This past weekend was nearly perfect. I spent most of Saturday doing genealogy research. A single clue in the 1920 U.S. Census led to a wealth of information I hadn't uncovered before. It was like finding a key to a treasure chest, opening it and finding a key to a second treasure chest, which contained a map to another buried treasure, and on and on and on. So much fun.
Mother's Day was delightful. The family got together at my younger daughter's house for boiled crawfish, lots of laughter, and much the same kind of day we had last year. The location was different, as were the gifts, but the rest of it was familiar right down to the finale of Survivor to cap off the day. In this case familiarity does not breed contempt; I could do it again today, tomorrow, and the day after that.
My kids are so thoughtful, and I'm not speaking only about their perfect choices for Mother's Day gifts or even the lawn-mowing I appreciate so much. They show they care in little ways all year long: a hard-to-reach light bulb changed, a dishwasher emptied, a newspaper brought in from the end of the driveway, a phone call fit into an extremely busy schedule. They're good people, and I'm lucky to have them.
On top of cutting the grass and trimming weeds at the end of last week, my son-in-law made time to clear away the heavy, dirt-filled pots (I killed the plants) from my patio and to fold up and put away the extra-large dog kennel that's too heavy and bulky for me to handle by myself. I enjoy sitting out there in the late afternoon, when the sun is less brutal, and he made it a nicer place to be.
The only point of concern the whole weekend was the point on top of Butch's noggin: a big goose egg showed up Saturday morning and lasted almost until bedtime. I didn't see it happen, so I'm not sure how he did it, but the location of the bump made the CSI part of me think he must have raised his head up under a table or something.
I'm glad I didn't see it happen. A hit that hard would have freaked me out, and it didn't seem to bother him much at all. When I first noticed the bump, he was in the act of using his nose to flip my hand off the computer mouse, then grabbing my wrist in his mouth to pull me where he wanted me to go (to the treat cabinet, of course). He was obviously happy and hungry, and his brain was functioning well enough to figure out how to get me to do what he wanted, so I knew it couldn't be too bad.
Weekends like this past one always make me feel very, very grateful. I hope yours was as good.