This place is a pig sty. I think to myself at seeing the unpacked suitcase, mismatched toddler shoes strewn about in a scavenger hunt-esque fashion, and a zillion other things I can’t bring to mind right now because I don’t want to.
Pig sty? I also think. That’s not a word I use. Where in the heck did that come from?
Oh yeah, my Mom. That’s how she used to describe my bedroom growing up. All these years later, those words are still in a dusty trunk in my brain. Aren’t these turns of phrases that get passed down to us interesting?
I’m such a butthead sometimes. I’m guiltily laying sideways on our king-size bed. I say guilty because Dave came over a minute ago and asked to sit down (which meant I’d need to move), and I said no.
Fine. I moved and invited him back. Who says I can’t be the bigger person?
I’m running on 2-cylinders tonight because I might have worked too hard. My friend Reid, a therapist, repeatedly reminds me, “Never work harder than your clients do.” Oops.
So, one thing I haven’t shared with you is an update on the ducks. Rather, the one duck and its antics over the past few days. From the lake, it flies the football field and a half-length of lawn to its old pen, usually in the mid-afternoon. For a snack and a snooze. Then it flaps itself back to the lake in the evening for an overnight swim.
The duck’s behavior reminds me of a grown child home from college raiding the fridge only to head out again with their friends.
I feel used. But also I’m happy he’s home.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 