A Typical Day
By Morag McKendrick Pippin
© 2005 All rights reserved.
Sigh, I crave typical. When nothing else interferes: Pry Fergus kitty off my head—he digs his claws into my hair and holds on tight all night, dislodge St. John Blue from my chest. When feels his breakfast is overdue he kneeds my face. This could be anywhere from 3am to 9am. Feed the wee monsters, eat breakfast, attend to email, shower, put on a load of wash, work on my wip, rescue pens, paperbacks, computer paper, electrical cords from the huge, rambunctious Maine Coon kitties, look in the freezer for something to fix my husband for dinner, find nothing inspiring, go back to work on wip, check email.
Loren comes home demanding dinner, shove a Healthy Choice in the microwave for him, or fix him a Cheerio casserole (served after 5pm a bowl of Cheerios becomes a Cheerio casserole) My husband knows better than to ask me to cook a dish from scratch. Cooking is not my forte. I’ve set the kitchen on fire before, burned through pots and pans, blended the stopper of a blender in the blender, broken any number of kitchen appliances, forgotten to turn on the oven, put a metal pan in the microwave, and I’ve fed the floor on too many occasions to count.
Once ‘dinner’ is served I check on laundry—it's been done for hours and now stinks, work on wip, watch tv with Loren, load laundry in the dryer, move the kitties off my pillow, go to bed.