Allow me to back up. Tonight I dropped Curly off at her dancing class. Mini hurt her leg during her basketball game after school, so she ended up skipping dancing. Nothing serious. She was sort of tackled. I think she suffered a bone bruise on her thigh. It sucks because we pay whether she attends dance class or not.
Our 8th grade basketball team isn't the most skillful group. It was actually exciting because we played a similarly disoriented team. In intense basketball games, players often end up on the floor. This tackle Mini endured was more of a fumble because the other player wasn't sure where she belonged on the floor. Mini is one of our more prepared players- which honestly isn't saying much, but bam - this girl took her down.
Coach was picking up from dancing tonight. I often drive 25 minutes to practice, and then sit outside the class or run errands. Two hours later, I drive the exhausted girls home. It seems silly to drive home and then head back up there an hour and 15 minutes later. Call me crazy. No really, call me crazy in my comments, if you think I am indeed crazy for feeling guilty asking Coach to drive back up there to collect them on occasion so I can just be at home!
I think the issue stems as far back as our early years of marriage. When Coach was a full time student in physical therapy school, time was sacred. Majorly. Every spare minute that he didn't spend studying was allocated wisely. We scheduled time together.
Fast-forward 21 years and his time is still in high demand. He works long hours. He attends classes. Now he teaches or acts as a TA to an online class in his spare time. Have I shared with you the blurry 2.5 years when he was studying for his fellowship AND finishing our basement? Recently he began devoting more time to the unfinished basement shower that he put in years ago during the original project.
On Saturday I asked him if he was going to drive Curly to fiddle, since he wasn't working. 'Well, I was going to do some work in the basement today.' Game over. I ended up taking Curly to fiddle, so as not to interfere with potential progress in the basement bathroom. I mean hey, I want that thing finished too.
I had one of my horrible headaches off and on over the weekend. Yesterday it was really bad. I woke up this morning headache free. I slept plenty the last two nights, so I was surprised when I couldn't keep my eyes open this afternoon.
The stars aligned and all 4 babysitting charges slept at the same time. I dozed on the living room couch for almost an hour . . . which is why I was totally shocked when I couldn't keep my eyes open on my drive home from dancing. Instead of getting something done while I was home vs being parked outside of dancing, I fell back asleep on the living room couch FOR OVER AN HOUR.
When Coach left to get Curly, I hopped off the couch desperate to accomplish something. I wanted to super glue some ornaments and a mug handle that need to be packed in the Christmas bins before they get loaded into the crawlspace. Tank shot me in the back with a dart 'ball' (a new version of a dart gun) while I was leaning over my gluing project. I lost my focus and ended up with super glue ALL OVER MY FINGERTIPS.
|The culprit. A Nerf gun that |
shoots balls at high speed.
They pack a punch!
|See! I am now officially unidentifiable!|
I suppose now if I rob a bank or go on a Nerf gun shooting rampage to seek revenge on my son, they won't know it was me because I have clearly destroyed my original fingerprints. Anyone with advice for how to get this shit off my fingers? I tried nail polish remover. I was going to sort the Christmas lights properly, but decided to hold off. All I need is to have a string of Christmas lights permanently adhered to my hands . . . reminiscent of Chevy Chase's family when they struggle with sap while decorating the tree in 'Christmas Vacation.'