Mom arrives here on Wednesday for a week. We lost Dad last August, so this is her first solo venture outside of my hometown without him.
Instead of holing up in her house like a weak widow, she’s staying with me on her way back from New Zealand. She’s been there for almost a month visiting her sister and nephews. She’s been able to see places and things my grandmother (her mother) described when she talked about growing up in New Zealand. I’ve talked to Mom on Skype a few times and she’s having a ball. She’s spending her last weekend in Rotorua, checking out all the geothermic pools and catching a Maori Haungi (feast) and live show.
I’m so proud of her.
In other news, I’ve turfed my guy. It wasn’t working out and I’m pleased that I recognized the path we were taking and decided to leave instead of doing my usual ‘hold on til the last hope and get crushed in the process’ thing. So “Yay me.”
This week it seems I’ve been attacked by the to-do list from hell. Every time I look at it I swear it’s doubled in size. As fast as I knock one thing off it, three more appear.
It’s not fair.
Especially since it’s sunny outside and I want to go play in my gardens, which technically are on the list, just not a priority this weekend.
Why did I want to be an adult again?