Long Days, Revisited

I began my day with an expired chicken. I needed to use it or freeze it by the fifteenth and somehow--how? I demand to know--it's already the eighteenth. How time can simultaneously rush so quickly and slog so slowly is one of the great mysteries of life. (The days are long, but the years are short, that voice in my head intones solemnly, while the tune from "The Cat's In the Cradle" plays hauntingly in the background.)

I ended my day at with a recalcitrant child who did not want to leave the pool. She cried, "But I don't want to go home," over and over again as she trailed behind me, climbed into the car, sat in her booster seat and rode home. I rolled all the windows down to dilute the screams and turned up the music on the Christian radio station to add to the cacophony. If you can't beat them (and you can't beat them), join them. I broke a major rule of motherhood (Rule Number Three: Early Bedtimes for Small Children) and allowed her to watch all of the "Heffalump" movie because I couldn't bear to hear her cry again.

And so, my evening has been quite short, just like this post. Tomorrow--Friday! Rejoice and be glad. Only one more day until the town-wide garage sale, that glorious Saturday when books can be purchased for a quarter and my children will shriek with glee over the toys I bring home and my husband will caution me, "We already have enough stuff!"