He let me help make dinner Saturday night, because he tires easily. [Not a whole lot of help, but enough that I didn’t feel like Simone Legree, watching him slave over a hot stove.] I grated the better part of a pound and a half of cheese: Tillamook cheddar and some lesser variety. And when dinner was over, he put food away while I rinsed dishes and loaded the dishwasher.
My children are going, “She did what???”
I did remind him, on the drive to the dance, that I am just fine with PBJ’s if they are eaten in his company.
Church was good yesterday. I was late (fourth Sunday in a row, sigh...), and instead of frowning at me from the front of the chapel, Bishop’s face lit up. So it wasn’t “You’re late. Again.” More on the order of “Oh boy! You’re here!” He is a very, very good shepherd, and in our interactions I feel my Savior’s love.
I came home, drank a quart of water, and lay down for a nap, expecting to wake at sundown. Instead, I awoke two hours later, refreshed and mindful. I spent most of the rest of the day knitting and listening to podcasts, and the birthday present for my youngest grandchild is nearly complete. Not sure if I should wind up some of the new Malabrigo for Chemo Cap the Second. He [the new guy, not the grandson] approved one of the yellows as being the perfect shade for a Packers cap. Now to design one.
I discovered to my chagrin that my two favorite spreadsheets did not make the transition from the old computer to this one. I had the 2010’s, but not the 2011’s, so I spent awhile saving-as and tweaking until I now have [more or less] what I lost. Some would consider that to be laboring on the Sabbath. For me, it was on the order of a nice long chat with a particularly bright and amusing friend. I love math.
So, I have leftovers from Saturday night’s dinner to enjoy. [Yesterday, after my nap, I polished off the ones from Friday night. Waste not, want not.] He also sent home some of the from-scratch macaroni and cheese he was teasing me about after the temple session on Wednesday. I have been craving mac and cheese. It will be fun to see if his is as good as my mother’s was.
Today his chemo port goes in. Tomorrow they start pouring in the bug juice. I am planning a quiet week, myself: very little of the running-and-seeing that was last week, although every part of me but my ankles, regrets none of it. And even they are not whining [much] this morning.
This is looking like a brillig day, but the slithy toves had better watch themselves.