Yesterday was one of those days, crazy and fun, but mostly crazy.
I took the kids to an outdoor concert, came home and spent the afternoon writing (and possibly playing a little Scrabble on Facebook). I rushed James to the airport at five so he could catch a flight to his dad's for the weekend, then sat beside him and read furiously, hoping to finish Persuasion before book club at 8. I interrupted myself to take a phone call to discuss the road show themes that had just come in (congratulations (?!) are in order: I'm a playwright now. Ha.) and we had to claim ours first, plus give them our top three song choices on a theme we'd known about for approximately two minutes. Then I read some more, James's flight took off, and I rushed to the furniture store to pick up the chaise we ordered.
You have my permission to love it, cuz I do!
On the way home from there, I got another call from the road show director that we would be getting our second choice for a theme and as we hammered out more song options, I walked in the front door to discover a heaping pile of Grant's puke scented bedding, clearly dropped over the stair railing by a husband so wiped he was crashed out on our bed with the lights blazing while he snored the snore of the exhausted. I scooped up the puke sheets and threw them in the washer, made it to book club an hour late, and sat on the floor in a daze for the rest of the night, rousing myself occasionally to make stupid jokes.
It was one of those days.
I love my life.