The Guest Room & Other Sundries

Today is windy, calm, hot, mild, sunny, cloudy, too muggy, perfect, and earthquaky. And now the dudes have arrived to deliver some new furniture and are sitting outside waiting for the rain to stop, I suppose--yes, we are adding hard rain to that list. To add another Twilight Zone factor, they arrived at 2:30 when their window was 3-5. Don't they know that a delivery/repair window of 3-5 means 5:30 or 6?? Okinawa, you are going to drive me batty.

For some reason it's making me nervous that they're waiting outside and every splish of a raindrop makes me think it's them at the door. I wish they'd just come in already. Oh, here they are. Even weirder.

Cute moments recently:
a freshly groomed Max riding in Eva's empty car seat on the way home from the groomer;
the GNG trotting as fast as she can across the blue basketball court, left arm swinging and right arm held in tightly, cheeks a-jiggle;
my post-lunch shirtless toddler and my pure white doggy, bellies protruding, gazing up at me with three hands/paws on my knee and one chubby arm thrown around Max, two pairs of blue and brown eyes huge and innocent.

Last night I made up the guest bed for the first time since we moved in last July. The room has been serving as our mini-storage. The awesome blue alcantara headboard, the funny-smelling PX-bought sheets, the matrimonio-sized mattress bought from the little tiny store with the farty dog in Torri di Quartesolo, and the comforter and duvet cover I bought in Padova's Ikea brought back some serious memories. We had something like 18 houseguests in Italy, and to be perfectly honest I couldn't list all of them anymore. The guest room there had a view of a lone cherry tree, a farmer's field that later became a big beautiful white stucco farmhouse, the bell tower at the church in Quinto Vicentino, and of course the snow-capped Dolomiti.  I can feel the peachy tiles under my toes--cool in summer, warmed in winter--and they are smooth and Swiffered because the only time I went in the guest room was to clean it for guests. The glass door leading out onto the guest room balcony lets the afternoon sunlight stream in, so I want to curl up like a cat and take a nap.

I made up the guest room in Arizona too, but for some reason I hardly remember it. Babies and living somewhere for only 10 months will do that to you.

The reason for the guest room-making is that a friend's daughter is coming to stay for the weekend while the friend has a baby. When I say her name Eva crouches down, opens her mouth really wide, and makes a noise that I can't explain like a hoarse "Oooooohhhhh!" Pure excitement. We're going to have fun.

In other news, isn't motherhood just full of those moments where you look down at your arm and think "How long have I been walking around with regurgitated cheese dried on there?"?