75. shade
It's still creeping into the high 70's in the shade, and the condensation on her glass of mint julep leaves a chilly ring on the railing when she picks it back up.
She lives for days like this. Lazy Sunday afternoons at home. Summer. Relaxing on the porch with a drink, letting the week melt off of her in a way that reminds her of the slick glass in her hand. No patients to see. No stupid arguments left lingering on her mind. And off in the distance, she can make out two dark shapes rolling around in the grass.
Her boys.
They'll be filthy and sweltering when they eventually come back to the house, tired from their romp but grinning all the same. And by then, she should be long done enjoying her time to herself, instead breaking out a pitcher of iced tea and shaking her head at all the grass stains. But this is her time. She's doesn't have to be a mother right now, or a wife, or a doctor, or even a productive human being.
Oh, that'll change soon enough. Joss will have something new (or something old) to bitch about, and she yet has a few chores on her to-do list to cross off, and then it's back to her practice tomorrow with too much to do and not enough time to do it in. She'll find little faults in everything and be in a sour mood come Friday, but she knows by next Sunday, she'll be sitting right here again, relaxing herself into a puddle. Her reprieves might be short lived, but she enjoys ever last moment of them as best she can.
She lives for days like this. Lazy Sunday afternoons at home. Summer. Relaxing on the porch with a drink, letting the week melt off of her in a way that reminds her of the slick glass in her hand. No patients to see. No stupid arguments left lingering on her mind. And off in the distance, she can make out two dark shapes rolling around in the grass.
Her boys.
They'll be filthy and sweltering when they eventually come back to the house, tired from their romp but grinning all the same. And by then, she should be long done enjoying her time to herself, instead breaking out a pitcher of iced tea and shaking her head at all the grass stains. But this is her time. She's doesn't have to be a mother right now, or a wife, or a doctor, or even a productive human being.
Oh, that'll change soon enough. Joss will have something new (or something old) to bitch about, and she yet has a few chores on her to-do list to cross off, and then it's back to her practice tomorrow with too much to do and not enough time to do it in. She'll find little faults in everything and be in a sour mood come Friday, but she knows by next Sunday, she'll be sitting right here again, relaxing herself into a puddle. Her reprieves might be short lived, but she enjoys ever last moment of them as best she can.