“And he hung his head and died…” That part gets me EVERY time. (Even while I write this.)
This past weekend was as nice as any I've ever had. Friday night, I had a rain-soaked burger dinner with one of my nearest and dearest and her mini-me, then stayed up late reading Oprah and eating sunflower seeds.
Saturday morning, I resurrected my kitchen doors (entry, pantry and laundry) with a fresh coat of Behr Premium Paint in White Snow. They’ve been looking dingy and grungy for months and my lovely Fabuloso just wasn’t getting the job done anymore.
I patted myself on the back with a big cup of Mickey D’s $1 sweet tea, some Lifetime TV and a long nap. Saturday night, I headed out to get a late dinner and ended up at AMC watching The Fast and the Furious 4 (welcome back, Vin Diesel!).
Sunday, I missed the Sunrise Service (Vin kept me up late), but I caught the 11 a.m. edition. I’m glad I did. The babies did an Easter play that had me cracking up in church. Big ole, deep belly guffaws. It was funny just because it wasn’t supposed to be.
Sunday afternoon, I resurrected my family ties and friendships ones with a big, ridiculous Easter dinner in Conyers. I ate way too much pound cake, then beat everybody at Phase 10 and headed home around 7 to get ready for the week.
With weekends like that one, those pesky little whirlwinds just don’t matter much at all.
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