Well, 'tis the season. El Hubbo has hit the road for stock shows, and I am once again a stock show widow. It's the season I refer to as "Murphy" as his law kicks into high gear and kicks my tail on an almost daily basis.
SUNDAY
This year Murphy didn't even wait for El Hubbo to leave before slapping me around a bit. Being the devoted, kind-hearted wife that I am, I arose early last Sunday to fix my family a nice breakfast before we readied ourselves for church. I had a nice sausage and cheese pastry baking away. I turned the light on for the oven to check it's progress.....and it was progressing nicely. Looked ever so scrumptious. I reached to turn the light back off and it did not go off. I toggled the switch back and forth and .........nothing. Befuddled, but not yet panicked, I decided maybe the oven just needed a little time to decide to cooperate, and went about my business. (Time is the usual cure for unresponsive appliances, isn't it?)
The pastry finished, and I pulled it out and fed the fam. We're sitting there enjoying each other's company and pretending to be source material for a Norman Rockwell painting, when we here a sizzling noise. El Hubbo and I look at each other with alarm, then we sniff the air. SMOKE!!!! We hurriedly pull the range from the wall (as though either of us has the foggiest clue what to do in this situation) and look behind it. There were sparks, SPARKS I TELL YOU! El Hubbo runs (gimpy hip and all) for the breaker box in the garage. I run for the broom and mop as what lies under your oven is something that, once discovered, should be left unattended.
Now is probably the time I should reveal to you that I have an irrational fear. I spend many minutes of every day wondering if my house in on fire. The one upside is I always experience a complete sense of relief as I am driving home when I do not see smoke from the general direction of where we live. While I function quite nicely in society (most of the time), this experience did nothing to alleviate my irrational fear.
MONDAY
El Hubbo left bright and early. His last instruction to his first born was to make sure to dump the current water out of Rocky's (the four-legged kid) water contraption (it's an odd thing that I find hard to explain) and give him fresh water.
Not a problem.
Jake goes to follow his father's orders. But, the water contraption was full of water. So, I had to help him carry it. (Mind you, I was dressed for my office job - not exactly in water contraption cleaning clothes.) We dump it out and the local fowl population had utilized said water contraption for various of its activities.
We have a problem.
I decide the contraption would not be cleaned quickly, so we would have to make alternate plans.
I haul the kids to each school, then drive like a mad-woman to get to work and slide into my space right at 8 o'clock. El Hubbo finds out he has a friend who has a friend who fixes appliances. So, I call and make an appointment for Tuesday. Ok, good. Things are looking up, things are getting accomplished, yay for us.
Ok, too early to celebrate, get a call from the daycare - Little Sunshine is having a cloudy day. I chew her out soundly via the phone, tell Director I shall come and wear Little Sunshine's hiney out should her attitude not change. Hang up, keep fingers crossed remainder of day that I do not have to leave work to spank child. Grumble about Murphy.
End of workday, I pick the little darlings up from school. I can't cook - so we go out to eat. I ask Little Sunshine why she had such a bad day. She looks at me like she has no idea what I am talking about. She vehemently denied that she had anything but a stellar day. I say, why did the Director have to call me? Jake pipes up, "OOOOOhhhhhhhh, girl. Listen to me. I have had plenty of experience with this - if the Director had to call mama, then it was bad. Bad, I tell you. You don't want mama to have to leave work and come up there. It's not good." The whole time he is shaking his head and munching away on chips and salsa. I just sat there, dumbfounded, then I turned to Emma: "Yeah. What he said."
We then rush to Boy Scouts. Then we take a trip to Target to obtain an alternative watering contraption. Which shall be called a bucket. A cheap one. Rush home, send kids in to bathe and get ready for bed, take bucket out and fill it up. Collapse in bed.
TUESDAY
Get up, running late, kids cranky, etc. Let dog out. Check on him right before leaving, and he has dumped the bucket. Sigh. Go fill it back up. Check on him 30 seconds after closing door, he has dumped the bucket again. Grumble, grumble, stupid dog - see how you like going without water.
Rush to work. Try to cram 8 hours into four as I have to leave at noon to come home for appliance repair guy. Organize work projects to take home to work on from there.
Noon - rush home, eat lunch, check dog's bucket. SIGH. He has not only dumped it, he has chewed the handle and all around the top of it. Go outside and chase dog around yard screaming NO and shaking and throwing bucket in his general direction. (I'm positive this training method is in a book somewhere.) Hope the neighbors are not filming my meltdown for YouTube. Sign on remotely to work. Appliance guys come - easy fix for stove - be back in two hours with part. OK. Work some more. Guys return, fix stove. Excellent. Progress. Love it. Work some more. Hear beating sound from outside. Look and patient from a group home down the block had apparently escaped and was very agitated. Attempt to assist his caretaker, fail. Cops arrive - I had to leave to pick up kids and go for torture session, I mean "workout".
Return home exhausted - shoo kids into bathe, put them to bed, collapse in bed myself.
WEDNESDAY
Just go re-read the first paragraph of Tuesday.
Pick up kids after work. Jake lost a ticket to ride (a school discipline system that I am still not completely sure I understand) - arguing with another student and the teacher. (I know you are thinking, WHAT? Your child ARGUE? NEVER! But, alas, he takes after his father. Hee, hee.) Eat leftovers from Monday, shoo the kids into bathe, get ready for Bible class, go to Bible class, rush home, get in bed, pass out from exhaustion.
THURSDAY
Just go re-re-read the first paragraph of Tuesday.
Leave work late, rush to pick up kids. Jake loses another ticket to ride, I hope it doesn't mean I will be visiting him behind bars anytime soon. Rush to gym - sign in kids - run to locker room, change clothes, run back out to torture session, I mean "workout", get dirty look from trainer for being late. Pretty sure she gave me the heavier barbells on purpose.
The following are various thoughts running through my head for the next 45 minutes: "Listen, lady - I couldn't do that when I was young and in shape!" "Medic!" "Help." "Can't breathe." "Can't move." "She wants me to do WHAT? for HOW LONG?" "Can someone get a towel, wipe the sweat off my arm, and help me up from the floor?" "HEY! Cro-magnon man - get over here and pick me up and carry me to my car!"
Collect kids from maze-room, stumble to car, attempt to put key in ignition. Attempt again. Third time is charm. Muster strength to push gas pedal down to drive to Subway for dinner. Yawn. Eyes are heavy. Kids wake me up at restaurant. Get home, shoo kids into bathe, listen to Jake read me a bed-time story. (I couldn't hold the book up, let alone read it. Besides, as soon as he finishes "Arthur's First Sleepover" I am going to hand him this spy novel I haven't had time to read.) Yawn. Put kids in bed.
FRIDAY - hasn't come yet. However, I suspicion you can re-re-re-read the first paragraph of Tuesday. El Hubbo returns, but probably late, and probably after I have collapsed from exhaustion once again.
So there you have it - Murphy's season is upon us. I'm sure there will be more to report, so stay tuned.
SUNDAY
This year Murphy didn't even wait for El Hubbo to leave before slapping me around a bit. Being the devoted, kind-hearted wife that I am, I arose early last Sunday to fix my family a nice breakfast before we readied ourselves for church. I had a nice sausage and cheese pastry baking away. I turned the light on for the oven to check it's progress.....and it was progressing nicely. Looked ever so scrumptious. I reached to turn the light back off and it did not go off. I toggled the switch back and forth and .........nothing. Befuddled, but not yet panicked, I decided maybe the oven just needed a little time to decide to cooperate, and went about my business. (Time is the usual cure for unresponsive appliances, isn't it?)
The pastry finished, and I pulled it out and fed the fam. We're sitting there enjoying each other's company and pretending to be source material for a Norman Rockwell painting, when we here a sizzling noise. El Hubbo and I look at each other with alarm, then we sniff the air. SMOKE!!!! We hurriedly pull the range from the wall (as though either of us has the foggiest clue what to do in this situation) and look behind it. There were sparks, SPARKS I TELL YOU! El Hubbo runs (gimpy hip and all) for the breaker box in the garage. I run for the broom and mop as what lies under your oven is something that, once discovered, should be left unattended.
Now is probably the time I should reveal to you that I have an irrational fear. I spend many minutes of every day wondering if my house in on fire. The one upside is I always experience a complete sense of relief as I am driving home when I do not see smoke from the general direction of where we live. While I function quite nicely in society (most of the time), this experience did nothing to alleviate my irrational fear.
MONDAY
El Hubbo left bright and early. His last instruction to his first born was to make sure to dump the current water out of Rocky's (the four-legged kid) water contraption (it's an odd thing that I find hard to explain) and give him fresh water.
Not a problem.
Jake goes to follow his father's orders. But, the water contraption was full of water. So, I had to help him carry it. (Mind you, I was dressed for my office job - not exactly in water contraption cleaning clothes.) We dump it out and the local fowl population had utilized said water contraption for various of its activities.
We have a problem.
I decide the contraption would not be cleaned quickly, so we would have to make alternate plans.
I haul the kids to each school, then drive like a mad-woman to get to work and slide into my space right at 8 o'clock. El Hubbo finds out he has a friend who has a friend who fixes appliances. So, I call and make an appointment for Tuesday. Ok, good. Things are looking up, things are getting accomplished, yay for us.
Ok, too early to celebrate, get a call from the daycare - Little Sunshine is having a cloudy day. I chew her out soundly via the phone, tell Director I shall come and wear Little Sunshine's hiney out should her attitude not change. Hang up, keep fingers crossed remainder of day that I do not have to leave work to spank child. Grumble about Murphy.
End of workday, I pick the little darlings up from school. I can't cook - so we go out to eat. I ask Little Sunshine why she had such a bad day. She looks at me like she has no idea what I am talking about. She vehemently denied that she had anything but a stellar day. I say, why did the Director have to call me? Jake pipes up, "OOOOOhhhhhhhh, girl. Listen to me. I have had plenty of experience with this - if the Director had to call mama, then it was bad. Bad, I tell you. You don't want mama to have to leave work and come up there. It's not good." The whole time he is shaking his head and munching away on chips and salsa. I just sat there, dumbfounded, then I turned to Emma: "Yeah. What he said."
We then rush to Boy Scouts. Then we take a trip to Target to obtain an alternative watering contraption. Which shall be called a bucket. A cheap one. Rush home, send kids in to bathe and get ready for bed, take bucket out and fill it up. Collapse in bed.
TUESDAY
Get up, running late, kids cranky, etc. Let dog out. Check on him right before leaving, and he has dumped the bucket. Sigh. Go fill it back up. Check on him 30 seconds after closing door, he has dumped the bucket again. Grumble, grumble, stupid dog - see how you like going without water.
Rush to work. Try to cram 8 hours into four as I have to leave at noon to come home for appliance repair guy. Organize work projects to take home to work on from there.
Noon - rush home, eat lunch, check dog's bucket. SIGH. He has not only dumped it, he has chewed the handle and all around the top of it. Go outside and chase dog around yard screaming NO and shaking and throwing bucket in his general direction. (I'm positive this training method is in a book somewhere.) Hope the neighbors are not filming my meltdown for YouTube. Sign on remotely to work. Appliance guys come - easy fix for stove - be back in two hours with part. OK. Work some more. Guys return, fix stove. Excellent. Progress. Love it. Work some more. Hear beating sound from outside. Look and patient from a group home down the block had apparently escaped and was very agitated. Attempt to assist his caretaker, fail. Cops arrive - I had to leave to pick up kids and go for torture session, I mean "workout".
Return home exhausted - shoo kids into bathe, put them to bed, collapse in bed myself.
WEDNESDAY
Just go re-read the first paragraph of Tuesday.
Pick up kids after work. Jake lost a ticket to ride (a school discipline system that I am still not completely sure I understand) - arguing with another student and the teacher. (I know you are thinking, WHAT? Your child ARGUE? NEVER! But, alas, he takes after his father. Hee, hee.) Eat leftovers from Monday, shoo the kids into bathe, get ready for Bible class, go to Bible class, rush home, get in bed, pass out from exhaustion.
THURSDAY
Just go re-re-read the first paragraph of Tuesday.
Leave work late, rush to pick up kids. Jake loses another ticket to ride, I hope it doesn't mean I will be visiting him behind bars anytime soon. Rush to gym - sign in kids - run to locker room, change clothes, run back out to torture session, I mean "workout", get dirty look from trainer for being late. Pretty sure she gave me the heavier barbells on purpose.
The following are various thoughts running through my head for the next 45 minutes: "Listen, lady - I couldn't do that when I was young and in shape!" "Medic!" "Help." "Can't breathe." "Can't move." "She wants me to do WHAT? for HOW LONG?" "Can someone get a towel, wipe the sweat off my arm, and help me up from the floor?" "HEY! Cro-magnon man - get over here and pick me up and carry me to my car!"
Collect kids from maze-room, stumble to car, attempt to put key in ignition. Attempt again. Third time is charm. Muster strength to push gas pedal down to drive to Subway for dinner. Yawn. Eyes are heavy. Kids wake me up at restaurant. Get home, shoo kids into bathe, listen to Jake read me a bed-time story. (I couldn't hold the book up, let alone read it. Besides, as soon as he finishes "Arthur's First Sleepover" I am going to hand him this spy novel I haven't had time to read.) Yawn. Put kids in bed.
FRIDAY - hasn't come yet. However, I suspicion you can re-re-re-read the first paragraph of Tuesday. El Hubbo returns, but probably late, and probably after I have collapsed from exhaustion once again.
So there you have it - Murphy's season is upon us. I'm sure there will be more to report, so stay tuned.
Loved it... I remember those days... When the kids get older, it
ReplyDeleteS just something else that exhausts you... Sigh... Thanks for the laugh!