This morning's commute was a melange of meteorologic experience. First the sun was out, then it wasn't. Fog enshrouded the low places, blocking out the view of all but the 50 feet of road ahead, then Tinkerbell and I would break free and be out in glorious sunshine.
Life is kinda like that, isn't it?
One day all bright and happy, the next day maybe a little cloudy, with no clear view of the road ahead.
Sometimes those days happen all in the same day.
You just never know what the next minute is going to bring, y'all. You just never know.
As a topic change of "about-face" proportion:
It needs to be mentioned here that 6-year-old girls have a lot of energy. They have enough energy to sap the will to live from an otherwise fairly optimistic middle-aged woman, because giving in to the call of the shroud might be easier than pulling another surge of energy out of her rapidly flagging spirit in order to meet the child's loving demands on her time and attention.
I love that kid, I swear I do, but I am really really not used to being told "you play with me now" a thousand times a day, and not being able to give "no" for an answer. That child is going to be the President one day, I'm sure of it; she's a natural leader, and very very very self-assured. This externally applied inability to turn her down resulted in my eventual coloring a picture of "Roo," then being told to take the picture home with me once I was done (all that work! for nothing!!!). It also resulted in having a small girl body on my lap at church yesterday (where, contrary to what I thought might happen, there were no lightning bolts or smitings applied). It also resulted in having a little girl tell me, over and over, to "not talk with your mouth full," (which I don't do, BTW, but apparently she DOES do, and is now the arbiter of all things full-mouthly).
Those admonitions and demands, along with an overload of SOUND at the house when I spent part of the weekend, almost sent me into a full-on psyche retraction by about 4 p.m. yesterday. My need for peace and quiet and my.own.space. were being trampled under the pounding hooves of my own undeniable popularity with the under-7 set, and the onslaught of sounds the 4 kids, three Gameboys, one teevee, and one stereo system can create. It was too much for Auntie Tiff, and when those physical affronts were combined with the realization that one of the Things was getting ill with some variety of snot-producing virus, it was enough to send Auntie Tiff screeching out of the driveway in her nice quiet car (buh-LISS!) to find some cold meds for the poor afflicted Thing.
I got a chunk of "me time," and he got decongestant and acetaminophen. Win.Win.
It was a nice visit, but I'm kinda glad it's over. There only so much playtime and conversation one person can take, after all.