Nothing But Odds and Ends

I got out of bed this morning at 6:15, and I’m not sure that I’ve quit moving since then.  It has been one of those days.  Pants that needed ironed.  A boy who needed to be taken to school.  Fingernails that needed a manicure.  An empty refrigerator that needed a full-on, full-cart, many-bags-to-be-carried-in trip to Wal-Mart.  PE classes that needed to be taught.  A boy who needed to be picked up from a friend’s house and driven to soccer practice.  And then driven to his fitness class.  And then driven home so that he could face his homework.  Dinner that needed to be thrown at people.

So… WHEW!  And because my head hasn’t quit spinning yet from all the going today, I’m just going to give you a few bullet points.

Because, like a list, bulletin points line up in an orderly fashion and make my OCD very, VERY happy.

1.  Speaking of the OCD, I saw a sign the other day which I am going to claim as my very own, personal life motto.  It said, “I suffer from CDO.  It’s exactly like OCD, except all the letters are in alphabetical order, JUST AS THEY SHOULD BE.”

Amen.

I’m going to have it printed on a T-shirt.

2.  Speaking of T-shirts, Hubs bought me one a few weekends ago, because he thinks he’s terribly funny.  It’s cute, and trendy, and bright pink, and it simply says, “Voted Most Likely to Wreck Your Truck.” It may or may not be because I once managed to back my Suburban VERY GENTLY into Hubs’ dad’s pickup.  The Suburban’s bumper sustained ZERO DAMAGE, while Hubs’ dad’s truck wound up sporting a little dinger in the back fender.  I honestly thought the little dinger gave that pickup some CHARACTER and some CHARM.

Backing Up is most definitely NOT my spiritual gift.

3.  In my kindergarten PE class today, one of the little fellows came running up to me and boldly announced, “Teacher, I can’t breathe very well today.”  And then he did a little demonstration for me, where he attempted to suck oxygen in through his nostrils, and yes!  Yes, I could HEAR and SORT OF SEE that his nose was a bit stuffed up.  I told him, “Oh, shoot!  It looks like you’re catching a cold and have a stuffy nose!”

Fifteen minutes later, as he went racing by me, I snagged him and asked, “So?  How’s your nose doing now?”  And that little rugrat looked me square in the eyes and said, “Did you know if you pick a giant booger out of your nose, you can breathe much, MUCH better?”

Speechless.

Until it dawned on me to ask, “Um… WHERE is the booger now?”

“I dropped it on the gym floor somewhere, Teacher.”

Sadly, this isn’t the first time a short person has told me that a booger has gone missing in my gym.

4.  On Monday night, a gaggle of girls got together, and we all traipsed into the cinema to see the movie The Help.  I had been waiting (QUITE UNPATIENTLY, because, like Backing Up, Patience is not a gift of mine) for this movie to come out for months, because I read the book last winter, and I plum loved it, people!  Loved it with the same love I have for pretzel-filled M&Ms.  And, just as we expected, the movie shone with cinematic splendor.  I don’t think a single one of us girls left the theater without having bawled her eyes out.  We laughed hysterically; we sobbed loudly.  And then Tuesday morning was spent calling one another, back and forth, to VERBALLY REVIEW the flick, as we all agreed that we’re failing at motherhood and need lessons from a devoted maid from 1962.

Honestly, y’all, this movie was so, so, SO good.  Run to see it!  Just don’t take Becki with you, though, because she will flat-out RUIN the bag of popcorn by dousing it in Sour Cream and Onion Popcorn Enhancing Powder from the Seasoning Bar by the concession stand.  Of course, she won’t TELL YOU that she has ruined the popcorn, so when you reach into her bag to snag a bite, you’ll end up with the artificially-flavored powder up your nose, which will make you sneeze and shudder.

5.  Hubs is playing Fantasy Football again this year.  I have to be careful and actually THINK about the title BEFORE I say it out loud, because I accidentally referred to it as IMAGINARY FOOTBALL a couple of weeks ago, which made Hubs’ friends throw back their heads and whoop with Man Giggles.  (Which, for the record, are ABSOLUTELY NOTHING like Girl Giggles.  Man Giggles really should just be called Barks of Mirth.)

No matter.

Last night was Draft Night for the fantasy league, and Hubs was ready to meet the guys so they could all sit around and choose players for their teams.

Their teams which aren’t real.

And doesn’t that support the definition of IMAGINARY?

Whatever.

I sat with Hubs for a few minutes before the draft started last night, as he was meticulously looking at player stats on his laptop.  He had a list of names from the real NFL pulled up on his computer, and I just happened to see one that I knew, so I put in my two-cents.

“Oh my gosh!  DON’T choose THAT GUY!  He cheated on his wife!  It was all over the news last year!  You don’t want a wife cheater on your fake football team!”

Hubs raised one eyebrow at me.

And then, when the next set of names came up, I saw another one that I didn’t like, and I didn’t hesitate to announce my thoughts.

“Don’t choose THAT GUY THERE, either!  Good grief!  He was arrested last year!  He punched his wife!  It was all over the news!  You don’t want a wife puncher, either!”

At this, Hubs said, “They’re good players; I’ll earn points if I have them play every week.”

I told Hubs, “I hope you can live with yourself, knowing you drafted cheaters and punchers.  Do you need help choosing any other members for this team?”

I was flabbergasted when he told me, “Nope.  I’ve got this one.”

By the time the draft was over (Some three hours later!  And Hubs gives ME a bad time for talking for two hours at Starbucks!), Hubs had a fake team that he was very pleased with.

And guess what?

NO CHEATERS OR PUNCHERS, PEOPLE.  At least none that we know of, via the Fox News Channel.

Go, fake football team!  Win us some money!

6.  And THAT, people, is all that I have for you tonight.  It’s been a busy day, and I need to read the sporting news tonight, so I can offer Hubs some advice on which players to start on Sunday.  You can bet your favorite pair of boots that I’d start the NFL player who helped an elderly lady cross the street or who saved a boy’s kitten out of a tree.  Unfortunately, Hubs has a different system to pick starters, which involves numbers on a computer screen.  He and I are going to have to discuss some things.

Happy Wednesday!

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