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.
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
Went to pick up the young'uns from school yesterday afternoon since Miss Reba had an appointment after work (about which, hopefully more later today) and the very moment I stopped the van on the driveway, Catherine had hopped up and was hanging over my shoulder, "CAN WE SWEEP!!?"
Wow, she's loud.
And apparently on the verge of becoming neater. We had been outside Saturday and she decided that there were way too many leaves and too much potting soil scattered all over the patio, so she took it upon herself to go get the broom and start knocking stuff over and hitting the windows with the handle. And occasionally even managing to push a leaf or two out of the way. She didn't get finished before it was time to go in, but the diversion was so entertaining she's been bugging us to sweep the porch ever since. And since none of them had practice yesterday, time to sweep.
We unloaded and I lowered the garage door and walked into the kitchen to see she had already dumped her backpack in the middle of the floor and taken off out the back door. Which was conveniently left open. "COME ON, DADDY!! WE HAVE TO SWEEEEEP!"
I walked out and saw that the little fountain was still full of water--it has had a disturbing tendency to run itself dry for some reason, and I figured there must be a hole in the liner or something. Must be the 'or something,' because the level was the same. Hmm. I grabbed the broom handle that was being swung at my head (I don't think she was deliberately trying to kill me) and we began the arduous task of cleaning out from under the bicycles and the overloaded catch-all table and the Welcome mat (yes, we actually have one) and the grille and the scattering of flowerpots. Actually, I did all the hard stuff, and Tiny Terror got off easy by getting to shove everything off into the grass.
And then it was time for the feats of athletic skill. Boy and Oldest and Middle Girl had joined us outside with a soccer ball, intent on destruction and mayhem. After the second time an errant ball made the windows rattle, I made them get the beach ball out of the house. Itself a suggestion that created yet more controvesy, for the ball in question is Jonathan's extraspecial Braves Baseball beach ball, and should any harm befall it, or, you know, a girl touch it, it makes for many squalling fits of rage. Which, of course, soon followed as the ball was played with. ::sigh::
Sometime in there Mom got home and filled me in on her day, and suddenly two other little kids were in the yard. Neighbor kids from across the street who moved in recently.
You know, I am very self-conscious about the way my kids act in public, but really they aren't so bad. Especially when compared to other kids. Who happened to have invaded my yard. One girl was nine, her sister was five, and the older one immediately, and loudly, asserted control and continued her bossy blabbering at top volume for the entire time they all played together. Blessedly, she somehow managed to hear her mother call for her. "I'LL BE BACK TOMORROW!!" she screamed. The kids told her we would be at church. "I'LL COME BACK THURSDAY!!" she screamed. They told her they all had soccer practice. "YOU JUST COME TO MY HOUSE, THEN!!" she screamed.
Not bloody likely.
Time for supper, then the Unforeseen Trip To Wal-Mart. We didn't actually need anything from Wal-Mart--I actually just needed cash to send with the kids for their lunch money this week (the lunchrooms have stopped taking checks since it's so close to the end of the year--yeah, I don't understand that either, but whatever), and rather than pay for getting it out of the ATM, I figured I would run down to the foot of the hill and pick up something from Food World and get some big-money change.
"But Ashley wanted to go get some sandals tonight."
And then Jonathan piped up--"And I need a white tee-shirt for our school thing."
"What school thing?"
"Daaaad, you know."
Umm. Okay. Best to cover my ignorance by changing the subject. "Well, son, don't you have a whole drawer full of white undershirts you could w..." He was already nodding his head no. "What happened to them!?"
"I outgrew them all...remember?"
Umm. Okay. This sure is getting to be an expensive lunch money excursion. Especially when you add in toilet paper, and toothpaste, and Phos-Flur Rinse, and deodorant, and yogurt, and bottled water. And sandals and a tee-shirt.
Off to Wal-Mart, but just with me and Ashley, the rest having been forced to stay home to keep me from getting more gray hairs. Got there, got parked, got out, nodded to the elderly gent at the shopping carts, then sent Oldest back to do some preliminary looking at the shoes while I explored the health and beauty aids department. Got that done, found her, found she still has terrible taste in footwear.
STOP THE PRESSES.
::sigh:: Gonna have to take a break here--just got a call from Oldest saying she is feeling oh so incredibly terrible and bad and terrible and bad. And bad. Against my better judgement, I'm going to go get her and drop her back at the house, where I am almost certain she will experience a wonderfully expeditious recovery.
Heh. Wait a minute. I believe I will insist she come back here with me and stay in my office.
I am sooooo mean.
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