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, April 05, 2004

Boy’s soccer game was at 3:10, and we managed to actually get there on time despite the previous domestic demidisasters. Jonathan, like Catherine, surprises me with how good he is during games, because both he and Catherine never seem to really get much out of practice. But, he managed to do a respectable job again against a team from Mountain Brook. As has been the case, however, it doesn’t matter how good the individual players are if they don’t play their positions and pass the ball when they get in trouble. We wound up losing 4-1.

Back then to the house, where I once again changed clothes, into something a bit less outdoorsy-smelling so Rebecca and Jonathan and I could go up to the church building for a spaghetti supper. Reba and Ashley stayed behind to take Catherine to her final game. The meal was good, and thankfully we made it all the way there with a crockpot full of sauce in the floorboard without spilling a drop. Home again, send Bec to go get herself bathed, then made the semiannual trip through the house to fix all the horological devices.

I made a count last year, but I’ll repeat it again this year for any of you who have only recently joined in the fun here on Possumblog, but at last count there were 3 vehicle clocks, 3 wall clocks, 4 appliance clocks, 2 thermostat clocks, 3 desktop/nightstand clocks, 1 answering machine time stamp, and 7 or 8 watches needing to be adjusted for Daylight Saving Time. Each timepiece category having a slightly different mode for changing time. None of which I remember right off hand. Grr. (Thank heavens I have ONE clock that sets itself--my super-dee-duper atomic clock and weather station never needs such minding.)

I realize it makes sense on some level to do this, and I like Ben Franklin a lot, but still, it seems like there ought to be an easier way of doing this, and one that doesn’t make me feel like hammered poo come Sunday morning. At least I don’t live in Indiana. They may not change their clocks, but at least I do know if it’s 4:30 in Birmingham, it’s 4:30 in Mobile, too.

Reba and the girls got in a bit later, happy as clams because they had won 3-1. And there was much rejoicing! Reba said Catherine played very well and even managed to steal the ball a couple of times, AND stayed on the correct side of the field! (Attributable to either the chalk talk or the butt scratching, I’m not sure which.) And thankfully the other coach was very much the opposite of the coach that morning.

Baths for the rest of the young’uns, then to bed.

Then up again Sunday, with the effects of the loss of an hour quite evident in my efforts to get everyone to get up and get dressed. That’s another thing--I bet Ben Franklin never had to run around his house trying to get groggy kids awake and dressed so they could drive to church.

But we managed to make it, and surprisingly enough I didn’t have a single teacher decide to back out at the last minute. Maybe this quarter will be a bit less hectic. [Insert ominous music here.] Sunday school, then worship, which was marked by constant pestering and badgering of Boy by Oldest, thus leading to the occasion of having to separate them. ::sigh:: You know, for someone who is SO easily embarrassed by EVERYthing, you would think that the very real possibility of being asked to get up and move to the other side of your DAD during the middle of church in front of EVERYone would make you a bit more hesitant about continually poking and prodding your little brother. Shows how much I know.

Afterwards, it was off to lunch at the House of Inexplicable Anglo Waitresses Chinese Restaurant, which was pretty good, then home where Bec and I swapped out our church clothes to something more suitable for the long drive up to Huntsville for her game.

NEXT: MMmmm--that’s some mighty fine coyote!

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