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Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.) Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu. This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things. Thursday, October 24, 2002
You know what, it's about that time.
And of course, Thursdays are the worst. All three of the younger kids have soccer practice so Mama and Biggest Daughter and I all wind up having to stay at the park until they get through. I can pretty much keep an eye on one or two, but after that I need reinforcements. Then it's home and try to fix something hearty and nutritious that only takes two minutes and get the smelly clothes and socks stripped off and put into a toxic waste barrel and make sure all the homework got done while they were waiting to be picked up at school and sign all the assignment books and take out all the papers from the folders and put snacks into backpacks and start the bathtub relay and break up the bar fight that started when Boy stuck his tongue out at Oldest, who had called him a brat, because he said she had a big bump on her forehead and get them into bed as they get out of the bathtub and answer the phone from the guy who says that they are running a special since they were going to be in the neighborhood and wants to know if we want our ducts cleaned and I have to tell him that all our ducks got eat up by the neighbor's pet bobcat and scratch Wife's back righttttt THERE! and try to get the last kid in bed so I can sprawl across the foot of the bed in my underwear (yes I know you were expecting a silk nightshirt, pipe, velvet fez and smoking jacket and Jacquard slippers) so I can watch the Maura Tierney and Ming Na Show. Tomorrow will be fun, too. I'm having lunch with My Friend Jeff™ so we can swap car magazines. Miss Janis may be interested to know that MFJ™ is also an alumnus of Louisiana State University (BArch, 1988 or so), and on the odd years when Auburn beats LSU, I call his voice mail at work and sing the entire War Eagle fight song. On the years when LSU wins, Jeff's reward is that I don't call his voice mail and sing War Eagle. (He was also in a fraternity, so even if we don't win, I can still heap abuse on him for that.) SO then, in about thirty minutes or so, I'm outta here.
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