(No church today. The floors are being redone.)
Caleb comes over this morning with a stack of receipts and a breakfast invitation that was cancelled on my behalf, because I was upstairs still sleeping with Lochlan who wouldn't let me get up before nine.
Sometimes Loch is all-play, ditch the day, hideaway fun too, you know.
We finally consented to get dressed and show our faces only to head out for a long rainy drive in the truck that ended in the instant magical pizza place. We took Ruth book-shopping. We bought Krispy Kremes. I need bigger skinny jeans. Maybe just-right jeans or post-pizza and donut jeans. But not mom-jeans, because I'm horribly offended by that label, as if you have children and suddenly lose your sense of style. You don't lose it, exactly, it just gets buried for a while in all the other stuff and then when you unearth it again you find you don't care as much as you once did.
I care but if it doesn't have a thousand buttons, some ruffles and come in all black I don't exactly want it or plan to wear it, most of the time. The only thing better than that is naked, I think.
Naked is good. It's a style too, if you're being picky. We could have probably been a nudist colony if not for the children present. Maybe once they grow up and leave this feathered nest we can slowly shift into one, except then when Caleb would show up with more work for me to do I'd have papercuts all over the damned place instead of only on my fingertips. Ow.
