(Ha. When it's hot like this I don't want to drink . . . however, I do want to eat ice cream. That yummy Brigham's Mocha Almond in my freezer is no more, no more, no more, no more. Though it lasted a full week [I'm the only one eating it; my family tends to eschew our friend the nut], and that's something. I guess.)
We're looking at four straight days of 90+ heat here in Boston, so today the Chardonnays hauled the fans out of the basement and up the stairs, assembly-line style, and this year I smartened up and made us disassemble them and clean off all the big clots of dust before turning them on. Whooee, the disgusting dust storms of yesteryear!
(Now all I'll have to deal with are the dust bunnies and cat-fur clumps that come rolling out from under the beds like tumbleweeds . . . but that is a problem for Chore Day.)
Not much to say. My daughter is still sad, which puts a pall on most everything.
Happy birthday, Mrs. Cynicletary!!
I am very, very glad you were born, my beloved glamorous redheaded babe-a-luscious besty!
Today I said goodbye to my Math kids, which was very sweet and touching. Several of them asked me to come to their birthday parties. Littlejay wants me to live with her. Emmy wants me to be her other mom. Glum Albie pretended to frown when I hugged him goodbye, but he couldn't pull it off and gave me a big smile. Such cutie patooties — I will really miss them, though I'm delighted to have my days back to myself.
Tomorrow I have my penultimate Math Practice meeting (I think we're off for the summer), then Mrs. C and I will celebrate her natal day with a delicious boozy lunch at Summer Shack, and then of course I have some work to do. (Hic! Should be great.) But I think I get the weekend off, which is lovely.
We're having old friends for dinner on Saturday, and I'm making salmon with cilantro-caper-lime salsa and bumbleberry pie. On Sunday I teach my penultimate OWL class (we're also off for the summer) — lots of time is opening up for me, which is great since, as I feared, two of my clients have already slipped with their deadlines, and next week I'll be pelted with giant gobs of editing work. But it will be fine. I've had some free time this week and got caught up on a lot of things and can finally exhale a little.
If you're a praying sort, please say a prayer for sad Mimosa. Fifteen, man — you couldn't pay me to go back there.
Off to soak off my sweat in the tub. G'night!