If Only I Were a Better Liar

I got up early this morning to keep a date with Trainer Bob since I have a meeting later this afternoon and won’t be able to exercise at my normal time. I don’t know how you morning exercisers do it; for the first ten minutes I just wanted to crawl back in bed, pull the covers over my head and sleep. Eleven minutes into it, however, my determination was much improved and I can check daily exercise off my To Do list for the day.

Maybe early morning exercising is something I should give more though to. Maybe.

My meeting later today is with the President of the Baseball Association Board; apparently, as secretary, I am required to produce the official team rosters that our organization sends to the Babe Ruth headquarters. I know not how to do the rosters so; his help will be greatly appreciated. Now, if he can just talk me through the whole business of stirring the neon orange nacho cheese product for the concession stand, I’ll have this baseball thing down pat.

Prior to my meeting with the President, I have the misfortune of visiting the local hospital blood bank to make a deposit. I know, I know, I'm not good at this sort of thing but, when the lady from the bank called to request the pleasure of my company on her magical gurney; my brain did not work fast enough to formulate a plausible excuse for declining the invite. You can’t really blame me; she started the conversation by noting that the last three times they have called me, I have been ill and, was I feeling well today? Was I healthy? Hmmm? I was reluctant to claim illness once again for fear they whole hospital would start to think I’m terminal or something.

Although, that would get me off the list.

Anywaaay, at 2:00 this afternoon, I have a date with the blood bank’s version of Sweeny Todd. Should be fun. Or you know, not.

In far more entertaining news, while playing in her room this weekend, The Girl and Kaz unearthed The Girl’s long-abandoned collection of dolls. The Man-Cub, accepting a challenge from the girls, has been “caring” for one of the babies since Saturday. Since both girls are under the impression that the Cub will make an inattentive father some day, they have taken it upon themselves to get him on the straight and narrow while he is still young and trainable. I cannot say that I disagree with their train of thought and, for the record, the Cub is doing a stellar job with the “baby”.

He carries her around in her carrier, feeds her an occasional goldfish cracker bottle, changes her diaper (he does such a good job, you can barely even see the duct tape) and has only forgotten her outside overnight once. He says she sleeps better under the stars, anyway and, since he did spend the first six weeks of his life sleeping in his car seat on top of the dryer, who am I to judge?

Hugh is, understandably, less entertained by this project than I am but, to his credit, hasn’t mentioned his misgivings to the boy. He won’t let me post pictures of the unbearable cuteness that is the Man-Cub toting around a doll but, I respect the limits of his good humor.

And our future grandchildren will thank us all one day.