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 19, 2004
I pulled her closer, the sinuous arc of her flanks BEEPBEEPBEEP. BEEPBEEPBEEP. BEEPBEEPBEEP. Click. 6 in the a.m. ::sigh::
Glasses on, stumble to the bathroom, make sure I'm aiming at the toilet and not the floor, launch successfully, flush, take my medicine, turn on the television, lie on bed for a moment, come to the conclusion that it is very early, drop back off to sleep for exactly five minutes, realize that five minutes is too short to re-find the object of my nocturnal attention, yet too long to sleep when kids must be awakened and gotten dressed for the day. Sigh heavily once again and put on my clothes and then start getting everyone else up.
And actually managed to get everyone up and out of the house on time. Reba took Ashley, Jonathan and Catherine with her, and I loaded up Rebecca with me.
Two hours on I-65--uneventful, although disturbing in the amount of possums this time. Most I have ever seen on one trip--must have been 12 for the entire trip. Nothing exotic this time, either, no wildebeests or kinkajous, just possums and two raccoons. And an amazing amount of Midwesterners, although none of them were squashed on the roadside. Must have been the end of spring break weekend or something up there, because the road was thick with Michiganders and Indianans and Missourians and Illinoisans and Ohioans, and at least five loads of Ontariovasites or whatever they're called. ["Ontarians"--Ed.]
The only one I had trouble with was some old dude in an Infiniti FX45. I was passing a dump truck (and going above 75) when this joker comes blazing up hard on my bumper. Given my exposure to my good brothers' driving habits who live in the Atlanta metro area when they come blasting down I-20 (where a lane change turn signal is an excuse to speed up and cut you off), I mentioned to Rebecca that when the clown on my bumper passed me, I was certain it was going to be someone from Fulton County.
Imagine my sad disappointment to see that it was one of those kind, gentle Ontarians acting in such a hostile fashion! Good thing he beset a nice patient man traveling with his young daughter, rather than certain persons inhabiting our fair state who possess more malt liquor and ammunition than patience.
Oh, and by the way, an apology to the entire state of Georgia for thinking ill of your fine drivers.
Anywho, got to Huntsville right on time, and promptly got waxed 6-0 by the team from Hoover who usually waxes us. The girls got spooked early on, and ran like they had on lead diving boots. The other team just flat outplayed our girls, a testament to the usefulness of going out and recruiting the best players in the area for your team, then practicing them year-round. Oh well.
Lunch--Bec and I split a chicken salad from McDonald's, then back to the park for the 2:30 game against a much more evenly-matched team from the Huntsville area. Managed to lose that one, too, but only by 3-2. And saw one of the few times when our normally happy-go-lucky coach contested an official's call. And he had him, too, fair and square, but this served only to make the official angry and make a loud show of his ignorance. The last game was at 8:30 on Sunday, which we missed, but the girls did manage to get a 1-1 tie against a team from Evansville, Indiana. (!?)
Back home after two more hours, and caught up with everyone else--Boy's team played to a 2-2 tie, and Catherine's team tied their first one 3-3, and won the last one by a score of Spurrieresque proportions, and Ashley had earned 50 bonus points in her science class by attending a school work day and working herself to exhaustion. (Wish I could get her to do that at the house.)
And then, laundry and baths, with Miss Reba rejecting my more simple and elegant solution of just dumping the kids in the washing machine with the clothing. I mean, come on! Soap, water, agitation--and the bonus of spin dry! Oh well.
Also sprawled on the furniture and watched the Steve Martin flick Cheaper by the Dozen. Reba and the younger two had already seen it at the theater, but the rest of us hadn't. Basically, an okay movie, although the decision to give Hilary Duff star billing was wrong. She's cute and perky and all that, but this didn't need to be another episode of Lizzie McGuire, which it seemed she was desperate for it to be. The other kids were basically stage props. The desire for wacky hijinx and zany antics took away time that could have been better spent developing some depth to the characters. And Steve Martin as a football coach? Eh. Whatever. At least it required me only to sit there and stare at it.
ON to bed, and then up again early yesterday for church and lunch with Ashley's other grandparents (about which enough has been said) and then some more laundry and Reba's stated desire to let me catch a nap before having to go back to church that evening. I was nodding asleep all the way home, and she knew I needed some shuteye. We came in, I put a load of jeans in the dryer, and then camped out on the recliner. SleepNOISE! Awake. Kids fuss. Mom reprimands. Drift back off. NOISE! AWAKE. Squeals. NOISE! ZzzzzBAM! EWHUH?! Mom chastises two children. Loudly. Drifting back offfff THUMBPUmmbnlfeljkjBAM! One and a half hours, every other three minutes of which was some loud clatterficationary tumult. Obviously, not a relaxing sort of nap. Because it WASN'T A NAP! ::sigh:: Oh well.
On to church with a splitting headache, led singing but actually did okay this time with no coughing or forgetting the words or the tune, and then back home for some supper and some REAL sleep.
And then I came here! Where I have lots to do, but thankfully have partical use of my finger back now that I removed the big gauzy bandgage and just made-do with a regular bandaid. Still feels weird to press the As and such, because there is a spot where the feeling has not returned yet. But, all in due time, I suppose.
Now then, I have stuff to get done on the paying gig, so I'll check out for the moment.
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