Ha! This is post 665. Can you hear the Thump Thump of the pure heart of doom approaching? Tomorrow is the day, the day when all goes black, the post of the sixes....and a fine Mwuahaha to you too!
To start today's journey through that reality that is Tiff (that's ME!) let's begin with a little something I've just discovered through the generosity of my friend Renn:
Um, rilly? RILLY?
See, she snuck this one in on me, because she didn't ANNOUNCE that the CDs she was giving me were all firmly planted in the Christian with the capital C genre, the big sneak. Not that I'm opposed to it, nosir, because I'm slowly finding my way around the whole C thang lately and am finding it to be a very big world indeed, but still, no warning is a sneaky thing.
Not that any of the songs are overtly about God, or even Jesus, or really even anything you'd consider even remotely within the spectrum of what you'd think should be played inside any church or at any worship gathering, but then let's remember that I'm new to a lot of this and so may not know about the whole "Krischeen Crunk" worship movement....but I digress.
The long as short of it is this: This stuff kicks ass. It's loud, it's got a fabulous beat, it's driving and fierce and who cares if the words aren't about sexxing up some boie in the ladies room of the local hall-o'-skanks-n'-drunks or getting naked or trying to find out who your babydaddy is? There's enough of that crap on commerical radio, and I for one am not a big fan. This stuff has humor and energy and a distinct lack of preachiness, which is awesome, there are NO swear words so it's Thing safe, and Tinkerbell seems to quite enjoy the way the bass pratically lifts her off the ground when the volume is tured up justalittlebitMORE than is strictly necessary.
So, yeah. Renn's sneaky, and I'm a fan.
Note to self: when a child calls me at work asking to come home sick, it's best to advise them to poop at school before calling next time....because sometimes a good poop will cure even the worst of bellyaches.
Yeah - Thing 1 called me yesterday, an hour before I was supposed to do a training class, and asked to be picked up from school because he didn't feel good. He didn't have a fever, but just didn't feel good, his stomach hurt and he was really tired, or so he said.
Being a decent Mom, I delegated the training class to my boss, got some work downloaded to complete at home, and went to fetch my precious young man from the hell that is his middle school (his description - I rather like the place!). He staggered off to the bathroom first thing, and after about ten minutes I heard a flush, followed by the unmistakeable sound of the plunger being put to use.
A third flush.
And just as I was about to go intervene, I heard the sweet sound of the toilet-whoosh noise. Success!
A lighter, brighter Thing 1 emerged from that bathroom, allowing as to how he felt a whole LOT better. Me, being a pseudo-decent Mom, told him to go to bed, that he was sick, and sick kids need to rest.
THAT lasted 5 minutes. The door to their room swung slowly open, Thing 1 came out blinking and asking how long he'd been "asleep," and I, being a sorta-decent mom, told him "not long enough, go back and try again."
He fell asleep at 3. I had to wake him up at 4:30 to tell him I was going to get his brother from the Y. He didn't want to go, so I, being a quasi-decent Mom, left him at home, asleep. When we got back at 5:15 he was still asleep, HARD. By 5:40, when Thing 2 had turned on some cartoons, Thing 1 was sufficiently rested and re-energized, simply aghast that he'd slept for so long.
He was still awake at 11 last night when I went to bed. Being 12 is tough, y'all; it takes a lot out of a body just to keep a-going, apparently. I, being a lethargic-decent Mom, told him to get some sleep already, or there would be hell to pay in the morning when the alarm went off.
My favorite meal to eat out is breakfast. How lucky then that there's a break-lunch place not but two blocks from the Tiny House. It's not fancy (most good B&L places are NOT), the waitresses all have thick Southern accents and call me "sweetie," the sausage patties are nice and schpicy, and it's cheap.
Today was the first time that we went there on a weekday (read: before school). It's astounding how fast the boys will get out of bed when the promise of hot waffles is in the air. Why, they were ready with such speed that we beat the waitress into work, even though the place opens at 4 and we got there at 6:30. Heh. Nice. Thing 1 downed three pieces of french toast and three sausage links before the first half of my "Country" breakfast was gone (proof that he was alllll better, eh?), and Thing 2 inhaled his pancakes and strawberrires almost as fast. I wound up feeding bites of spicy sausage patty into Thing 2's mouth so he wouldn't keep looking at my still-laden plate with big sad eyes. Daggone kid, pushing my buttons like that.
Even with the extracurricular trip to the local eatery, we got to school way before we normally do; that is to say, with more than 30 seconds to spare before the bells start going off. Felt darned good to watch Thing 2 SAUNTER into school rather than doing the Fred Flintsone shuffle he normally does when he 'rushes' anywhere but doesn't want to look like he's rushing.
Could it be that not only is breakfast the most important meal of the day, but breakfast OUT might help you live a better life? I wonder.
That's totally it for today. I just got off the phone with a good friend who offered me that chance to speak at a "convention" (for lack of a better term), and I'm too 'cited to write more. Yay for friends who have influence! Yay!
Have a lovely Tuesday folks. See you tomorrow.