Wednesday, November 30, 2011

So, I heard there's this thing called Black Friday.

I'm still trying to figure out if I survived Thanksgiving Weekend.

In addition to rocking out an awesome full basement clean out, I also managed to singlehandedly consume an entire pumpkin pie, wrangle a toddler's constantly disappearing diaper and a teen's radically erupting hormones. I'm pretty sure there was a third child in the mix somewhere but for the life of me I can't picture how she fit into the weekend. For all I know she spent the entire four days in her room playing video games.

While at my parent's house for Thanksgiving Dinner, Big V was educated on this little event referred to as Black Friday. The man had never heard of it. But there was my dad, waving a Best Buy flyer announcing a 42" television set for only $200!

Why, we must get this TV!

You're on your own, buddy. I don't like shopping. And I don't like people. And I definitely don't like shopping where there are people.

But it's only two hundred dollars! You're never going to find a deal like this!

And you aren't either because there are only ten sets in the store and people have been camping out in front of the store for two days already waiting for those deals. They'll be gone in three minutes.

Oh, ye of little faith...

It was at that moment decided Big V would attend his first ever Black Friday event. Solo. Because there was no way I was going out in the freezing cold just to stand amongst people. And then be forced into friendly banter because Big V always gives me the hairy eyeball when I'm around strangers who try to talk to me. I don't know you! Why are you talking to me?!

Around 8pm I looked at him and said, "you'd better hurry." But he said the doors don't open until midnight. (He's so cute.)

Around 9pm I looked at him and said, "you'd better hurry." But he reminded me that he had three full hours before the deals began. (He's so innocent.)

Around 10pm I looked at him and said, "you'd better hurry." But he cocked his head to the side and asked what he should do should he arrive two hours before the store opened. (He's so wrong.)

Around 11pm I looked at him and said, "you'd better hurry." And he finally left. (Just to shut me up.)

During his fifteen minute drive he called with the following report: "There's not one car on the road! Not one! No one is out right now! No one!" That's because they're already parked, waiting at the store.

His next report came in upon his arrival at the strip mall: "OHMYGAWD! THERE'S PEOPLE EVERYWHERE! There's no place to park AT ALL! WHAT ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE DOING HERE?!" Welcome to Black Friday, honey.

After waiting two hours only to learn the prized television sets had been sold three minutes after opening, Big V announced that he's never going to waste his time at a Black Friday ever again.

And then my sister introduced me to this little thing called Cyber Monday.... my results were much, much better.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Supervising Santa

I suppose the reason Santa Claus hates parents so much (and therefore is committed to making our lives complicated and miserable) is because he couldn't have kids of his own. And then Mrs. Claus was all why don't we just take some elves in; they're cute and small - they'll be our forever children. And Santa probably agreed because he assumed if he threw Mrs. Claus an elf or two, Mrs. Claus would throw a bone back at the big guy, if you catch my drift. Everyone knows infertility struggles can cause a tremendous uh, dry spell, between couples and he probably figured if she were happy then he'd be happy.

But then, like some kind of out of control kitten hoarder, Mrs. Claus couldn't stop at just one elf. Or two. Oh, no - she needed hundreds! Thousands, even! And Santa was all what the hell am I supposed to do with all these elves? And Mrs. Claus was all I have a splendid idea! You can take them out to your workshop and they can help you! 

Well, as a parent you know what it's like spending a few hours with a whining midget. No fun at all. And here was Santa, surrounded by scores of them. It was like the preschool that never ends. Day in. Day out. Why do I have to make the jack-in-the-boxes? I always have to make the jack-in-the-boxes. And that's my hammer! HEY! Tony took my hammmmeeerrrrrrrr! And what a stupid waste of time mounting fake singing trout on a piece of wood. They look dumb. No one's going to want them.

Any normal person would lose their flipping mind listening to that nonsense. But Santa knows better. If he loses his mind, Mrs. Claus leaves him and then who's going to want to hook up with an overweight geezer who only goes out once a year? Besides, Mrs. Claus feeds him pretty dang well and always has his clothes washed and ready to go. Plus she's putting out twice a week because she's inside the warm house by herself all day humming holiday music and whipping up batches of gingerbread and hot cocoa. Santa isn't ruining that for nothing.
So he takes his anger and frustrations out on us. The parents. The ones that can have children and lead a (in his mind only) normal life.

He's jealous.

And so he messes with us.

"I come in through the chimney," he explains to a frightened kid who's now paranoid that Santa is going to skip his house because we don't have a freaking chimney, Mom!

"Oh, well, he can also come through our front door."

Which leads to but how can he if the door is locked, Mom!

"Oh, I'll unlock it after you go to bed."

Which leads to but you told Dad that we always have to lock the doors ever since the creepy college kid next door got drunk and accidently walked into Mrs. McKloskey's house and peed in her desk drawer thinking it was a toilet!

"Well, I'll just hide a key outside."

Which leads to but how will Santa know where you hid it?

"Well, I'll just write him a letter explaining where it is."

Which leads to but Christmas is only two days away! There's no way he'll get the letter in time!

"I'll send him an email? Okay? Is that good enough for you? I'll send Santa an email and I'll tell him where the key is hidden and I'll also tell him how you badgered me for twenty minutes about how could he possibly get into our house since we don't have a chimney and he'll probably be really disappointed in the fact that you're trying to ruin the magic of Christmas. Will that satisfy you? An email? Good. Can we move on to other things now? Like the fact that your shoes are still sitting in the middle of the living room floor? Bet Santa won't like that either, will he?"

And then there's the whole why does Santa wrap our presents but at Susie's house the presents aren't wrapped and they can just play with the presents when they get up?

"Because at our house, Santa Gifts are the best ones and we save the best for last! If you opened the Santa Gifts up first you'll be incredibly let down by the packages of socks and underwear you'll be getting from Mom and Dad. This way, if you wait until all the other presents are opened, you'll end on a happy note."

And also the I told the class that I can't wait to wake up early and find my stocking that Santa hid but Santa doesn't hide any of their stockings. Why would Santa hide our stockings and not theirs?

"Because those parents are early risers so they don't mind jumping right into the action but Santa likes to help out the parents who don't like getting up at godforsaken times before the sun actually emerges and so he does this thing where he hides the stockings and that way when kids get up ridiculously early they can quietly hunt for their stockings while making sure not to wake up their Moms and Dads. And then when ALL the stockings are found, then - and only then - can you go to your parent's bedroom door and wake them up." (And if Santa happens to hide one of those loot filled socks under Mommy's pillow stretching the actual search time into several hours that's okay, too.)

And might I suggest that if Santa does in fact leave wrapped gifts under your tree you might ask him to please leave the remainder of the wrapping paper roll, should there be any left and you happen to be the last stop of the night, that way it won't get wasted? And then you might be able to use that exact same wrapping paper the following year without scrutiny? Yes, that's an excellent idea. Trust me.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

But we can't drop the baby off at the Humane Society.

Last night, as with the previous 1,040 weekday evenings, I arrived home well after everyone else did with only a six minute allowance to urinate, grab something to eat and re-establish an effective antiperspirant barrier to both pits before heading out to drop Dotter off at swim practice and arrive safely at theatre practice.

[Side note: this year's holiday show is dinner theatre at the beautiful Lake Lawn Resort and includes a riveting solo by me. The girl who doesn't sing. Except for that one time when I played an angry - and very intoxicated - Mrs. Hannigan during a review. Here's a hint: my solo involves bowling terminology and a hippopotamus. I'll be signing autographs and taking pictures after the show.]

Anyway, such is my reality that I walk, no, race into the house in the hopes of emptying my bladder sooner rather than later, only to be bombarded with noise. Lots and lots of noise. If you know the adult me you'd know that one of my most common sayings is quit making noise for the sake of making noise! I like quiet. Peaceful. Calm.

Of course, those of you who knew me in my youth are snickering and saying something along the lines of I remember your mother complaining that just listening to you talk made her tired. To you I say, that was then, this is now, and yes, I am completely aware that Karma hates me.

Big V was attempting to change Cletus's diaper. Cletus, a rambunctious 2-year old who figured out about 18 months ago that he doesn't have to listen to Dad, is screaming at the top of his lungs No Addy! while systematically batting Big V's hands away. The Teen Bean is tired of listening to the screaming and the pleading and the fighting and the begging that she has turned the television up to decibels that would allow Helen Keller a chance to enjoy truTV present World's Dumbest Partiers. Added to the mix is an anxious and worried Dotter, afraid she'll be late, who keeps yelling out the time rapid-fire-burst style like she's suddenly developed tourette's.

Of course I go over to the changing table. ... like Russian roulette; it's only a matter of time before my head explodes....

Cletus! Cletus! You have to get your butt changed. Do you want to play with the Nintendo?


"Don't bribe him. Just tell him he needs to lay there."

Here. Here's my phone. See if you can get it to play music!


"The last time he had your phone we were charged $49 in apps."

Dotter wails: WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!!

I run to the bathroom to pee, come out and lo and behold! There's Cletus laying nicely on the changing table, munching on some fruit snacks while Dad changes his diaper.

"You rewarded his temper tantrum with fruit snacks?"

It's the only way I could get him to stay still.

Feeling the pressure building in my brain I decide to exit the situation and run away. Far, far away. Which would have been a great plan had Dotter not forgotten her swim goggles. That meant I had to turn around and go back.

Thinking I was keeping one step ahead of the game I called Big V and asked if he could see the swim goggles on the kitchen counter.

Yeah, they're right here. But Cletus is playing with them.

"I'm almost in the drive. Can you run them out to me?"

Well, he's going to cry if I take them away.

"That's fine. Dotter needs them for practice."

And that's when I pulled into the driveway and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I'm not stupid. Of course I know what he's doing. He wants me to go in there and be the bad guy.

Not happening.

Not doing it.

Still waiting.

Still waiting....

Oh, for the love of -----

But just when I had given up hope the door opened, and there appeared in the glow of the light, a man.

A man holding a toddler...

a toddler that was holding a pair of swim goggles.

Really? Really?

And slowly the man holding the toddler who was holding the swim goggles walked towards my car. Where, without saying a word, I unrolled my window, snatched those goggles out of the toddler's pudgy hands and left the wailing child in his father's arms while I drove away.

You all remember The Satanic Dog, right? And how well Big V exhibited the signs of being the Alpha Male? I'm calling it right now: we are in so much trouble.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Thankfully, Date Night Made Me Think Twice About Killing Big V

Next time Big V is on my shit list I'm going to have to search out where American Folklore Theatre is performing because dat der Guys & Does show was a hoot!

Twelve seconds into opening the crowd was hootin' & hollerin'! I can't even begin to describe it, except to say it was the strangest most hysterical theatre experience I'd ever been to. A lot of people in the crowd came dressed in their camo and hunting orange so that should have been a tip off right there that I was about to experience something unique. I mean: hunting groupies?! Awesome!

The basic premise was a man who had offered to take his young adult daughter's new boyfriend hunting with him for the weekend. While the dad was your typical hunter, the boyfriend was anything but. I thought I'd pass out from laughing when he whipped out his knitting.

When you're laughing that much you can't help but forget why you were mad in the first place. Half the time I was clutching my ribs from laughing so hard.

What's the difference between deer nuts and beer nuts?
Beer nuts are a dollar fifty... deer nuts are under a buck.

Intermission was lengthy. Twenty minutes. And we were sitting in the middle of the row... where you hope the people to the left or right of you move on out so you don't have to crawl over their laps. They didn't move. So we didn't move. But I wish we had - and next time I'm totally hiking across people because Young Auditorium totally serves alcohol.

I thought the second act had some slow parts in it, but overall it was just as funny as the first act. Also, the lady sitting next to me was hysterical. She kept muttering, which normally drives me nuts, but she was funny so I kind of wanted to hear what she had to say.

After the show we high tailed it over to Randy's Restaurant and Fun Hunter's Brewery where I chose a pork chop which was as big as my head. It was awesome.

Overall Score:
Most. Perfect. Date Night. Ever.
(Right under the one where I thought Big V and I were just going to a Badger Basketball game and he ended up proposing to me at half court during half time.)

Friday, November 11, 2011

oooo.... you're in TROUBLE!

Tonight is Date Night. The one in which we go to the theatre to watch a musical about deer camp. Except I want to trade in my date. Because right now Big V is irritating me in a major way. Like, in an I'm about to spear your eyeball with this fork if you even utter one more word kind of way.

It started last night when I entered our home after a long day at the office only to find several able-bodied people plopped in various comfortable positions around my living room. They called it relaxing.

The Bean had a long day at school (that ended at 2:30pm).
Dotter had a long day at her school (that ended at 3:00pm).
And Big V had a long day at work (that ended at 4:00pm).

I walked in from my long day at the office at 6:00pm.

All three turned their pathetic heads towards my direction and one of them - the biggest one, also referred to as the Role Model, actually voiced the words out loud - so that I could hear them: what are you making for dinner?

Well, that pretty much sealed his fate for the upcoming two weeks.

Except now I have to go out in public with him. And be in the company of witnesses.

Wish him luck.

Veterans Day

The following words aren't mine. In fact, they've been around so long people may have read it a time or two before, but on this great day I suspect it bears honor to read it again. I wish I knew who wrote it but I think he or she would rather each and every one of us personally thank a veteran for their service rather thank them for writing these words.

Some veterans bear visible signs of their service: a missing limb, a Jagged scar, a certain look in the eye.

Others may carry the evidence inside them: a pin holding a bone together, A piece of shrapnel in the leg or perhaps another sort of inner steel: The soul's ally forged in the refinery of adversity.

Except in parades, however, the men and women who have kept America safe Wear no badge or emblem. You can't tell a vet just by looking.

What is a vet?

He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel carriers didn't run out of fuel.

He is the barroom loudmouth, dumber than five wooden planks, whose overgrown frat-boy behavior is outweighed a hundred times in the cosmic scales by four hours of exquisite bravery near the 38th parallel.

She or he is the nurse who fought against futility and went to sleep sobbing every night for two solid years in Danang.

He is the POW who went away one person and came back another or didn't come back AT ALL.

He is the Quantico drill instructor who has never seen combat but has saved countless lives by turning slouchy, no-account rednecks and gang members into Marines, and teaching them to watch each other's backs.

He is the parade riding Legionnaire who pins on his ribbons and medals with a prosthetic hand.

He is the career quartermaster who watches the ribbons and medals pass him by.

He is the three anonymous heroes in The Tomb Of The Unknowns, whose presence at the Arlington National Cemetery must forever preserve the memory of all the anonymous heroes whose valor remains unrecognized with them on the battlefield or in the ocean's sunless deep.

He is the old guy bagging groceries at the supermarket, aggravatingly slow, who helped liberate a Nazi death camp and who wishes all day long that his wife were still alive to hold him when the nightmares come.

He is an ordinary and yet an extraordinary human being a person who offered some of his life's most vital years in the service of his country, and who sacrificed his ambitions so others would not have to sacrifice theirs.

He is a Soldier, Marine, Sailor or Airman, and also a savior and a sword against the darkness, and he is nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on behalf of the finest, greatest nation ever known.

So remember each time you see someone who has served our country. When you see one just lean over and say Thank You.

That's all most people need, and in most cases it will mean more than any medals they could have been awarded or were awarded.

Two little words that mean a lot, "THANK YOU".

Tec 4 Gerald J. Sterken
HQ Co., 192 Tank Battalian

Born: 30 March 1918 - Richland, Iowa

Parents: Gerrit & Catherine Sterken
Siblings: 2 brothers, 1 sister
Hometown: Avalon, Wisconsin

Enlisted: Wisconsin National Guard
Inducted:  U. S. Army , 25 November 1940 - Janesville, Wisconisn

Duties: mechanic

Overseas Duty: Philippine Islands

Battle of Bataan

Prisoner of War:
9 April 1942
The date of surrender on Bataan.

The Death March Followed.

POW Camps:
Philippine Islands: Camp O'Donnell and Cabanatuan

Friday, 24 July 1942 -dysentery & malaria

Approximate time of death - 11:30 PM

For more information of the Men of the 192nd click here.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Frank Breneisen Pottery

There is a potter located in a quaint little village by the lake.

His name is Frank Breneisen.

I am in love with his pottery. 

He also travels to faraway lands.

All by himself, carrying only a single backpack.

And he sketches what he sees in journals.

He is nothing short of amazing. 

Monday, November 7, 2011

Planning for the Future

I just realized if I go blind I'm totally screwed because I don't trust dogs. Or monkeys. And there just aren't a whole lot of helpful seeing eye cats available. I once heard about someone using a miniature pony to help them get around but we all know how I feel about horse teeth. That is so not happening.

I'd rather go deaf. Mostly because I am experienced at exaggerated facial expressions which makes me confident that I could still get my various points across. Also, my primary form of communication happens to be Facebook and ridiculously lengthy text messages so that wouldn't change a bit. And everyone knows I don't talk to people out in public because I'm freakishly convinced of Stranger Danger to the they're-going-to-duct-tape-me-and-hide-me-in-the-trunk-of-their-car degree.

Not to mention, with the amount of whining and complaining that goes on in my house, a little bit of peace and quiet would be well deserved. But that got me thinking:

If I do go deaf, how long will I be able to sustain the (usually foreign accented) voices that conversate in my head? Do I have enough years of listening and talking to keep that going? Or will the sound I hear in the silence of my mind eventually be, well, silenced?

Because I think I could keep myself entertained pretty well if it was just me listening to the nonsense I come up with. Either that or I need to hurry up and get all this nonsense written down before I lose access to it.

On a completely separate note, if I end up in a nursing home when I'm old, unable to communicate, please do not let anyone put a dog on my lap. I won't mind them if they stay standing on the floor while I'm in my wheelchair but I promise to lose my mind (and probably all bladder control) if you put that thing in my lap. You never know when they're going to turn on you and rip your face off. Don't judge me; it's my irrational fear, not yours. Also, respect the elderly.

Cats are okay. Especially gray cats. Or grey cats. I've never really understood what the difference between gray and grey is and I'm far too lazy to google it. Someone find out and let me know if it's interesting.

But no birds. At all. Absolutely no birds around me ever. Not even in a cage in the building.  I swear, you watch one Alfred Hitchcock movie and live the rest of your life completely freaked at the possibility of avian violence.

Darn you, Manwich, for not speaking to the masses!

I left Big V alone with the children.

Which meant the house was clean, the pantry was stocked, the toddler had just drifted off to sleep, the teenager was taking her 4th nap of the day and the 10-year old was in the car heading out with me.

All he needed to do was sit on the couch and ensure the safe escape of two children should the house spontaneously burst into flames.

And also he needed to make dinner.

"The frying pan is already on the stove," I said, pointing to the pan sitting on the stove.

"The can of Manwich is already next to the stove on the counter," I continued, pointing to the can of Manwich sitting on the counter next to the stove.

"As are the buns." I pointed to the buns.

"All you need to do is get the hamburger out of the fridge and fry it in the pan. Then, drain the grease. Put the Manwich in. Heat it up for a few minutes and it'll be ready to eat."

Big V looked at the stove. "So, I just fry the hamburger? Drain the grease? Put the Manwich in and cook it?"

"Yep. Fry the hamburger. Drain the grease. Put the Manwich in. Stir it all together and let it cook for a bit."

"How long do I cook it?"

"Uh... I don't know. You'll have to read the can. The directions are on there. I'm late - but just read the directions."

Fast Forward two hours....

I'm sitting in the middle of a rehearsal. People are singing. I'm supposed to be singing. But I have six missed calls from Big V and another one coming in... someone must be hurt. Maybe Cletus fell down the basement steps; dammit! I've told them to make sure that door is closed! What if he broke his neck? What if he has brain damage? Ohmygod - what if he got strangled in the window blinds? That's why I tell them not to lift the blinds all the way up - the cord gets too long and drags on the floor and he likes to pull on it and what if it got twisted around his little neck and I need to take this call!


"These are the stupidest directions ever!"

"Is Cletus okay? Is he hurt? Can he breathe?!"

"It doesn't tell you anything!"

"Are you at the hopsital? Which hospital?!"

"All it says is 'heat through' - it doesn't give you a time frame or anything!"

"Do you hear that music in the background? That's me not singing at my rehearsal."

"I fried up the meat then drained the grease - which was a pain because I couldn't find a bowl big enough --"


"You know, to catch the grease. I found the strainer but I couldn't just let the grease go down the drain and all the bowls in the kitchen were too small. I finally found one big enough to rest the strainer on - in that fancy cabinet in the living room with all that pottery in there that you collect."

"You poured hamburger fat in a one of a kind Frank Breneisen?"

"Who's Frank?"

"The man's pottery I collect. Which happens to be the only thing I collect. Which I happen to love more than life itself. Which you happened to use to put grease in."

"I thought you loved me more than life itself."

"At this moment, not so much."

"Anyway. These directions are stupid. After I drained the grease I read the directions and it just says heat through. That's it! Heat through. What is that supposed to mean? There's no temperature, no time limit. Am I supposed to cook it for ten minutes? Twenty? In the oven? On the stove? Whoever wrote these directions didn't do a very good job."

"Why don't you just put it on the stove and turn it on low and cook it until it's warm enough for you to eat. You know, until it's heated through enough to be an enjoyable meal?"

"How long is that going to take?"

"Turn the knob to number 3 and set the timer to eight minutes."

"Well, why didn't they just say that on the label?"

Friday, November 4, 2011

Guys & Does: The Perfect Date Night

Next Friday Big V and I are venturing out into public not only with each other - but with good friends of ours (we really want them to be our "IT" couple... you know, the go-to couple: for dinner and drinks and vacations in Belize when they win the lottery and become filthy rich). We're heading to (my favorite place) The Young Auditorium

Now, before you go and jump to conclusions about how boring it's going to be for the guys to spend an evening at the theatre... We are going to a deer hunting musical. THAT'S RIGHT! A show about hunting up north in Wisconsin! Complete with song and dance!

Considering one of the first questions a girl in Wisconsin asks a potential suitor is, "Do you hunt?" (which is translated roughly to "will you abandon me for weeks on end in the winter months leaving me to deal with the high-strung, house-bound children all alone while you're guzzling beer by the cases and laughing about farts with your buddies?")

Here's the write up:

American Folklore Theatre of Door County, WI is touring this wacky and wonderful excursion into the world of Wisconsin deer-hunting! It's a show that appeals to hunters, non-hunters, the wives who stay home while their husbands make the annual trek to the north woods (wink, wink, nudge, nudge on the stay at home part ladies!)

The hunter is celebrated once again in Guys & Does. You’ll meet Fritz Dingleheimer, burned-out mill-worker and wise hunter ready for his annual respite “up nort’.” You’ll also experience the hunt through the eyes of Bambi-loving non-hunter, Duane Puddles. Adding another take on hunting is Joe Jimmy Ray Bob Johnson III, a swaggering Texan whose quest for rare game is not quite so noble. And providing a rarely heard point-of-view on the matter is Staghart of the Golden Horns, an ancient, talking white deer. Guys & Does explores the hunt for deer, as well as the other things we all hunt for: validation, job satisfaction, significance, love and the perfect Christmas gift for your spouse.

Join the boys Up Nort' to find out what really happens in deer camp!

I figure it'll be an all around win: I get a "real date," the guys get up north deer humor and my mom gets to deal with my children while we're out.

But that's next Friday. This Friday I'll be home cleaning the toilet. And doing laundry. And vacuuming the floors. And doing the dishes...

Guys & Does tickets for Friday, November 11, 2011 at 7:30pm available by contacting the
Young Auditorium online or by calling (262) 472-2222.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Turn that frown upside down!

It is really important to support those you care about. I know this. And I try. Honestly. I do. I give it my all. Like, when my sister called me:

I need to vent to someone!

Well, considering I owe you something like six thousand four hundred eighty seven vent-backs, go ahead.

The other day -

The other day?

 - the other day -

I met a bear?

I met a bear?

The other day I met a bear.... The other day I met a bear -- bahdum-de-dum-dum! Dum!

Don't judge me. She sang along.

In fact, she then forgot what she wanted to vent about because we were busy trying to figure out the actual lyrics. That's what I call a Support Success.

That guy was right; everything I need to know I did learn in kindergarten.

Now I can't get that stupid song out of my head.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

What are YOUR plans tonight?

Big V is working late.
I work until 5:00 pm. Then...
Pick up Cletus the Used to be Fetus.
The Teen Bean has driver's observation scheduled from 5-7.
Dotter has swim from 6-7.
I have a meeting at 6.
I also have Bible Study from 6:30-8:30.
The one that's teaching me not to complain.
Skip Bible Study.
Ask Grammy (aka: my poor mother) to pick up the Bean from our house and deliver her to driver's ed.
Remember that she already has Dotter from picking that kid up after school at 3pm.
After picking up Cletus, drive to Gram's & drop Cletus off with her and pick Dotter up.
Drop Dotter off at pool by 5:45pm.
Remember to tell her to wait for her sister after practice.
Remember to tell her sister to go to the pool after driver's ed.
Get to my meeting by 6.
Ask Grammy (aka: my poor mother) to pick up girls from pool at 7pm.
After which she can drop all three - Cletus, Dotter & the Bean, off at home.
Pray to God Big V is home by then.
After my meeting, and confirming Big V successfully made it home to handle the children, high tail it over to my friend G's house for a much needed, much overdue coffee session with my girlfriends.
Take in deep breath and slowly let it out realizing I actually survived yet another Evening Appointment Symphony.

The One in which I take my Father for his Covid Vaccine

I got a voicemail the other day from the hospital saying ‘since you’re the contact on record we just want you to know your Dad can get a Cov...