I'm having a Sunday evening sigh. The day started well, with an early attack on the chutney. But I forgot how long it takes to chop everything up in those tiny pieces. It was better than the squash, but the rhubarb curls up when you quarter it, like celery. By the time I had everything chopped, Jane had already watched enough Bugs Bunny to ask me for a bowl of carrots and say, "Bah. Whassupdoc?" about a million times. The canning part went well. All of my lids made that joyful little pop as they sealed one by one. But as usual, the lack of focused attention on Jane early in the morning made her behavior more erratic, and the day more difficult for everyone. I ran some errands, and forgot half of what I went for, and still managed to spend too much. And in spite of my good intentions, aside from the rhubarb absolutely rien d'autre n'a été mis en place for Monday. Laundry's not done. House is a wreck. I'm feeling like a shoddy mother, and thank God I'm not currently judgnig myself as a housewife. But there it is. Time from some tea and self-sympathy/denial. And a few pictures from the rest of the weekend.
Look how excited I am. I'm actually even more excited than I look.
I'm sure you're getting tired of sunset pictures. But it's that time of year when even dull days are bookended with something special. Like these clouds: May your week be a joyful, fruitful one. Even if you're not ready for it.