Honestly, I never wanted to cope with it. I never wanted to sort it out. I never wanted to discover whether or not my BA Senior Thesis was buried in it's filthy mire (it's not). I never wanted to actually sort through every single shoe worn by every single child inhabiting this house ever (I can say that because only single Catholic priests lived here before us).
And yet, because of the unending, unrelenting rain, on Monday, after damply plunking some old and uninteresting seeds in ground
there was nothing else to do but finally deal with Reality.
And do a little laundry. And start to put a few things in a bag because we really are going to indulge in a proper holiday this year. Because of which, the holiday I mean, rather than blogging and praying I've been doing the stupid Thirty Day Shred recommended by other crazed bloggers like Jen and Jessica. Except that for me, I hate it. H A T E I T. Really really hate it. Except that for the first time in my life I have one little muscle in each arm and I can now walk up a short flight of stairs without whining to anyone about it. It may be that I will actually be able to literally, not luridly and metaphorically, hike the Appalachian Trail in something like a week and a half.
'I'll need new hiking boots,' said Matt, 'for when we hike The Appalachian Trail (snigger).'
'What' reposted I, 'do you mean by Hiking. Because with six children it probably does not mean what it meant before. As soon as we set off, this
is what the children will insist they need to do. You don't need hiking boots, you need a good pair of slippers.'
'Fa' he said.
To which I replied, 'That's what everyone says about Sheol, and look how wrong they have all been.'