Sabbath

Spaghetti sauce simmers, meatballs and sausage trading their goodness for a little of the tomatos'. Manicotti still to be stuffed and a new (old) dresser to be hauled from the second hand store to replace the old (old) dresser, the drawers of which refuse to release the spawn's clothing without a fight - that stubborness shall, when time, energy and rage congeal, merit an axing worthy of a Mockingbird chifforobe. The inflatable water park is full, warming in the sun and awaiting the Boy and Girl apres nap. The Sunday Sudoku, so damned close to completion, is now flung across the patio, abandoned once a tiny error flawed its necessary perfection. The real estate section weighs heavy as the math makes it pointless. The compost demands a stir and still I stir not. My mission remains incomplete. But then it's not even noon.

Sundays do so slow me.