Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Fat Tuesday

It was such a painful feeling in my head this morning when the alarm went off after a nyquil-infused night of sleep.  In a haze, I got the single-cup percolator going on our gas stove and tried to decide what the kids should eat when I had to wake them up in ten minutes.  Leftover 'cinnamon quick bread' made into french toast happened during the time I usually take a shower.  They dressed and ate while I showered, and I left the house thirty minutes later with very wet hair, all on a work day.

We listened to "Yellow Submarine" on the way to school.  My son gave an early valentines gift of an old cell phone wrapped in pink construction paper to the cute blond girl in his class, and I realized as she sat on my right during 'book look' that she had bad breath.  She sure is cute though.  My son let her pick out the book each time.

My Liberian friend and I talked about our colds in the car on the way to work.  It was a boring conversation.  Work happened in a flurry.  A Kenyan Americorps volunteer donated a huge box of yarn to my program for our knitting group.  A kitchen worker ticked me off for showing disrespect to an elder, and I was on the phone with her boss an hour later to talk about the need for cultural sensitivity training. 

My husband is sick, sick, sick so I rushed to gather my chickadees from school.  A group of eight or nine little kids kept dog piling a big kid at the bottom of the slide.  He didn't seem to mind, so I never intervened.  I talked for a long time with one of my favorite first-grade mothers and told her son that he looked like a senator in his black wool coat.  I noticed for the first time that he mispronounces his 'r's.  "Mom, I want to go cause it's waining."

My daughter worked on a homework page of counting up coins until she got it right, after five tries.  I made roasted vegetable cheddar soup from yesterday's leftovers, which we ate in a rush to get to the house of the pastor's mother-in-law for my training for working with the kids at church.  My own kids were stellar during the training, writing on a white board, reading the books they'd brought, eating apples and whispering quietly the whole time.  I was proud. 

Stop by the hoity toity grocery store to see about buying half of a Fat Tuesday king cake, which they were willing to do only grudgingly even though it was 7:30pm on the evening of Mardis Gras, and that stack of expensive cakes were going to end up thrown out in four hours time.  We had samples and left without buying one.  They weren't that good anyway, definitely not worth $17.

On days like today when I don't sit down at all until after 8pm, it's hard to write posts highlighting one moment.  Not that any of these above are that remarkable.  It was just a normal, busy Tuesday.  Now I'm going to finish the last half hour of Downton Abbey and drink wine (which I'm giving up for lent!).

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