while they will snoozle a bit longer if no one is downstairs, they really do like their food as close to that hour as possible.
7:01. He is getting out of bed, and I know I must, too.
Prime writing time has already gone by. Soon I will be downstairs giving Molly her medicine, a two-person job at the moment, and I wonder how I will get that stack of three little pills cloaked in cream cheese down her throat when there is no large man standing behind her and hanging onto her.
He takes the liquid medicine squirter out of my hands, for he seems to think I would leave it in an eccentric location rather than in a place it can readily be found tomorrow morning. I would argue with his conclusion if I did not know he has reached it using scientific methods.
I check the web for my column in the Saturday paper, then I try to turn my mind to what I will be saying tomorrow morning.
It’s early for writing. I am not sure my eyes are completely open. Thoughts flit through my mind. I’ve chosen the gospel lesson, the meeting of Jesus and Peter, and I am fascinated with their friendship. Ye
It’s early for writing, but the more I write, the more I write. It never fails.