Running On Fumes
For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Or an unequal and disproportionate reaction that somehow winds up feeling equal and opposite. I go away for 50 hours for the first time in a year, and Dino Spouse and his mama follow up with a week in Atlantic City. That’s 160 man-hours, not that I’m counting, and we will not speak of the financial disproportions pertaining thereto — but I’m not too sore about it because it was planned long in advance, in celebration of Belle-mere’s 60th birthday, and for once I had the presence of mind to take the week off so I could work on home improvement projects and get away from my office for a few days.
As a result, this is turning out to be a lovely week. I got to attend Skinny Dino’s violin concert twice today (the school assembly version this AM, where Juicy Dino was granted leave from his kindergarten class to sit on my lap for 40 minutes, and the parents-after-work version at 7 PM), and I have almost undone my effort of a couple of years ago to Freshen Up The Kitchen By Painting Those Tired Old Cabinets. If I had had any idea how bizarre the cupboards were really going to look when Mother Protosaur and I painted them in cranberry and lemon sorbet, I would have just sucked it up and either refinished them in wood tones in the first place (which is in essence what I have been doing for the last two days, except first I am stripping them of cranberry and lemon sorbet paint) or bought new cabinets, already. Speaking of essence, refinishing wood is a stinky, gooey process, and my house reeks of CitriStrip and the vile substance you use to clean the wood once you’ve removed the CitriStrip. The fumes are overpowering. I think I need to burn some incense in here when this is all over.