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, February 07, 2005

As promised--Emotions Run High!

Sounds like the title of a really bad movie. I wish I could write, and I’d write a screenplay for it.

ANYway, Oldest had been interrupting for a bit to make sure the outfit she wanted to wear would be okay. Not all at once, of course. “It this top okay?” “Are these pants okay?” “Is this top with these pants okay?” “Is this top okay?” (The first top? Probably taken off and thrown in her floor.) “Is this scarf okay?” “Is this pair of pants okay?” (Same deal with the shirt.) “Is this eye shadow okay?” On and on.

Finally, she had gotten to the point of being more or less complete, with the exception of shoes, which is, of course, a GIGANTONORMOUS big fat hairy deal. Like life itself, you know. Found a pair of mom’s shoes, Mom and I kept on going through the PowerPoint tutorial line by line, then there is shrieking from the other end of the house. “URHGGHHHHH!” I got up and went to Oldest’s door, and she’s in there slinging the scarf she had tied around her head all over the place and throwing her brush on the bed and acting like a twit. “Hey! Hush.”

Went back and sat down with Reba, and in a minute Ashley makes her presence known by pounding into our room, eyes ablaze, and proceeded to again fling the head scarf (this time onto our bed) punctuated by a sailing hairbrush and a string of loudmouthed jibber-jabber about how NOTHING is right and she looks HORRIBLE and how she HATES her hair and HATES everyone and EVERYONE is going to make fun of her and how she HATES--on and on. Quite a lovely picture.

Reba told her to pipe down or she would be piped down (I’m paraphrasing) and went on to lecture her on the need to maintain some sense of perspective. “And anyway, that scarf is just an inanimate object, Ashley, and there is no reason for you to go screaming through this house like that!”

Hmm. “Inanimate object,” eh? I tucked that one in my shirt pocket for use later. As it was, it was time to leave and take this pretty little bundle of hormones to the church building. By the time we left, she’d managed to calm down and fix her hair. Thank goodness.

A long drive, and mostly quiet.

Got to the building, found out that the get-together wouldn’t be finished until 9:30, told her to call whenever she got ready to come home. She was worried in the way only teenagers can worry about the fact that she didn’t have a date--even though about half of the kids didn’t bring anyone. Don’t ask me why, if that was her big worry, she decided to go in the first place. But she did, and she wasn’t going to back out. I kinda think the big explosion of emotion right before we left was something she thought would get her grounded or something so she could blame us for not letting her go. Who knows?

Got home, about an hour after I had first left. Supper on the table, Miss Reba in a quite frisky mood. Come to find out, that PowerPoint stuff isn’t all that hard, after all. She’d gone ahead and finished her assignment while I was gone, and had even made it do animations and EVERYTHING! “Pretty proud of yourself, now aren’t you!”

She allowed that she was, and that she was very grateful for my assistance.

“Well, it IS just an inanimate object, after all,” I reminded her. A dangerous ploy, but one that she took with great humor, and a small glimmer of embarrassment at having let herself get so carried away. I was just glad her mood had returned to big fluffy white puffy clouds. Much easier to deal with. She had a few more minor things to do to it, so after supper she did those and I got the other kids bathed and bedded down for the night, and along about nine o’clock, figured I’d best go get Ashley. The fact that she hadn’t called was a good sign, I figured.

I was right--she’d had a pretty good time, all things considered. The trip home was much shorter, and not nearly so quiet as had been the trip from the house.

Home, bed, up Sunday, church, a trip to Wal-Mart to get some bread and such, home, lunch, I got to read the entire newspaper, then back to church for some meetings and for the kids to take some tests for their Bible Bowl stuff, then preaching, then back home.

SUPER BOWL! We got home about halftime. From what I could tell, it was an okay game, with the Eagles giving it all they had, and the Pats giving it just enough to win. I didn’t really pull for one team or the other, but I really do have a soft spot for the Patriots since it was the home of the University of Alabama’s great guard, the punishing and fearless John Hannah, one of the best players in the sport at any position, and a superb fellow as well. Anyway, after the preceding two days, it would have to be a REALLY exciting game to get me worked up.

And then, to bed, and then, back up again today, ready to take a nap. Good thing that weekends like the last one don’t happen very often.

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