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.
Monday, February 16, 2004
Sadly, not an option, as I happened to find out.
Got away from here and made the Trussville run and decided to go ahead and go to the school and pick up the kids. Reba was in meetings all day, and I never quite know when she is going to actually leave on time, so rather than chance it, I went ahead to the school.
Afterschool care is in the gym, and when I got there it was just after school had let out, and it was full of screaming kids running around like the Tasmanian Devil. Catherine came running up, and I made her go use the bathroom, not knowing that she had already had an accident in her pants. (Should have known--she had her coat tied around her waist.) Boy was next into the gym, and came trotting over to me to tell me all about his day. At least I think that’s what he was saying--hard to tell with all the noise. About that time Reba came in, with a perplexed look on her face and asked why I was there. “Well, you know, sometimes you get out of those meetings late and, well, you know...”
It’s as if all the memories of all the other times this particular sort of thing has happened were completely erased from her mind, and all she was left with was the idea that I was impugning her ability to be somewhere on time.
Hey, you don’t stay married as long as I have by doing any of that impugning stuff, so I reassured her that I was just operating as backup in case something went awry, and NO sort of insult to her timely abilities was intended. So, we stood there and waited on Rebecca to get in from her Safety Patrol duties, and after an interminable wait dodging flying balls and feral children, we had our crew together and ready to go out the door.
The older two rode with Mom and I got Miss Soggy Pants (who had changed in the restroom while we waited on Bec) and we drove over the hill to the tooth-straightening place. Nice little office with a wonderful view of the vacant lot next door covered in soppy red clay, came in, signed the sheet, sat down, and the kids almost immediately began competition over an X-Box there in the waiting room. Which would not have been so bad had it not been for the presence of members of the general public, none of whom had paid for a wrestling exhibit. I hate it when my kids act like those kids that you say, “Boy, I’m glad those aren’t MY kids or I’d lay into ‘em like nobody’s business!” I started to say that aloud, except everyone saw them come in with me, so it was hard to deny they were mine.
The second recourse would have been to into my lunatic redneck act, which is usually equal parts entertaining, embarrassing, and effective. However, it just doesn’t go over as well when I’m wearing a tie and wingtip oxfords. SO, I had to do the next best thing of just making Jonathan go sit with Mom while firmly scolding him in voice that made him sulk, but didn’t quite shut off his urge to be the boss of the video game. Cat and another little kid had grabbed the controller, and Boy was a constant stream of snotty advice--“NO, not like THAT! You’re doing it WRONG!” I finally got him to shut up, but not before having to employ the whispered-in-the-ear threat of intense physical discomfort. He still sulked, though, but at least he was quiet.
It was finally his turn, and he perked up a bit. We were ushered back to a bright, cheerful room by a cute little round pregnant blonde girl who had a baby woman voice just like Debra Jo Rupp, the mom on That ‘70s Show. She was very nice, although my aural tastes run more toward the Jessica Rabbit end of the scale.
A moment later the wire guy showed up, and seemed to be any awfully happy, though tightly-strung sort of guy. I suppose shoving your hands in peoples’ mouths will do that. Anyway, he chatted with Boy for a bit, found out that his daughter and Boy are in the same grade at school (although Jonathan didn’t know her) and then got on with the exam.
He found a pot of gold in there.
Luckily, I can pay to have said pot of gold removed in installments, and my insurance will cover part of it. Yippee. He hopped up from his stool and was on to his next patient while Baby-Voice Girl stayed behind to fill us in on all the particulars while I kept thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for Boy’s to keep his wavy little English teeth. Nah, I guess not.
Set up the next appointment, which will require a ransom payment, and then we were off for MORE EXCITEMENT!
Next: Valentine’s Supper!
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