I Keep Reaching For My Drink...

...and it isn't there.

I'm not drinking in the sense that there is anything alcoholic in there, but maybe I should be. I've done three loads of laundry, taken out a jillion loads of trash (you would NOT believe what Squib can generate in a single weekend), ejected a giant box of chicks (HALLELUJAH!), and ironed my outfit for tomorrow. I keep reaching for my cherry Dr. Pepper and every time I do that it isn't there.

I'm trying to enforce consistency and all that rot. I always reach for it in it's usual spot on my blue and white tile table whereupon many drinks have been placed over the last years. So, where is the hiccup? It's possible my brain missed a step or two. Perhaps it erased a memory or two it thought to be insignificant.

Friday was to be the day I went to K Elementary to watch Squib throw his body on the fields of Field Day with all the verve of the runt of the litter chick. And thus he did. After last Monday's scary brush with leg breakage he certainly bounced back and had a great time. I didn't make it as I had to take the icky migraine meds and rendered myself unfit to drive heavy machinery. Buddy had too much to juggle so we had to wave off. Fortunately, Squid could go and all was right with the world. I have pics and will insert them once I transfer them from one device to another device to my email to here.

Because...my phone's LCD croaked. **sigh** If it's not one thing, then it truly is another. Or fifty others. Monday certainly was the Monday of all Mondays. HOLY SHEESH.  And there was much moaning and gnashing of teeth. Even the holy hot tub of wonderfulness could not wash away all these ills. I tried. It didn't work.

There isn't much to say about the week that I haven't covered already except that there is a lot of work cut out for teachers in this school system. Anyone teaching in this school system needs cajones the size of soccer balls. Due to the level of cheating, all assignments need to be done written or verbally. Do I want to do that? It's something to ponder. At length. I'm a good teacher, but are there good students? I argue yes. But then, I always argue yes.

As for the weekend, my entire purpose was basic R&R in addition to a return to normal things. However, I got sucked into some serious bed gravity a couple times and very nearly didn't make it out. Friday, Squib and I started watching The Odd Life of Timothy Green-very good movie-and had to finish it after our visit after we saw Beanstalk on Saturday.

Beanstalk was on a roll, as is usual. He waltzed in demanding "memouse" which is Fantasia. The original version. So, we started and got from Tocatta and Fugue which he directs and sings through Sorcerer's Apprentice which he mostly just directs. Then he demanded "Andre the SINGER!!!!" Andrea Bocceli's Sacred Aria's DVD has been a favorite for years, now. He sang along to Andrea until we went outside and then picked it up right after we came back in.

He was fiesty this weekend! He wanted cookies, of course. So I asked for him to use three words to ask me for a cookie. He was being a ham on vacation and strung me out. "Cookie..." "Pleeeeease..." "Mooooom...." The only thing he'd say all together was "Cookie, cookie, cookie?" He was so funny.

By Saturday night, Squib and I were laying around here like bumps on a pickle. We sacked out in plenty of time to get up and do our thing on Sunday morning, but at 6:45a, there was a heavy, thumping knock on the door and Buddy shoved two Sumatriptan shot packs through the door at me and said something about Ben. I blinked at least once. I went right back to bed and Squib asked, "who was that?" I said, "It was Buddy." And I promptly went back to sleep with a warm little Squib snuggled up to me. I dreamed about Sumatriptan shots, even.

Then the pounding again and a blearly-eyed Squib sat up asking indignantly, "What IS IT?"

It was 8:00am, that's what it was. Well....hell-o. Too late for me. Just enough time for Squiblet. Holy Mackerel we were slammed. When everyone came home, we ate, and went right on sleeping again like we were made to that one thing and that only. Maybe it's the lack of cheeping, pecking, and general mayhem from the other room? Will I be unable to get up in the a.m.?

Good Lord, I hope so.
Scat