Let me tell you about today.
It started early.
Hubs has been diligently teaching Thing 2 that he needs to stay on his bed in the mornings until he sees the number 6 on the digital clock in his bedroom. This is because Thing 2 needs less sleep than a housewife on Ritalin tablets, and he likes to get up early. Hubs has been making progress in this endeavor, because 6:00 in the morning is golden, compared to times that Thing 2 is capable of waking up at.
This morning, Thing 2 opened his door and hollered, “Hello! Hello! Six! Six!”
It was 5:46. Apparently, Hubs wasn’t real specific about what spot the six needed to be in on the clock.
I taught PE today, and listen: It’s cold and rainy, because this is the winter that won’t die, and we had to do INDOOR RECESS this afternoon. Indoor recess is one of the worst problems that first world countries have. When the children don’t get outside to run and swing and slide and throw footballs at each others’ heads, they get growly. And then they come to PE with their snarls already in place.
My pre-kindergarten kiddos were great, because that’s how they always are. I love them. They’re four years old, and they still smell like baby angels, and they think I’m the best thing this side of their grandmas. After pre-k PE wrapped up, I had kindergarten through 4th grades to get through, and they were MOST DEFINITELY NOT baby angels today. They fought and tattled and pushed and shoved and cried and whined and complained and threw themselves dramatically on the gym floor with fake injuries and uninvited one another to birthday parties. I had two of my third graders go toe-to-toe in a fight over a soccer goal discrepancy that would have scared Mike Tyson. It was one of those days when the art teacher and the science teacher and the kindergarten teacher and I all wanted to know why we had such strict policies regarding NO WINE IN THE TEACHERS’ LOUNGE in place, and then we sighed and reminded one another that summer vacation is so close, we can see it from our back porches.
After a day like that, where the wind and the rain and the snow all compete for attention on the same day, I wanted to come home and light a fire in our fireplace.
And by light a fire, I mean I wanted to push that button on the remote control that causes a roaring fire to erupt in my fireplace in half of a second, and then I wanted to put my pajamas on and just throw in the towel for today.
But… we can’t, in good faith, have a fire right now, because Mrs. Robin built her nest on the little exhaust thingy on the side of our house that vents our gas fireplace. She laid eggs in that nest, and Mr. Robin flies by periodically to check on the progress of this pregnancy, but… so far… we don’t know if we have five boys or five girls or a mixture of some of each.
And because we have little blue robin eggs where we have them, WE CANNOT BUILD A FIRE WITHOUT DESTROYING A FAMILY OF BIRDS AND CAUSING A MOTHER ROBIN TO NEED COUNSELING WHEN SHE REALIZES NEXT MONTH WHEN THERE IS NO HATCHING THAT HER EGGS WERE ALL HARD BOILED WHEN THE NEST WARMED UP SO MUCH ON THAT RAINY DAY BACK IN MAY.
And yes. There were no commas in that long sentence up there, and I’m okay with it, because of this little thing called I’VE ALREADY GRADUATED AND NO LONGER HAVE TO IMPRESS ENGLISH PROFESSORS WITH PROPER COMMA PLACEMENT.
I think that this is going to wrap things up tonight, people. I’m going to put some flannel pajama bottoms on and scrunch my hair into the homeliest looking, messy bun — right smack on the top of my head — that any of you have ever seen, and I’m going to sit on my sofa without the benefit of a lovely fire in the fireplace, while I wonder WHY we have to watch shows involving swamp people and monsters in the river and snipers in full action, when we have a perfectly lovely channel called HGTV.
Happy Wednesday, y’all. Happy Wednesday.