It is Saturday, seven fifty five p.m. It feels like Sunday, which is unfortunate, because tomorrow Sunday will really show up for sure and I won't be ready for him, I'll tell him he's late and shut the door. But I'll see his shadow under the door and know that I'll have to let him in at some point, because really, he's there anyway, of course muttering under his breath about homework, monday, and prayer; dragging evening in with his heels.
Meghan and I happily made our way back from the Red Rooster Inn this morning, and with lavender steamers in hand, trotted to the thrift store. She purchased some articles for journal embellishments and I, having recently envied Chris' really smashing looking mug sporting his name in all its nineteen seventies glory, found myself scrounging through the mugs (which were a keen "three for 25 cents." Clinking and clattering through mugs I found three little goldies! with other peoples names on them. I like it better that way, I'm just going to keep my eye out for more now.