It is Monday and I’m wearing Derrick’s dodgeball jersey and a baggy pair of white cotton pants, the sort that have a drawstring. I’m a big fan of most things with drawstrings.
I enjoy these pants, but I cannot take them out in public because they are see through and I pretty much only own pink underwear.
It’s funny how one begins to write and suddenly things come out that one NEVER intended to write about…
Anyway, one of the first things I did was drop a butter knife covered in berry jam onto my clothing, so I now feel ready for the day. It is, after all, summer. I am wearing the traditional summer costume of white pants with berry stains down the leg. I feel rather festive.
I decided to go to visit my vegetable garden, but on the way I had to stop for a few minutes to turn on the 2 year old’s bubble machine. It flooded the porch with bubbles, living up to it’s name, “The Bubble Hurricane”. The toddler squealed with delight and shouted “Bubbo! Bubbo!” and I realized today is not an ordinary Monday.
To get to my garden I have to go along the pool, past the lone pink rose and the water slide that doesn’t work anymore. My neighbor’s rosebush has climbed over the fence into my yard and it keeps trying to shake hands with the tomato plant. I brushed away a few flies and debated on picking a large, rather pale, orange tomato. I settled on a small, pale cherry tomato that seemed iffy. It wasn’t ripe yet.
I found two zucchini and a cucumber instead, but between you and me I’d trade the zucchini for a ripe tomato. The zucchini seem to spring up overnight, and IF we could survive on just zucchini, I’d be feeling rather self sufficient.
Here I am, Monday morning. It seemed pretty lame when I first crawled out of bed. The children woke up at 5:30, which I take rather personally. I think sometimes they are trying to make me crazy. The kitchen is a minor disaster, mostly caused by eggs. My goodness, I have nothing on the docket except for housecleaning and errands.
And yet, here we are. I have seen a bubble hurricane and tasted home made jam. Heck, I practically BATHED in home made jam. I have given the 2 year old an empty milk jug and he has been busy pouring and filling it, instead of trying to free climb the counter to reach my sugar bowl as he usually does in the morning. The milk jug is my Monday morning miracle, allowing me to write instead of wrangle. My garden hasn’t died yet. The weather has changed from an unholy heat wave to a cool, refreshing morning breeze that shakes the wind chime gently.
I didn’t have my good glasses on at first, but now I know, Monday you are magical!