The Taming of the Shrew
Otherwise known as How I Beat the Thursday Scheduling Beast. In the end, it was quite simple, I just prioritized; the Man-Cub will skip the fundraiser with the Cub Scouts and will instead attend All-star practice. He will do so with the understanding that he will be required to work an extra shift at the next fundraiser, taking place the first weekend in August.
Hugh’s softball game was rescheduled for later in the evening on Thursday, making it possible for him to take the Cub to practice and to coach the team before heading out to his game. Since Hugh will have the Cub under control, and The Girl is going to accompany Jana and the kids to their Tee Ball game; I will be free to head into town for my scheduled shift at the fundraiser, finishing there just in time to head back home and start the ice cream machine going for Porch Night which will take place just slightly later than usual.
What? You didn’t think I was giving up Porch Night did you? Priorities, people.
Speaking of priorities, I really need to weed my garden. Oh, I’m not going to do it anytime soon, I’m just saying, it needs it. I did manage to cut my lettuce this morning, however; I cut enough to fill six gallon-sized Ziploc baggies, the majority of which I plan to foist off on my unsuspecting employees. As an aside, the fact that I was able to get quite so much lettuce out of the garden tells me that I should probably cut it more often. Also, that people at work are going to start running when they see me coming with baggies in hand.
Speaking of baggies (kind of), The Girl has already packed her suitcase for our trip to Mayberry. You are probably impressed with her maturity and attention to responsibility, right? I mean, how many twelve-year-olds do you know who organize a week’s worth of outfits, complete with matching accessories and shoes, and then packs them, just so? Not many, I’m guessing. She also packed books, movies on DVDs and games from her Approved List, as dictated by her Babysitters Handbook since she will be watching my nephew for a couple of nights while I corrupt his parents with drinking and debauchery and she wrote out a detailed list of items that she needs me to purchase for her overnight bag before we leave. She is more prepared than a Girl Scout. On acid.
Of course, when you factor in to the equation, the fact that we don’t actually leave for Mayberry until July 22 and, thus, that suitcase will sit fully packed for the next thirteen days; the assumed maturity tends to look more like, oh I don’t know, obsessive, perhaps?
I have no idea where she gets it from.
Now, I have to go hose down the front porch and make sure that I have the necessary ingredients for homemade ice cream, I have company coming over in just thirty-six hours, you know.
Yeah, no idea where she gets it from.