The Weekend Scoop



Do you recall the kind of morning I mentioned in the previous post?  The one involving lingering laziness and hot tea and light literature?

We had that morning on Saturday. 

I woke to the sound of rolling thunder and the footfalls of a nervous dog pacing to and fro on the bedroom carpet.  Pulling her protectively to my side, I shuffled toward the window in a drowsy stupor and was greeted by the glad sight of rumbling storm clouds stretched from horizon to horizon.  Lightning zagged between the ominous billows in lazy patterns, assuring me it would hardly consider touching the ground.  Ah, thought I to Baby Dear.  Today is for blessed rest.  Then I realized that the cat was gone. 

I peeped into the green bathroom, where she often sleeps in the sink, cooling her fat cat belly.

No Daphne.

I searched the underside of our bed, where her saucer-round eyes sometimes illuminate the dark dustiness like a storybook monster.

No Daphne.

I flicked the closet light on retrieve my purple robe so I could go downstairs in some degree of modesty and search for my hard-to-conceal eighteen pound cat when I heard a pitiful "Mew!" coming from a low-hanging row of blue jeans. 

"Daph?" I called. 

A little pink nose protruded warily from a forest of denim.

Of course!  She could always sense impending weather disturbances and would dive for cover like a meth-head in an episode of COPS.

Miss Daphne's prediction of heavy rain was quickly confirmed.  Shortly after I found her, our little crispy piece of droughted heaven was drenched with a frog-strangler of a storm!  Praise be!

The trembling dog and I sat on the balcony with our noses high in the air, sniffing the first violent rain spatters fleck what brittle grass was left from the hard summer.  When the thundercracking and lightningbolting became too much for her fragile disposition, we retreated back inside where I made coffee and tea and cereal and blueberry bagels to bring upstairs and share with my husband as he was just beginning to stir.  He and I spent the rest of the next three hours with the windows and doors flung open, feeding our souls with the assurance of the rain while reading stories and patting on the dog until her heart resumed its normal rhythm.

All in all, it was an ideal morning.

I was so happy after the rain, I wore pink!

After the clouds had finished their work, we got ready to journey to civilization and look into buying new flooring for the bottom floor of the Clenney hut.  Why would we look into such a major expenditure on the eve of a new arrival? you ask.  Er, because our washing machine exploded like the Death Star a few weeks ago, leaving our laminate looking like this:

Bustedness.

Despite this inconvenience this little episode caused, it's become just one avenue through which God has provided for us.  Thanks to our merciful insurance reps, replacing all this mess with something we'll be even happier with is very well within our grasp now.  All we have to do is choose what we want...

....which brings me back to Saturday morning.  We were nearly ready to pick up and git when I began feeling a mite clammy.  Thinking that the rising temperature outside might have been to blame, I went to close the bedroom windows.  Then I broke into a heavy sweat.  My arms had became leaden as I rested my fingertips high on the lip of the windowsill. 

Wait, I thought, this shouldn't be happening.  I ate breakfast!  It was only 11 o'clock. 

No reasoning with my body could change the fact that I was about to kiss the rug.



I made my way to the bed as carefully as possible and laid down.  Jason came running as soon as his name was out of my mouth and I asked him to get me some food and a glass of milk. 

After all he brought me was consumed, I took a few minutes to wipe my brow and get my wits about me.  It was a very, very strange experience, and not altogether unfamiliar.  I'm fairly sure I had some similar spells back in junior high after gym class when it was scheduled before lunch. 

I've been very careful in the days since that spell that I constantly keep something simmering in my tummy, no matter how weary I might be of chewing.  Little Girl is depending on me to keep our ship steady.  Our next appointment with the baby doctor is coming up this Thursday.  Please say a prayer that perhaps this was just a random incidence of loopy-ness and not an indicator of something sinister.  I'll be honest.  I'm spooked.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

To keep sugar and spirits up after church on Sunday evening, husband-dear and I stopped for Jamocha Almond Fudge ice cream.  Just one meager scoop.  I was overjoyed.  I haven't wanted it in a coon's age.

I can has an ice cream.....?



I was so excited with my new acquisition, I couldn't even wait to get into the car before I attacked it.  My tongue hadn't even had its first full lick when the whole everlovin' scoop dislodged from the cone, rolled down my arm, smeared the side of my car and splattered on the gas station pavement. 

Utter and complete failure.

Between fits of giggling tears, Jason said it was the funniest crap he'd ever seen. 

That's ok.  The nice lady at the counter gave me another scoop when I presented her with a red facefull of tears and an empty ice cream cone. 

God bless the Sheridan Baskin Robbins.