Let's Pretend.....

This is it, kids, the last 3-day weekend of summer! 

When the fuzzy one and I got up this morning, I filled my coffee cup and we walked outside to see the hubby in his shop.  The water puddles felt ooooooh sooooooo good as I squished my bare feet down in them.  The fuzzy one is just like me and follow me through the puddles she did.

Today is Saturday, the day we pick up the sticks around the house.  Nothing in the world interests me less than housework.  There are those women who actually enjoy cleaning their homes, but I'm not one of them and won't pretend that I am.  If we had oodles of money, there's nothing I wouldn't hire done for me. 

I always say that I have more hobbies than good sense.  Maybe that's why I only want to putz with crochet projects, weaving projects, jewelry-making projects, acrylic-painting projects, stone-painting projects, writing projects, reading projects, and computer projects.  Sometimes I get so bogged down with projects, that I freeze up and don't do anything.  It reminds me of flooding a car and then it doesn't start.



 Do little kids these days still pretend?  Pretending was spectacular fun when we were little.  We pretended to be cowboys, priests, nuns, cops, robbers, kings, queens, doctors, patients, anything we could think of.  When my boy cousin and I played doctor, we would take an old china cup of water and a teaspoon.  The one of us that was the patient would go to bed, cover up with blankets, and the other would spoon-feed the water as we pretended it was medicine.  We made sticks into weapons and chased each other around the yard, we put bandanas over our faces and pretended to be stagecoach robbers.  Our horses were invisible, but we trotted around with our hands holding invisible reins, galloping after each other.  We'd chase each other through pretend canyons, drive our pretend horses through groves of trees, set up camp, build a pretend fire, cook kettles of pretend beans, eat them with pretend forks, and then sprawl ourselves on the ground, lay our heads on our pretend saddles, and take our afternoon nap.  Most of these pretend scenarios took place at gramma and grampa's house.  They let us go off by ourselves, and they encouraged our adventures so long as we didn't get hurt.

My head spins with stories of pretend.  Guess maybe pretending is part of life.  When we're out and about in public, we pretend to be at our best.  Then when we get back home, we shed our threads (the first thing I do is take off my bra and fling it across the room) and resume being our plain old selves.  We relax the politeness, we scratch when it itches, we dance with the broom and sing in the soup ladle.   

If I could be one thing in the whole wide world, I'd like to be a mouse.  I'd hide in houses where the hoity toidies live so I could see what they do when no one else is around.  Isn't that just awful of me?