A rare treat this morning: I slept in until 7:00! On a normal Saturday, I would ordinarily have been at running club long before then, but my race is tomorrow; I had planned to meet a friend and walk instead, but she had to bail (with good reason), so I decided just to allow myself a small amount of extra shut-eye, and it felt like heaven. It’s amazing how 7AM can feel decadent when the latest you ever get to sleep, ever at all anymore, is 6:30. I’m up with Sam weekday mornings by 6 (he catches his bus at 6:30, and I’m not confident in his ability to actually eat something if I don’t make that happen; he’s such a light eater, and his doctor has me being vigilant about it, since he lost some weight due to simply not eating. On Sundays, our church has gone to three services to accommodate a growing membership that has the building bursting at the seams, so now we need to get there by 8AM. Saturdays are for running, of course, and 7AM is usually the very latest that I’ll meet up with the group.
But today was special. Even the kids and dog seemed willing to let me have a little blessing, staying in their beds and being quiet. In fact, Sam and Eric are still there, Sam having crawled in with Eric, and Gabe and Gid are snuggled on the couch to watch cartoons.
Good to get a slow start to the day, since it’s going to culminate in a four-hour drive for me to the middle of nowhere on the other side of the state. You know, when I was planning this race, you’d think I’d have sensed something every time somebody, asking where it was, would come back with “Where?!” when I said the name of the city. (Wisconsinites: it’s in Norwalk. (“Where?!” I hear you cry, in jest or seriousness.)) It didn’t sink in, though, until I went to find a hotel and…there were none. Well, except for the Really Fancy – rich people like being in the middle of nowhere, it seems – or the ones with a “Bates” sign on the door. The wealthy and the scary, together in love. Eric opted to book me a hotel in a neighboring town which is somewhat less desolate; it has a pool, anyway.
“Remote” equals “pretty,” though. And once this one is done, winter can descend upon us. My permission is hereby given.
Anyway, before I leave, I need to run out with Gabe to get a gift for a birthday party he’s hitting just before I blow town. To ease the weekend a bit, Gideon is spending the night at Puppy Disneyworld, AKA: the kennel. Seriously, he freaking adores his kennel, to the point where we let him go there for an afternoon every few weeks or so even when it’s not necessary, so he can romp with and chase the other dogs to his heart’s content. When he sees the building, he starts freaking out with eager anticipation; he can’t control himself when we enter the front lobby. When I called to schedule this overnight, the lady responded to my mention of how he needed this visit with, “Yes, we know how high-energy he is…” Sort of embarrassing, but gratifying that they all know Gideon by name and reputation, at least? At least he’s not some aggressive dog, or one that freaks out on the other puppies. It’s a positive tornado of tail and tongue.
Three more days, y’all. Gabe got a job as “poll worker” in his school’s mock election, and he’s positively cackling with the power trip. This goes well with his previous aspirations of crooked judge (“When a bad guy comes in, I’ll say, ‘If you give me ten dollars, you can be not guilty!'”) and dirty cop (“I can pull people over if I like their cars, and I’ll say they were speeding and take the car!”).