When the cat's away...the lemmings will play.

My first baby

  Chris took the girls to his Mom's for the weekend. Well, actually, he took them to some water-filled rock quarry in some woodsy, undisclosed location in Central Illinois where Paula has an equally woodsy camping spot rented for the year.  And it's not  truly undisclosed. I just haven't been paying attention.

Chris, Bela, Mae...that's 75% of the clan. You must, by now, understand what this means. Yes, folk(s). I stayed home all by myself.  

Won't you be lonely? Mae asked me as I was pushing her out the front door Saturday morning.

Oh, I will, but I'll be ok Mae. Thank you for worrying about me. I threw her blankie down the front staircase. 

You're going to stay here all alone? She looked concerned and kissed me sweetly.  

I am, I'll miss you, but I'll be ok. I tossed her shoes out on the front sidewalk.

Alright. Judge away. I love to be alone. I love my kids passionately. I would throw myself in front of a bus for them.  I would eat worms if it somehow guaranteed their safety. I would go on play dates with total strangers just to entertain them... But I love to be alone.

I know Chris is dying to know what I do when I'm here by myself. I imagine his curiosity rivals that of Charles Martin Smith's character in Never Cry Wolf as he sets up camp to observe the secret goings-on of a group of wolves in the Arctic wilderness. Well, I'm not eating lemmings. There is no big surprise. It's actually, sadly, quite quite boring.

You would think that Moms, when they get the chance to do whatever their little hearts desire, would engage in activities that were more, I don't know, exciting. But my day went something like this:

Get up and eat bacon. Drink coffee. Eat more bacon. Drink more coffee. Be of absolutely no help packing the kids up, getting them out the door (except for the final shove). Sit on my couch and stare at the floor. Iron. Go to JoAnn Fabric to buy $80 (shhhhhhh!) worth of pinwale courdoroy. (Don't ask). Return home. Sew. Look up at the clock and realize that it is 9pm and I haven't eaten since bacon bacon coffee coffee. Eat cereal. Sew. Watch Jaws. Sew. Hang out with the cat. Go to bed at 1am. Sleep until 10:30.

What I did not do: Run. Laundry. Wash dishes. Clean anything. Shower. Brush my teeth. Brush my hair. Make my bed.

Why do I love it so much? I think it's the total silence. I think it's the uninterrupted pleasure of wildly impossible waking-hour fantasies. Usually, just as soon as I get to the good part of my day dreams, some one needs a band aid. Or help wiping. How's a girl to live out a fantasy life if she constantly has to wipe rear ends? Even cute little ones like the ones that run around my house?

My day wasn't completely silent. I've been listening to a lot of sad girl banjo music lately: Po' girl; Frazey Ford; Ruth Moody.  Nothing makes me happier than sad, and that's the truth.

Hope you all are having a wonderful weekend. Enjoy these photos of what Miss Bronte and I did. She is getting pretty good with a needle and thread.