Memorial Day was pretty relaxing at my house. My stint as a yard man on Sunday was physical enough that I fell asleep early that night so, on Monday, I was up with the chickens (don't we all get up at the crack 'o dawn on a holiday). Youngest was out late Sunday night at Fast and Furious 6 (muscle cars and blowin' up stuff), so chickens notwithstanding, he slept in.  Even Cocker and Boxer barely lifted their heads as they gave me lazy eyes when I shook the leash with all the energy that comes from chicken rising and caffine infusion.  With all that, I decided that it was simply too quiet at the house and drove downtown to my office for a bit to avoid the temptation of getting out the chain saw and whacking on the trees again. I mean, you can only sing "I'm a Lumberjack" so many times until it just seems silly. 

As for Youngest, he passively ignored THE LIST of suggested chores I left for him (which I admit, was lengthy, especially for someone who didn't get up until NOON!, ha), clarifying that he's an adult now and doesn't need THE LIST. Mind you, I used to give him THE LIST when he was a teenager, because he typically feigned forgetfulness when it was only delivered in spoken form. But, apparently now, post graduation, a list comes across as a little condescending, which I deduce from the fact that he he politely drew a line in the sand with: "I'm really an adult now, and I can look around and see what needs to be done." Okay, I have no problem with him being grown up and all. In fact, I like being more of a mentor than a director anyway.

 

Later, when it was his idea, he pitched in voluntarily making up constructive things to do on his own. . . and when I came home,  we went out for Italian.  That was my Memorial Day.