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, May 10, 2004

Happy Mother's Day!

I forgot to mention that due to the amount of stuff we've had going on, Reba's Mother's Day gift was limited to cards and the promise of a gift to be named later. Poor Mom. But it's telling about our schedule when you consider that the half-day at the spa we got her for her birthday still has not been redeemed. But the kids still love her very much, and made sure she got her cards, and gave her big sloppy kisses.

We had arranged to meet my mama at the Shoney's (my mother's words were, "whatever is cheap") over on Montgomery Highway in Hoover after church, so we headed that way. Only to find the restaurant had closed, and had been closed for a while judging by the looks of it. My mom was parked there out front, so we wheeled up and I said I thought we wouldn't have any trouble getting a table, but it might be a while before we were waited on. Next suggestion, hop down the sidestreet to the place that apparently took all of Shoney's business, the Golden Corral. Or, as I like to call it, Hell's Own Feedlot.

I don't like going there, because even on slow days it seems jam-packed with slow, sweaty, messy people just milling around dropping stuff and breathing on you. Well, Sunday was the same, only bumped up with even less elbow room in order to squeeze in as many mamas as possible. Many of whom could rival Mama Cass for both size and consumptive ability. I think they would do better just to take out the tables and put in a trough. The food isn't really so bad, I don't guess, and it gets vacuumed into everyone's gullet so quick that it probably doesn't have a whole lot of time for the e. coli to bloom. And it did meet my mother's requirement of value-pricing.

Finished up our food and exchanged some more kisses and hugs, and then Reba and the kids and I drove around a bit, did a bit of exploring, and headed back to the house so Boy could work on his book report poster, and I could help him work on his Alabama history project. Again, another instance of Extreme Parental Overkill, but he promises to help do SOMEthing before it's completely finished.

On back to church for evening worship, after a brief meltdown that required a certain Youngest Girl to have to completely change all of her clothes, which would usually have been an inconvenience but was doubly so this time because she had to change right as we were about to leave, and we had to leave on time because I was supposed to lead singing when I got there, and I like to have a minute or two to make sure everyone else remembers if they have opening or closing prayer, and a minute or two to make sure I still have my little piece of paper with the hymn numbers on it. BUT, why worry about that! Just as long as my blood vessels were nice and bulging, everything would be jusssssst fine!

Got there with exactly two minutes to spare, had to find a closing prayer guy, found my little piece of paper, and then started up a'wavin' my hand around. And for once, nary a bobble. Got all through, got home, helped fix the kids some supper (the effects of the Feedlot still fresh on my gut, I decided to bypass the evening meal), sent the Youngest and Middle Girls to bed, sent Boy to his room to finish his poster, and heard a screech from Oldest. Because, you know...

Seems she had this assignment, that was assigned Thursday, which is when I went to school and got her, and she HAD! JUST! RE! MEM! BERED! IT! Yeah, sure, whatever. Spent all that time, studiously forgetting it until 9:30 Sunday night. "I HAVE TO GET ON THE INTERNET!!" She blew past me as is her wont. "Whoa. Why?" "BECAUSE IT SAYS TO!"

I looked at the paper, "Using sources you have at your house, such as the Internet, write a story about..." The assignment was to research a planet and write a comic-book style story in eight panels that uses various characters to tell something about the planet. "Look, you don't need to look on the Internet, there's a bookcase full of encyclopedias right there--choose a planet, find it in there, and get the information." "I! CAN'T! DO THIS!"

Whatever. She whined and pouted and complained and moaned and cried and whined until 1 a.m., at which time she was still not finished, but was intending to finish it in study hall.

I just now got off the phone with Reba as she was going home, and she says Ashley called her to let her know she had gotten home okay. When asked if Oldest had turned in her work, come to find out, she somehow dropped her books. And somehow her drawings got lost. And now she'll have to redo them. And she was mad, because the TEACHER was going to take 20 POINTS off for it being a day late!

Why, the nerve! (Obviously, that teacher just has it in for her!)

Speaking of nerve, this weekend a certain child has managed to get on my very last one. I'm just glad I don't let it show. In any event, I am thinking the time is nigh for a come-to-Jesus meeting, which you will not get to see recited herein. Just be glad it ain't you.

Now then, time to head to the park! Wheee!

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