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So far so good ...

June 2, 2008 - Summer Wallace-Minger
... but it is only Monday.

I'm eating a delicious muffin and drinking a damn fine cup of coffee.

The best coffee is made from freshly ground beans and very cold water. I learned this from Pittsburgh Magazine. It's much more practical than the "sex-position-of-the-month" feature Cosmopolitian does. Making good coffee is more mysterious than sex.

Cosmo doesn't get me; I might fall into the twentysomething-working-girl category, but Cosmo mostly strikes me as a magazine aimed toward people who want to live the "Sex in the City" lifestyle.

It looks to me that it consists of spending a great deal of time worrying about men, drinking fru-fru drinks and wearing high-heeled, pointy-toed shoes. The glamour of it escapes me. Why on earth would you bother spending so much time worrying about what makes men tick? There's nothing on this earth so simple as a man.

Saturday was a good day. My son had his birthday party early in the day at the venue of his choice -- Fort Steuben Mall's Mini Lunar Golf -- he had a fabu time knocking the ball around the blacklit course to the accompaniment of eighties music.

We grabbed a couple pizzas on the way up, and it was over in an hour and a half. Most low stress party ever; I've thrown 14 of them now, and I am suffering party fatigue.

He received awesome presents (thank you, family), and the best one was a wooden, snap-together pirate ship model from my brother.

My husband and son have spent at least two and a half hours working on this thing, and it is not finished. I anticipate many more hours of frustration on my husband's part. I thought he was exaggerating when he said it had a picture of the finished product and the caption "look at picture." He wasn't; I haven't laughed so hard in a long time.

I brought my nephew Heathen home with me, and we spent the afternoon playing in the wading pool, blowing soap bubbles, digging holes in the backyard and playing with sidewalk chalk; a good day.

Heathen has separation issues. When it came time to go to bed, he started sniffling and calling for his mommy. No prob; I tossed him in the back of the car and he was asleep before we hit 12th Street.

Of course, the next morning, I was awakened before 8 a.m. by screams of: "Aiiiiiiiii waaaaaaaaant myyyyyyy moooooommeeeeee!"

Heathen had wedged himself behind the headboard of my daughter's bed and was screaming his head off. It took my husband 10 minutes to coax him out.

He wanted to go home, and NOW.

Didn't want any breakfast.

Didn't want to help the long-suffering one and my son build a model ship.

Didn't want to play with the kids.

Didn't want to watch television.

Didn't want ice cream.

He wanted to go home; that's all he wanted.

So, that's how I ended up on my sister's doorstep at 8:25 a.m. Sunday, still sporting bedhead and cranky for a cup of coffee.

She was thrilled, of course. She loves to be missed. She couldn't hide her smirk, and I would have dumped my coffee over her head if I hadn't needed the caffeine.

So how was your weekend?


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Cake face and puppy dog eyes. I've got to watch out for this one.