7 Quick Takes Friday!

Ah, Friday. I’m not gonna lie, I thought Friday would never come. Not because I was particularly looking forward to it, but because the days since the Ogre left have seemed to drag. I can’t believe he’s only been gone for four days. Last weekend feels like a century ago.

I have no idea how I’m going to last six weeks until he comes back for Liam’s birthday, let alone six months.

I Realize That

the sentence I just typed sounds properly sappy and pathetic enough to come from the above horrible (and yet indescribably addictive) book/movie, but that’s where Stephanie Meyers got it right.

I’m not vocally as obnoxiously infatuated with my carnivorous Ogre as Bella is with her vegetarian vampire, but when you get right down to it, I know how the girl feels. When you love someone that much, when you take that vow and they become quite literally your other half, being without them feels wrong. I go about my days and nights with the ever-present knowledge that the Ogre isn’t here, and it just feels so…unnatural.

However

I am not pathetic enough to curl up in the woods alone and feel sorry for myself for days until someone thoughtfully sends out the local werewolves to find me. Even if that’s what I feel like doing.

I don’t even think there are any werewolves in Colleyville, either. Although the existence of the spider-wasp casts doubt on that certainty.

Plus, Can You Imagine

how that scene would have worked out if Bella were surrounded by vampy, bronze-haired offspring? (Like, normal children, ok? Let’s just not go into Renesmee.)

“Mom, what are you doing? Can you get up?

“No, honey. Just give me a few days, ok? Mommy’s moping pathetically.”

“Mom, why are you sad? Can I kiss your owie and make you feel better?”

“No, sweetheart. Mommy’s had her center sucked out of her and the only way to hold herself together is to curl up into a pathetic ball like this or, alternately, suck the soul out of some super-nice younger kid. Failing those two options, I’ll try to crash a motorcycle. Cliff diving will work in a pinch.”

(crickets)

“Mom? I have to pee.”

“CAN YOU JUST SHUT UP AND LET ME WALLOW IN PEACE ALREADY! Look, there’s a nice doggy coming soon, so just go to sleep and he’ll be here soon to take us home, ok?”

Not quite the same, is it?

No, Unfortunately

mothers don’t get to sit around and feel sorry for ourselves. I promise you. I have tried every possible imaginable way to do this, and am always foiled by dirty diapers, piled-up laundry, bloody knees or someone shoving legos up their nose.

As it turns out, this is a particular grace for me, since one of my favorite activities is feeling sorry for myself. I am a champion moper. I can list off the ways the universe has done me wrong with the best of them, only I don’t have time anymore.

These kids. They just force virtue upon us, ya know?

It’s kind of annoying.

Although

it is pretty hard to feel sorry for myself when that is what I get to swim in every day.

It’s a Dang Good Thing, Too

since the weather here is, as usual, unbearable. 106 today! Yuck.

Thank God for treadmills, pools, and sno cones. And air conditioning! Most of all thank you, God, for air conditioning.

Have You Ever Wondered

how many Native Americans died of heat stroke?

Oh, and don’t give me that, “their bodies adjusted” crap. Bodies do not adjust to 110 degree temperature. They just don’t.

I think they had some kind of primitive cooling system, like the way the early architecture here is all Spanish-style. Have you ever walked into a Spanish-style home with no a/c in the height of summer? It’s a miracle. 70 degrees, tops. The Spaniards, they are brilliant.

I think the Indians were too. They just decided not to share with us because we were killing them. For which I do not blame them at all.

Now that I have probably once again managed to offend someone, my spidey sense is telling me that it’s time for bed. So goodnight, guys! Happy weekend! Make sure you stop in and see Jen. Oh yes, and please come back soon! Don’t let these off-kilter and slightly delirious quick takes stop you.

I’m not usually like this. Or, not always.