Taking a day out

 

I read the other day that if you drink chardonnay (I do), you are becoming your mother. If you put ice in your chardonnay (I don’t), you are your mother. In truth, if someone told me I was becoming my mother, I would take it as a great compliment.

Today I became my mother. When I was young, Mom had migraines, and she would periodically take to her bed for a day. If someone said, “How is your mother?” or “I hope your mother is better,” I would cheerfully respond, “Oh, she’ll be all right tomorrow.” And she always was. Her days out were always one-day affairs.

I took a day out today. I didn’t sleep well last night and woke determined to feed Sophie and go back to bed. So I got up three times to deal with Sophie matters and ultimately slept until 9:30, unheard of for me., But by 11:30, I was exhausted and my bed was calling to me. Sophie and I essentially slept the day away. I have a friend who calls these “pajama days,” and says we all need one every so often.

Tonight, it is 8:30 and my bed is calling again, but Soph has other ideas. But I still don’t feel I’ve got all my sleep out. There’s been a lot of stress in our household/compound (two households=a compound?) what with the death of Christian’s mom, the planning for various memorial services, my brother’s illness, and the illness of various friends, including the death of one longtime friend. As someone said to me today, the only bright spot is that Sophie is happy, healthy, and active.

Who knows why I was so tired today—maybe it was nothing more than something I ate yesterday. At any rate, like my mother, I will be better tomorrow.

Jean came for supper tonight. I had planned a lovely supper—white bean soup with pickled celery and an Italian panzanella (bread) salad. Instead, she picked up supper at Jason’s Deli—a loaded baked potato for me and a Mediterranean salad for her. They were good, but my supper would have been better. Oh well tomorrow is another day.

See you tomorrow.