When you wake up and your throat feels funny?
But you get up anyway, because that's what you do in the morning. And as you're waiting for your coffee to boil up in the stovetop cappuccino-maker, you remember that Little Gen was sick yesterday, and she is probably sleeping in because she still doesn't feel well.
But eventually she comes lumbering out in her red and white striped boxers.
"Can you make me some oatmeal?" she says pitifully.
And you want to say, "I'm sick, too," but you're always sick and it would just sound like you are trying to one-up her sad condition. So you make her some oatmeal. You even put butter and brown sugar on top, per her request.
Then your Mountain Guy
calls and you ask him to bring DayQuil and paper towels. The paper
towels are not because you anticipate any messes, but because you are
out of paper towels.
You should have been anticipating messes. When MG arrives, he kindly offers to make your treasured home remedy, hot ginger lemon honey water, but when he pours said concoction into a glass, the glass immediately cracks, crumbles, and hot ginger water flows across the counter and down the cupboards.
[It should here be noted that this is quite uncharacteristic for MG, who is quite expert at practical physics far beyond the ability of glass to sustain boiling water, and he would be mortified to think that you might unthinkingly attach this singular incident to his character profile.]
It is worth noting that MG himself has been suffering some sort of allergic reaction that's left his head and sinuses a bit murky. You offer to pour him a glass of the juice he brought, but you don't notice the huge crack in the glass you choose.
"That glass is leaking," Little Gen helpfully points out. You don't think to ask why it was cleaned and put back in the cupboard, but return to the kitchen to transfer the juice into a new one from your rapidly diminishing collection.
By 12 o' clock everyone is ready for a nap. MG leaves to run some errands, but before you and Little Gen can find safety under covers, she accidentally knocks a mug of mint tea over the vintage stereo cabinet. You start to wonder if the paper towels are a blessing or a curse.
You go to sleep before anyone can spill anything else.
When you wake up, it's time for vaulting class. You don't want to go, but you invited two new girl friends to come check it out and you don't want to let them down. This effort requires one grande whole milk two pump pumpkin spice latté from Starbucks before you go to pick them up. Try saying "two pump pumpkin spice" several times and even you will be sorry it's your favorite drink––especially when you go through the drive-through.
Nevertheless, latté in hand, you are on your way to class, friends in tow. You have two friends you didn't have last week. They are excited. Things are looking up.
Then you arrive and realize you always keep your vaulting shoes in the bag that you didn't bring. Your coach is not feeling well, either. And the only other person coming to actually vault went to the right address in the wrong county and won't be arriving for another forty-five minutes.
But you didn't get this far in life being a quitter. The show must go on...
You are helping to get the horse ready when your cell phone rings. It's MG's middle daughter calling to tell you that she thinks you should talk to her older sister. Older sister gets on the phone. She tells you that the boy that likes her threw her backpack on the ground at school. Of course he did, you think. How do you explain to a middle school girl that middle school boys are more like some alien life form than human? It's just best to watch them from some distance, you reflect; preferably in a hazmat suit.
When I was a child, my mom read me a story about a little boy called The Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day. I can relate, but it neglected to mention that those happen in adulthood as well. I wish I could blame it on the arm, but I'm pretty sure my own arm is ashamed of its association with me today.
Suffice to say, I am happy it's dark now, the day is over, and I'm home safely, no hot liquids within reach.
OneArmGirl
But you get up anyway, because that's what you do in the morning. And as you're waiting for your coffee to boil up in the stovetop cappuccino-maker, you remember that Little Gen was sick yesterday, and she is probably sleeping in because she still doesn't feel well.
But eventually she comes lumbering out in her red and white striped boxers.
"Can you make me some oatmeal?" she says pitifully.
And you want to say, "I'm sick, too," but you're always sick and it would just sound like you are trying to one-up her sad condition. So you make her some oatmeal. You even put butter and brown sugar on top, per her request.
You should have been anticipating messes. When MG arrives, he kindly offers to make your treasured home remedy, hot ginger lemon honey water, but when he pours said concoction into a glass, the glass immediately cracks, crumbles, and hot ginger water flows across the counter and down the cupboards.
[It should here be noted that this is quite uncharacteristic for MG, who is quite expert at practical physics far beyond the ability of glass to sustain boiling water, and he would be mortified to think that you might unthinkingly attach this singular incident to his character profile.]
It is worth noting that MG himself has been suffering some sort of allergic reaction that's left his head and sinuses a bit murky. You offer to pour him a glass of the juice he brought, but you don't notice the huge crack in the glass you choose.
"That glass is leaking," Little Gen helpfully points out. You don't think to ask why it was cleaned and put back in the cupboard, but return to the kitchen to transfer the juice into a new one from your rapidly diminishing collection.
By 12 o' clock everyone is ready for a nap. MG leaves to run some errands, but before you and Little Gen can find safety under covers, she accidentally knocks a mug of mint tea over the vintage stereo cabinet. You start to wonder if the paper towels are a blessing or a curse.
You go to sleep before anyone can spill anything else.
When you wake up, it's time for vaulting class. You don't want to go, but you invited two new girl friends to come check it out and you don't want to let them down. This effort requires one grande whole milk two pump pumpkin spice latté from Starbucks before you go to pick them up. Try saying "two pump pumpkin spice" several times and even you will be sorry it's your favorite drink––especially when you go through the drive-through.
Nevertheless, latté in hand, you are on your way to class, friends in tow. You have two friends you didn't have last week. They are excited. Things are looking up.
Then you arrive and realize you always keep your vaulting shoes in the bag that you didn't bring. Your coach is not feeling well, either. And the only other person coming to actually vault went to the right address in the wrong county and won't be arriving for another forty-five minutes.
But you didn't get this far in life being a quitter. The show must go on...
You are helping to get the horse ready when your cell phone rings. It's MG's middle daughter calling to tell you that she thinks you should talk to her older sister. Older sister gets on the phone. She tells you that the boy that likes her threw her backpack on the ground at school. Of course he did, you think. How do you explain to a middle school girl that middle school boys are more like some alien life form than human? It's just best to watch them from some distance, you reflect; preferably in a hazmat suit.
When I was a child, my mom read me a story about a little boy called The Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day. I can relate, but it neglected to mention that those happen in adulthood as well. I wish I could blame it on the arm, but I'm pretty sure my own arm is ashamed of its association with me today.
Suffice to say, I am happy it's dark now, the day is over, and I'm home safely, no hot liquids within reach.
OneArmGirl
I'm awfully sorry, but I laughed a wee bit-- not as much as usual, though!
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