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.
Friday, October 24, 2003
Time to go do something
Namely, go home. Then turn around and head back up the soccer park to watch Boy practice. Was up there last night, too—it was one of those jam-packed Thursdays with Oldest having to play at the football game, and Middle and Youngest having practice. And having practice at two separate places.
And to top it off, I had to schlep someone else’s kid to the park with me.
You know, I really didn’t mind doing it, but I think if it was a choice of asking someone else to chauffeur my kid or just asking the coach if my little darling could leave a bit earlier than normal, well, I would just get my own kid and drive him myself.
Anyway, Catherine got finished waddling around, and we packed her and Bec and our other passenger aboard and headed over to the regular soccer park, where I sent Middle girl on to her group and ordered the Tiny Tot and me some food. We sat there and finished it, then she wanted to go play on the playground. I threw away all the litter and grabbed my folding chair and we started walking down the sidewalk. She was happily humming along and skipping, and then started singing a song. I wish I could remember what it was now, but I was dumbfounded at the time because a) it was on key, b) it was on tempo, and c) it was a well-known classic rock song. I was just flabbergasted. I looked down, I guess with amazement, and she looked and grinned sheepishly. “That sure is a pretty song, Catherine. Where did you learn it?” “Ooooo, I don’t knowwww.” Weird. We don’t listen to any radio stations that play old rock, and even though I have an extensive collection of the finest 1970s 8-tracks, albums, and cassettes, I tend not to listen to them much. I guess she must have heard the song somewhere and liked it enough to learn it. I wish she would listen to me that well.
Anyway, Bec got finished late—they had a quick 15-minute scrimmage against the boys, which they won handily 2-0, then back home. Finally got to bed at midnight.
This weekend we have only a single game, for Jonathan, then it’s off to our fall festival at church where, if things go as they did last year, I will get to drive the tractor for the hay ride. Very relaxing. Nothing like sitting on a belching diesel Belarus to work out the cobwebs. (Although, I must confess I would feel better if it had a rollover bar.)
I also have that flat of pansies we bought two weeks ago to put out, and a pumpkin to carve, and probably a ton of other stuff to avoid doing.
I’ll tell you all about it Monday, and until then, have yourselves a great weekend.
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