“Man up”? Don’t you mean “ma’am up”?

I have embraced technology so often and with such enthusiasm that I’m sure there are at least one or two of its love-children lurking about under the sofa [i.e., don’t you take that tone of font with me, missy]!

We don’t get blessed if we whine about having done something good unto others, right? I did a whole lot of something yesterday after church, and I was happy to do so, but my happiness-to-do-so was tempered with my wishing-to-be-at-home-in-bedness and my wanting-to-eatness. Thankfully, I was able to complete the something to my satisfaction [if not entirely to the other person’s] and get home to my own sweet house before the combination of weariness and low blood sugar resulted in anything for which I would need to apologize.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

In between two parts of the something, I was able to sit in Bishop’s office and get home-taught, or as near as it is going to happen this month. It was nice to be able to say this part of my life is working well and that part of my life is working reasonably well and I am more or less on track with what I want to accomplish financially, and nobody’s pregnant or on drugs [although one of my kids is on some heavy meds at the moment] and basically I’m about as happy as if I had good sense.

Well, except for the part where I started sobbing during and after the closing hymn at the fireside last night. “God Be With You Till We Meet Again” and I have a long and checquered past. That was the closing hymn at the last sacrament meeting the children’s father attended before heading down to BYU (and shortly before proposing to me, in a penciled letter on green graph paper). It has been the featured hymn at the funerals of far too many friends. For a long time I was able to trick my tear ducts by singing the alto line. Alas, I now know that part too well for it to succeed as a distraction.

Ordinarily, I just tear-up a little and sign my way through it with no one the wiser. But I was tired when I woke up yesterday, tired at church all day, tired during the something that afternoon, no nap for the weary, and no time to myself (to regroup) since mid-afternoon on Friday. So really, I had been neatly set up by circumstances, and my hands flew up to sign with the first four notes of the prelude.

Poor new guy. He just sat there patting my arm. I was torn between diving headfirst into his shirtfront, and diving forward as far as the girls and my tummy would let me until I was cried-out.

Three brownie bites and a fortune cookie took care of it pretty well. I later discussed it with him via chat, and he said that’s what shoulders and shirtfronts are for. He figured it was something inspired that the speaker had said in his closing remarks. Well, maybe. But mostly it was That Hymn.

So, I thought I was charging the phone while I was at the fireside. Apparently I was wrong. Right now I do not want to embrace technology. I want to kick its prissy little rump up between its shoulders and frog-march it out the front door.

Work: it’s the new vacation.