It's one of my Fridays with my Girl, so we're opening the house to the regular members of the "Girls Night Gang," though it sounds like two of the four might have conflicts. I can't wait, really. The week has been a bit of a disaster. I've been writing through it (despite my block). The rain has eased just long enough for me to run to my detached garage, climb into the car, drive to the back of the school to meet my girl.
Her art teacher is entering one of her paintings in the Ohio Governor's Youth Art Exhibition. Deadline for the regional judging is tomorrow, of course. I have to sign a paper.
(Part of me wonders if our current governor is even aware of this contest. OK. Sorry. I'm being unfair now.)
The house is almost reasonably clean. I have yet to vacuum upstairs where the girls will either create a nest of sleeping bags, comforters and pillows on the floor, or they will squish together in my daughter's bed with one stray visitor taking the single.
They're like puppies when they finally crash.
Time is up.