I was way too distracted at home to get some much needed paperwork done (it has been on the To-Do List for weeks) so I loaded it all up and went to my favorite coffee shop
where I managed to get distracted anyway by the bacon biscuits and have spent the last two hours knocking it out.
Isn’t it amazing how once you sit down to do a task that you’ve been dreading, it takes less time than you imagined? I cannot tell you the number of hours I’ve spent worrying about how behind I am – way more than it took me to complete it.
You’d think that a lifetime of perfecting procrastination would have taught me that.
Another reason I had to leave the house is because I had to drown my sorrows in an almond latte after maybe, accidentally, inadvertently, oh-no-she-didn’t, why does this only happen when Craig’s out of town, hit the house on my way into the garage last night and I didn’t want to be near the scene of the crime.
I was coming home from church in the pouring rain and decided to pull the car into the garage so I wouldn’t have to unload T with 42 degree rainwater dripping down the back of my neck (I usually park in the driveway because I don’t like to drive in and out of the narrow door opening) and I’d stopped to let the other two kids out of the right side of the car before pulling into the garage (it’s close quarters and we are not small people) and I didn’t notice that Travis had pushed the button to roll his car door open as well and I drove on into the garage except for the part where I came to a complete and abrupt stop when I felt a thud and heard the crunch of the open door catching the side of the house and pulling the trim away.
It was too dark to see any damage so I just took many, many deep breaths and as soon as it was daylight this morning, went outside to take a look and then text a friend or two as to a) how quickly, cheaply, and easily I could
hide/fix the damage before Craig got home; and b)if that wasn’t going to be possible, enquire as to which countries didn’t have extradition treaties with the United States. Fortunately, the general consensus was that this was not a disastrous scenario and so I dutifully reported it to my husband as cheerily as I possibly could.
Always deliver news cheerily.
Our conversation may have started with “The car is fine” followed quickly by “The garage door still closes” and “You can’t see it from the street”, “I think I can fix it myself” and a pinky swear promise of chocolate cake.
Chocolate cake hides a multitude of sins.
I’m happy to report that he was very understanding and he’s still coming home tomorrow.
And I don’t need to move to Morocco.
Have a nice day.