Time for me

5 Jul

It’s the Fourth of July weekend, and I’m not feeling the best (weird stomach flip flopping for no reason is the polite way of putting it). We had all manner of plans. Tri tip barbeque anyone? The meat is still marinating in the fridge. And fireworks. Not our own, but you know, the local one. I’m not a fan of fireworks at the best of times, someone might lose an eye! But we were at least going to go out and watch them. As it was, I didn’t even get off the couch. The hubby did. Said you could kind of see them from the garden. Who gets up for “kind of” seeing things? So I watched TV. And prayed that the racket wouldn’t wake the Turtle. If there was an Ebeneezer Scrooge of Independence Day, I was it. May I just say, though, it wasn’t my fault. I felt ill. I admire the way Americans celebrate their holidays, she says, generalizing wildly. There seems to be so much pride in it. And joy. I mean, Ireland didn’t become independent until 1922 and I have never seen much evidence of any celebration of it. We have Saint Patrick’s Day and days like “The August Bank Holiday” – inspiring! I would have like to have made it more special for the Hubby. He’s very patriotic – I think you have to be to join the military. But no. A dicky tummy put paid to all thoughts of that.

And today? Today he has taken the Turtle off on an “adventure”. Giving me time to myself. For the first time since we moved into this house. And what have I done? I have made the Turtle a pair of pants out of an old t-shirt of the Hubby’s.  Actually, I’m quite proud of myself. And now that I have a craft room, things are that much easier. Of course things have to be organised a bit more. And a bit of skill wouldn’t go amiss. But a good day, for sure.

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