We’re operating on Plan B this weekend. Plan A was to visit family out of state, but the terrible storms and tornadoes that ripped through the area we were to be traveling through and traveling to put an end to that plan. It’s a weird feeling to be packed and ready, having taken part of the day off, arranged to pick the kids up early from school and then… nothing. Returning back home, unpacking, and suddenly finding ourselves with an open weekend. And now it’s half through and I’m not sure that we’ve really filled it with anything fancy or productive. There were brief moments in the beginning when we consoled ourselves with the thought that we’d have a little more time to get to this, or that. But the reality is we are just more worn out, more spent, than we’d like to admit. If we go and go and go, we generally can keep going. When our going is stopped, man, we stop. Like a log. I feel like a log. Or maybe a lump. Definitely a lump, and one with an annoying cough.
Despite all the going, there has still been blackberry syrup in my fridge for awhile, and frozen buttery crisp in my freezer just waiting for someone to go on and make some vanilla ice cream already. And while the optimism of Friday night (let’s paint some trim! let’s buy some shelves! let’s spring clean the house, and catch up on the bills and plan the summer garden and … and.. and!) becomes the reality of Saturday night (let’s iron a few work clothes while we watch Mad Men on Netflix and try to stay awake until Saturday Night Live comes on so that we can sleep through it) – well, at least the ice cream is made. This ice cream. Time to move this lump downstairs and find a spoon.