I dream weird dreams about babies sliding across floors and down highways, waking only when Anders comes in to tell me he’s leaving for hockey practice, and then the speedy sliding babies are gone.
The kids are chattering in the kitchen, they are very loud, but I fall back asleep. No dreams this time, and when I awake again I feel drugged and logy. Stagger up and out of bed, to stand disoriented for a few moments. The sun is indecisive; he might show, he might not. Despite the lateness of the hour, the aquarium is still dark; the fish unfed. If I didn’t feed them, they’d be floaters for sure; no one else remembers them.
I worry about the fish. Is it too green in the tank? Too murky? When was the last time the water was changed? I learned how to suck the end of the plastic pipe to get the water to start pouring out, but I hate to do it, it makes me gag. Standing in front of the tank, I count the neons: they are down to 8, but the 2 who disappeared over the last few weeks left no evidence. I compulsively count them every time before they get fed. 2 male goldies, 2 female, 5 rosy tetras, 3 silver split-tails, 2 slim stripey algae-eaters, the neon tetras, and Beta in all his red and blue fanning finery.
What plans have I got today? They are few, and simple ones: put this away, put that away, walk, help a friend finish moving, final edits to webpages and upload. Tonight is part 2 of the Swedish Melodifestivalen, must-see TV for our children. I cancelled an event tonight, thinking it more important to keep the weekend simple. I’m only marginally successful lately when it comes to parceling out my time. Trying to allocate enough for family, children, friends, choir, work, club, and self is a juggling act I can’t seem to master. Someone always gets dropped on the floor. Lately, I think it’s me.
Everything goes smoothly, all day long. The things I plan to get done, do. And as a bonus, I pick up sushi after the quick and relatively painless final move of a friend’s last things. Relatively painless for me, that is. He was radiating pain, and it wasn’t easy for her either, but it was at least quick for them both, this last hard bit. When I return home, Anders is working in the garage, the kids out playing. I finalize the web work I still had on my list. The sushi is popped into the fridge for half an hour, then removed again and set on the counter.
When Karin comes in and sees it, she sprints into the room where I am, flings her arms about me and kisses me passionately. I am the BEST MOMMY IN THE WHOLE WORLD. Martin comes in a little later and as luck would have it, finds the missing Tracy Chapman CD. Dinner is excellent; and the kids eat nearly everything in their boxes, only turning up their noses at the black roasted sesame seeds for which I can’t blame them; I don’t care much for them either.
Baths are given and pajamas pulled on. We settle in the living room to watch the show. I am disappointed: none of this week’s entries do much for me, only one is worth voting for but it doesn’t make the cut. No fussing when the show is over, both jump in bed, one is asleep within minutes.
Now it’s quiet in the house. I wish I had a dog at my feet or a cat in my lap. Anders was hoping to watch the bronze medal hockey game but it appears not to be on. I sit down at the computer and go blank. A quick perusal of some archive entries yields no spark. Here, posterity: here is my day. Keep it well.
Edited to add: Soon after I posted this, Anders flipped the channel and found the very first few moments of Katie Melua in concert in Croyden. Bliss! I am going to bed singing 🙂