It is 5:30 a.m. and I'm staring out the window into the dark. I've almost finished folding the whole laundry basket. I am cold and anxious. I'm hoping my new MB Super Friend got my message last night and picks me up this morning. I am already wearing my swimsuit under my sweats and my bag rests by the door. I shiver at the thought of a cold pool in the dark morning.
Yesterday, my cell phone took a bath in baby formula (no further explanation necessary). Then I transferred its lifeless shape to the sun baked porch in hopes of a revival. When I retrieved it from it's deathbed in the evening, the once slim battery was swollen with curdled milk and impossible to clip back into position on the phone. No cell phone. No life line. No phone numbers.
When John arrived home that evening and announced that he was no longer leaving for work at 5 a.m. I was overjoyed for two reasons. First of all, he wouldn't be putting in ANOTHER 14 hour work day to come home cranky and exhausted. And secondly, I could UN-cancel my swim workout in the morning. Hooray! The miraculous preservation of Me Time prevails.
So here I sit, in the early morning dark of my living room, folding laundry in sweats and a Speedo (not necessarily in that order), anticipating the arrival of Super Friend's minivan, hopeful she got my late night message, nervous she's already on her way to the pool without me.
Yesterday, my cell phone took a bath in baby formula (no further explanation necessary). Then I transferred its lifeless shape to the sun baked porch in hopes of a revival. When I retrieved it from it's deathbed in the evening, the once slim battery was swollen with curdled milk and impossible to clip back into position on the phone. No cell phone. No life line. No phone numbers.
When John arrived home that evening and announced that he was no longer leaving for work at 5 a.m. I was overjoyed for two reasons. First of all, he wouldn't be putting in ANOTHER 14 hour work day to come home cranky and exhausted. And secondly, I could UN-cancel my swim workout in the morning. Hooray! The miraculous preservation of Me Time prevails.
So here I sit, in the early morning dark of my living room, folding laundry in sweats and a Speedo (not necessarily in that order), anticipating the arrival of Super Friend's minivan, hopeful she got my late night message, nervous she's already on her way to the pool without me.
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