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.
Thursday, June 24, 2004
Let's see now...
Only two hours left, and lots to do on the paying gig. So, this is going to have to do for now. Schedule for the afternoon includes trying to get the grass cut before the rain hits again, and then a mad rush to get part of the kitchen counters and table cleaned up, then a meeting with Rebecca's soccer team tonight to discuss the upcoming season. Forgot to mention that she did get picked for the team again, which is nice. I was kind of worried about how she would take it if she didn't get called--probably worried for no good reason, but you know how it is. You don't want your baby to have hurt feelings.
One thing she's going to have to be forced to do is talk a bit more, though. For a while, her stony silence around everyone was kind of a cute personality tic and part of her self-imposed identity as The Quiet Girl (after starting out as The Girl With Real Long Hair), but the level of play the girls are at means she has to be much more vocal to her teammates when she's on the field. She seems resigned to having to give up The Quiet Girl tag.
Of course, I made the mistake of telling her that she should be more talkative like her mama. Who, sitting there beside me at the kitchen table, at first took the suggestion as it was offered--in innocent appreciation for her ability to strike up a friendly coversation with anyone. Then, almost as if by magic (or possibly by my repeating for a second time, "Mama talks a LOT!"), her mood quickly fouled, and I spent the better part of a week getting back on her good side. I tell you, sometimes it's like walking naked through a minefield, and instead of grass, it's covered over with three inches of razor blades...
Anyway, team meeting tonight, and we're going to have to lay out money for new uniforms, and three tournaments, and registration fees. ::sigh:: Maybe I could print out everything I've written over the past two and a half years as a rough draft of my autobiography, and Knopf will give me a $10 million advance.
Yeah, I know--I don't intend to hold my breath.
After the meeting, I imagine that I will slog home and want to do some more cleaning, but will be too whupped to care. Luckily, there is always tomorrow, and as Scarlett O'Hara said...
"Fiddle dee dee."
See you tomorrow, gang!
UPDATE: 11:45 a.m., 15 minutes to time to go and there's a right regular downpour going on now. ::sigh:: No mow, no mo'.
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