If only Marc were here

If not for the absence of my husband, it would be an almost perfect morning.

Marc had to be out the door around 5:15 this morning. Yes, on a Sunday. He's in charge of "external affairs" for his hospital, and they're apparently taking part in a car show today. I didn't ask him exactly what's going on, but I know he has to be there.

So we went to bed early last night (around 9:30), and, not to sound like an old man, but that was pretty nice. I woke up when Marc did (4:15am) but then went back to sleep. Then I slept 'til 7:something and "napped" until about 7:45. Finally, feeling better rested than I have in too long, I got out of bed and started taking care of a few things.

I put the dogs out. Then we went downstairs for doggy breakfast. While they ate, I transferred rugby photos from the camera to the desktop computer (I'm blogging from my getting-too-old laptop that I keep by the TV) and began going through them, only getting through about 1/16th of them before the kids were done eating. Then it was time to go out again. They're not ready to deal with that favorite subject of a certain Canadian until they've had their breakfast.

By then it was almost 9am, so I turned on the TV and put on CBS to catch one of my favorite shows, CBS News Sunday Morning. The VCR is set to tape it every Sunday, in case I sleep late and don't get to watch the whole thing live. The way our house is, I can watch from the kitchen, and that's what I did as I made breakfast. I made myself an omelette & buttered toast and poured a glass of the all-the-rage cold-brewed coffee that my hubby prepared yesterday and left in the fridge. It all made for a lovely breakfast, and, by the way, that's some fine coffee.

After breakfast, I did the dishes, washing the frying pan, cleaning out the sink and loading the dishwasher, and now I'm watching the rest of my favorite 90 minutes on TV. After that, I think I'll go shower, get dressed and go do some book shopping. Then perhaps I'll get back to work on the rugby photos.

One funny thing this morning. Bernice is giving me grief about her seating arrangements. She has gotten used to being able to spend her days on the couch or in my chair, as she has had the run of the place for several months now when we go to work (since she's getting a little stiff in her middle age, we decided to let her stay up here while we're out, and the other two can stay downstairs on their dog beds). Since Marc's not here, she figures she should be on the couch, but Marc left work spread out on the couch, so I won't let her up there. When I told her to stay off the couch, she headed for my chair. I told her to stay off that, too, so she started heading back to the couch. And I stopped her again, so she went right back to the chair. At this point, I started an argument with her. Yes, that's the level of my insanity. I was arguing with a dog.

She stared at me like I was just being cruel, while I shook a finger at her, saying, "You get to use the furniture when we say you do. It isn't yours. Daddy Marc left his things on the couch, and that [pointing to the recliner, so she really got my point *sigh*] is my chair! You can sit in my chair when I'm not using it, but I get to use it when I want. So go pretend you're actually a dog and lie on the carpet!"

Since then, she's been staring at me. Every time I look up, she's staring at me, trying to will me to come to my senses, get my butt out of her chair and let her relax properly.

Okay, she's going to win. Time to finish this blog post, so I can go shower and Bernice can claim this chair as hers! Her stubbornness always seems to win out. :)