We already knew that Sam wouldn’t be coming home this weekend because she’ll be out of town on a photo shoot. We were, however, expecting that Alex would be home. In fact, because she doesn’t have classes on Fridays, we made preliminary arrangements to pick her up on Thursday afternoon. But she couldn’t come home on Thursday. She texted me that she had to be in school on Friday, today, because there is a production next week and they have to set up the stage and she wouldn’t be free to come home until Saturday evening. Probably. Well, one day with her was better than none.
But, last night, when Speedy and I were already in bed and I was playing Drawsome with my Facebook friends until I felt drowsy enough to close my eyes, suddenly, there was an iMessage alert. Alex (aaahh, the wonders of the internet — to actually see her while talking to her with no metered phone bills). She wouldn’t be able to come home this weekend, after all. I sighed. That’s life. They may be my babies but they really are not babies anymore and they have their own lives. Which is good. Except that, well, I felt a little down. I so look forward to weekends. But then there’s always next weekend.
With the sudden change of schedules, we had to make arrangements about picking up the girls’ dirty clothes. They may not be coming home but their dirty clothes would be. Laundry. And then there was the matter of Sam’s little pig that gets smuggled into the condo when Speedy drops off the girls every Sunday evening then smuggled out again when he picks them up the following weekend. He’ll need to be bathed and cleaned and fed.
The little pig is already home with us as I type this. Since Sam would be out of town, someone has to feed and clean and bathe him. And that’s not something that Alex would do — she doesn’t even like touching the little pig.
I’ve already given the poor thing some vegetables. Speedy will change the sawdust later. I’m not sure though if he’ll give little Potpot a bath.
Potpot? Sam calls him Fatfat (he is fat!) but Speedy prefers Potpot. Alex calls him Baboy. I don’t think I need to give him another name.