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, March 07, 2005

First off, the food delivery Friday went off like clockwork. How? I have no idea. Things rarely work the way I want them to, but I suppose the credit can at least partially be given to not having anyone younger than me involved in the process. Zipped to mom-in-law's, got the food, zipped to the lady's house, took it in and visited a bit with some relatives who'd gotten there to set up the food for everyone, on then to the bank, then back home with the EXTRA pan of lasagna I had Grandmom cook up when she cooked the other one, popped that in the oven, puttered for an hour, then went back and got the kids for the trip to Jonathan's orthodontist (again) to see about his baby teeth.

I.e., money. It seems he has four baby teeth, two on top, two on bottom, that are apparently wedged in so tight that even the lure of money from the Tooth Fairy won't make them budge, and there's permanent teeth down below that are pushing up and out. Dr. Nancy wanted some concurrence from Doc R that they needed to be professionally yanked. And he said he thought that would be a dandy idea. Of course, he's not the one having to pay for it. Which is one of those things I don't quite understand--why is it SO danged expensive to unplug a baby tooth that's just barely hanging in there in the first place?! I guess it's worth paying for someone else to hurt them so you don't have to sit there and agonize over doing it yourself. But I sure wish she would work for Tooth Fairy wages.

Back to home, fix supper, and then promise myself that afterwards we're ALL going to go to bed early to make up for all the lack of sleep. For some reason, Reba decided to stay up and help the girls do their scrapbook pages for the group scrapbook the kids at church are doing. This would have been a nice idea, except she had ALSO decided she was going to get up at 5:00 a.m. Saturday and go into work and do some charting before the state inspection team gets there sometime this week. I don't know what time she went to bed Friday night, but I crawled in at 10:30 and thought I'd never wake up. Of course, I did. At 12:37 a.m., I heard the distinctive electronic beeping of an alarm clock. I reached over and hit the bedside clock, which did nothing to stop the noise. Hmm. I roused Reba and told her something on her side of the room was beeping, so she got up and it stopped. Found out yesterday that it was some sort of diet monitor thing she bought back at Christmas that had apparently become lodged under a stack of junk on the dresser, which pressed a button activating an unknown alarm function. ::sigh::

On then to the ACTUAL wakeup call at 5:00. As usual, I can't just let her set an alarm clock herself--I have to be woken up in order to make SURE she gets up. ::deep, deep sigh of resignation:: I woke up and turned off the alarm (and didn't realize I set it again for 6:00) and walloped her on the butt and mumbled that it was time to get up. For some reason, in direct contravention of every other morning I have ever tried to get her up and out of the house so I wouldn't be late for something, she hopped up and was out of the house exactly on time at 5:30. Go figure. Anyway, after a little smooch, I collapsed back into bed to await the rising of the sun and hopefully a house of much quietude. That was until the alarm went off again thirty minutes later. Grr. Stupid me. Turned it off, and went back to sleep, only to be awoken about sixty times over the course of the next two hours by cackling, screeching, cavorting, cartoon-watching, electronic game-playing, need-a-good-butt-whupping -if-I-wasn't-just-so -doggone-tired bunch of wild animals more commonly known as Tiny Terror, Middle Girl, and Boy. I made several attempts to get them to hush, the final one being the Nuclear Option.





If nothing else, THAT got her attention. I walked off and figured on a suitable negotiating strategy--I didn't really want to take that away from her, but I DID want her to quit acting like a rabid howler monkey. I got some clothes on and got my hair settled down a bit, turned around and saw her with the lank, sad face of someone who had lost the last thing in life with any meaning. "PLEEEEEEASE, DADDY! I PROMISE I'll be good!"

"Listen--you want to go, you're going to do this. We've got laundry to do, and things to get cleaned up. You're going to do exactly what I say, exactly when I say it, in the exact way I say to do it. You're not going to whine. You're not going to fuss. You're not going to cry. You're going to say 'yes, sir,' and you're going to help me get this all done, and then we'll discuss if you've been good enough to go skating. Clear?"

"Yes, sir."

NEXT: Well, I have my Monday staff meeting to go to, but after THAT, there'll be the Tale of Happiness Through Menial Servitude!

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