Four Thousand Two Hundred Forty-Three

What did I do today?

1. I crawled out of bed, while it was still dark, and growled at the nameless body of men who decided that switching the time around every few months was a brilliant move. I’m sure they were all farmers, taking advantage of the extra daylight in the morning hours. Not that I’m against farmers. Without them, there would be no wheat to grind and bleach and strip the nutrients out of, so that we could have the perfection known as Wonder Bread. I am powerfully happy about Wonder Bread; it’s been a staple in my life for just as long as Kool-Aide has been. But Daylight Savings Time, you’re really hurting me this time around! I am not tired in the evenings; I cannot get up in the mornings. This is completely unlike me. I am The Morning Person. My morning personality has driven Hubs insane for a whole lot of years, because Hubs likes to sleep in when it’s morning. The only people who get up earlier than I do are my parents, Hubs’ parents, J the Navy Doc, and Bridget, and that’s because they all either (1) grew up on a ranch, or (2) are currently ranching, or (3) have an aversion to sleeping past 5:30 AM.

2. I did the usual routine today: Shower, shampoo, conditioner, rinse. Towel dried the hair. Contacts, deodorant, Q-Tips in the ears, teeth brushed. Ironed clothes, got dressed, put on shoes. Blow dried hair, curled, styled, combed, hairsprayed. Foundation, a little eye shadow, mascara, blush, lip gloss, perfume. Made the bed. Ironed a shirt for Hubs (since he now has clean clothes to wear, because I did the laundry). Got the boy going. Fed the cats. Piled the boy and his backpack into the Suburban.

3. Then I was a wee bit irritated at Hubs’ routine, once again: Shower. Deodorant. Flatten the hair with the palm of his hand. Brush the teeth. Get dressed, in the shirt I ironed him. Thank the boy for the coffee that he made, because the little boy loves to make the coffee in the morning, while Hubs sits around and waits for it. Done. It hardly seems fair. My routine takes seventy minutes, on a good day. Hubs’ routine takes eight minutes, and that’s because he soaks in the shower for four extra minutes, as he tries to wake up.

4. I came back home after dropping the boy off at school and made the world’s largest grocery list, so that we would not have to go out looking for Blue Whale ribs tonight. Hubs announced this morning that he is done (just! plain! done!) with the eating, because in the past week he has gotten sick on a pepperoni/jalapeno pizza and barbecued whale fat ribs. He told me this morning, while he was smashing his hair down with the palm of his hand and about to call it a perfect hairstyle, “I am tired of eating. I quit. I am absolutely giving up eating now. Don’t make me any lunch. I can use the whale blubber in my lantern; I don’t need to eat it again.” I sat at the dining room table and created a list of meals and all the ingredients that we’d need to go with them, and then I took a picture of my handwritten list with my cell phone. It had the words, “Rosemary Pot Roast” and “Slow Cooked Beef Brisket” on it. I sent the photo to Hubs and waited.

5. I then read the responding text message. “DADDY LIKES!!!! I have not given up eating after all!!! Cook the beef!!!!”

6. I raced through the grocery store, by myself, at NASCAR speeds, and I barely braked for sharp, left-hand turns into different aisles. I had 90 minutes to get the major haul of loot into the cart, unload it again at the check-out counter, load the bagged goods into the Suburban, unload the bagged goods at home, put the groceries away, and get off to my first PE class of the day. I was a woman with a time constraint, and it all worked out beautifully.

7. As long as beautifully can be defined as, “Wal-Mart was out of six important items that I needed, and I will now be going to a second grocery store later, and I may permanently break up with Wal-Mart, because this is the fourth time in a row that the super center has done this to me.” Why, Wal-Mart? Is this what Sam Walton intended? That I should be left with six missing items, because your stockpiles were gone?

8. I taught PE, and I made my 4th graders run the mile today. Actually, it was a choice they could make. They had to run the half-mile yesterday, and many of them were anxious to test their legs on the long run, so some of them chose to run 5,280 feet this afternoon, and I cheered them all to victory. And Mr. 9:12 actually realized that Mr. 7:44 had beaten him. There were no tears today in PE. After that, we played a game where everyone threw bean bags at everyone else, and we all hoped that no one took a bean bag in the eye. Sometimes, PE is dangerous. It’s how we roll.

9. I finished my afternoon at school with my pre-kindergarten class, and one of the little girls told me, “I had a birthday party last weekend.” I told her, “That is great! When was your birthday?” And she replied, “I don’t know when my birthday is at all. I just woke up one day, and my mom told me that it was my birthday that day, and I believed her, because she had presents, and she wouldn’t have had presents if it wasn’t really my birthday. At least I don’t think so.” And people, I thought that this was a precious little statement. And my pre-kindergarten class was wound up tighter than little monkeys who have slammed Rock Star drinks today, because the leprechauns had come to their classroom and left green footprints everywhere, and they had no real desire to focus on PE whatsoever, because, my lands! They had to look for clues to the leprechaun’s whereabouts, and why, why must they play soccer, and couldn’t they just please, please, with sugar, keep looking for clues so that they could find the leprechaun before it was time to go home? How could I resist? Soccer was put on a back burner, and they ran wild all over my gymnasium, looking hither and yon, in search of little, elusive green footprints, while I simply chaperoned the search.

10. After teaching PE, I collected the boy, and we met some friends in the park for exactly thirty-seven minutes. I know this, because we were on a time constraint, yet again, because the boy had youth group at 4:00, and we didn’t want to be late. There is, however, a substantial amount of playing that can be accomplished in thirty-seven minutes. Cody and I can also talk about four hundred thirty-nine different topics in thirty-seven minutes. We like to call it a gift.

11. At 5:30, Hubs and I met the boy at the church, and we ate a pizza dinner with him and the rest of his youth group. It was a little loud tonight, because Domino’s pizza was on the menu, what with it being a St. Patrick’s Day pah-tay and all. And any time there’s a party, there’s usually a group of wound-up children who have all forgotten that they actually possess indoor voices. Hubs and I sat with the boy and his buddy, Carter, and we were treated to a long series of 3rd grade jokes. (For example, Why was Piglet staring into the toilet? Because he was looking for Pooh, of course! Of all the nerve! To tell it at youth group in the church! Would polite little girls do this sort of thing? Would they even laugh at this sort of joke?)

12. But out of all of the things that I did today, do you know what absolutely rocks it? I’ll tell you. Mama had fifteen minutes of free time this afternoon, after the boy left for youth group, and she sat down at the computer. And she played one (just! one!) game of Scrabble Blast, which Hubs doesn’t consider to be a real computer game, since there is no shooting or fast driving involved. And Mama was spelling words like crazy, and she put the word quays onto some really great, lots-of-points tiles, and blam! Two hundred fifty-five points for that little word alone! And after a long streak of fabulous words, and after so much applause and trumpet-blowing that the computer’s speakers nearly exploded, Mama broke her high score. Today’s final tally: 4,243. It’s a record, people. I wanted to stand up and wave. I had an acceptance speech ready and waiting. I wanted to hear the National Anthem. I wanted a golden yogurt lid.

But no one else was home to share my victory with.

And isn’t that just the luck of the draw?

Does anyone want to hear my speech?

1 thought on “Four Thousand Two Hundred Forty-Three

  1. My little girl would laugh at the joke, because she likes the one, "Why is Tigger always dirty? Because he plays with POOH!!!!" Oh, we love that one in our house. Third graders think bathroom jokes are the funniest thing ever. And yes, I'm dang proud of our gift. Do you suppose it's a side effect of A.D.D.? You know, the ability to jump from topic to…squirrel!!! I'd love to hear your speech, Baby. And you're still hot :o)

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