Movin' on—slowly

Having a night to sleep on my frustrations from yesterday didn't exactly alleviate them; in fact, I woke up at around 4:30 this morning and couldn't clear my brain enough to go back to sleep. I was sort of glad that I had to get up anyway around 7 to get ready for Day Camp training, where I got to go see lots of happy faces and people who really seem to appreciate me. By the time I left the camp around 1, I was at least beginning to feel better.

After I got home and cleaned up, I ran back up to the office to tie up a couple of loose ends from yesterday. Oddly, the very short note in my inbox from the department head helped me feel better: he's out of the office next week, too, so I can click "finish up newsletter" off my list until he gets back.

When I got home, I went to work on some housekeeping to get ready for an assortment of expected guests next week: Darling Daughter and Prince Charming are coming in,  and for at least one overnight, they'll have along a friend of theirs from LA. Number One Son also promised space to a friend whose family went to Africa last summer on a mission trip, and I have visions of all four of them landing here at the same time. I'll never get the house clean enough for all of this, but at least I kept my mind of the office.

Once I had the upstairs game room cleaned enough for NOS to vacuum, dust, and clean the carpet, I drifted downstairs with visions of catching up on the news and maybe just vegging for a while, but before I had hit the bottom step, both dogs perked up, all ready to go outside.

It occurred to me that they hadn't had their usual playtime with NOS, and if I was going to veg anyway, I might as well play with them. I set the oven buzzer for about 10 minutes, refilled my tea glass, and headed outside.

For the first few minutes, my little barker provided most of the action, racing after the ball and doing a better-than-average job of getting it back right at my feet instead of just flinging it across the patio. Bubba mostly just watched, surprising me from time to time with one of his twisting jumps to catch a fly ball. For some reason, Bubba has always been much more genteel than Baby about given the ball back; when he first started to play with me, I typically sat on the brick steps, and he'd set the ball precisely into a little niche where he could be sure it wouldn't roll away. The few times I'd sat in a lawn chair before my trip to Lubbock, he was great about setting the ball neatly next to my chair so I could reach it before it rolled away.

Tonight I was sitting in a lounge chair, so he decided the logical place to put the ball was in the chair with me. I was already pretty dirty from my cleaning efforts, so having a slightly muddy ball in the chair with me was silly but not terrible.

Then he decided it needed to be in my lap, only to get it there, he set it on my legs near my knees and let it roll. In fact, the whole fetch game seemed to be more fun if he could snag the ball and get it back on my lap, preferably making a whole new mud trail down my legs on the way.

By the time we quit playing about an hour later, I had mud streaks from my ankles to my rib cage, and I had a large, goofy-looking dog grinning at me and wanting to wash my face as if he were really proud of his kindergarten art.

I have to go back out to the camp in the morning, so taking a second bath seemed kind of silly. I wiped down all my exposed body parts with a wet washcloth then stripped off my dirty clothes and tossed them in the hamper.

Except for a little reading, I accomplished nearly nothing else for the rest of the evening, but I was glad I had had time for my little mudbath. Bubba is a lot bigger dog than I ever wanted, but that affectionate grin isn't going to let go of me. And Baby can be a little stinker, but she's pretty much all right with me, too.

It'll get better. I just have to keep on keeping on.