wolfie and the sneak

Once upon a time I had a week off from work and slept until whenever, napped around with the cats all day if I wanted to, and generally took my time doing whatever I wanted.

Except really I cleaned house for a week straight, moved light pieces of furniture around until we have some semblance of a guest room, edited down the art and prints we have on the walls, did countless loads of laundry and who knows what else happened last week.

Oh yeah--heartburn so bad I threw up, filled up at least half a dozen trash bags and gathered equally as much stuff to donate to the thrift store, massaged a man-unit's feet (and ego. . .then he returned the favor on my own achy, swollen feet) after 12 hour work days all week and I think I lost my mucus plug. What? TMI??

Secretly I hoped Labor Day would have a double meaning in our household. No such luck, but she'll be here soon enough, I just need to practice patience. At the end of the day, though, when my back was so sore I couldn't move, I plopped down in Charlie's recliner with a pad of paper and doodled my evenings away.