About Me

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Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Sunday, April 10, 2011

In which your intrepid heroine is rapidly and thoroughly humbled.

My child asks, “Did you write that last part [about the fishing] all tiny thinking that we wouldn’t notice it and start asking questions about when, where and with whom???”

When: shortly after my birthday; I am taking a few days off.
Where: on a lake, if it’s not windy; on the bank if it is.
With whom: the new guy, of course; he posted recently that nobody was getting a ring from him unless and until she had gone fishing with him at least once; I bought my fishing license the following payday.

Faith without works being dead, and all that.

Primary today was what we in the church call a learning experience, and what the rest of the world would call (a) pandemonium, (b) bedlam, (c) unmitigated disaster, or (d) all of the above.

First, it had been three weeks since I had seen them, one more reason to hate being sick.

Second, the room was not set up. Somebody had put eight tall, smallish tables in there, with miscellaneous chairs.

Third, there were more children than I had planned for.

Fourth, I didn’t remember the need for snacks until this morning, when I had an “Oh bleep, what am I going to feed them?” moment, which I solved by grabbing cheese sticks from the fridge.

Fifth, unlike 58-year-olds, four-year-olds do not like sharp cheese. And the cheese was a little warm, ergo slimy, and not easy for little fingers to extract from the shrink wrapping. Most of it got rolled on the table like play-dough and then chucked into the trash. [You know how I am about wasting food; that seriously ratcheted up my already zooming anxiety level.]

Thankfully, the Primary president sent reinforcements, and they and the bishopric will get me a team-teacher as soon as possible.

The Adversary would just love for me to feel permanently awful about this. However, I don’t have time for that. I took my friend home from church, nuked a Stouffer’s mac and cheese, and proceeded to enjoy every blessed bite, following that with a glass of milk and half of a Dagoba 59% chocolate bar infused with lavender and wild blueberries.

As I posted on FB, if I were still a drinking woman, today would be a day for it. But the carb-induced endorphins are starting to kick in, and I’m about ready for a good, long nap. And when I wake up again, I will get started on next week’s lesson, making sure that I have way more handouts than I think I might need. I’m printing them off my computer, not standing in line at the ward library, so I won’t be wasting the Lords resources, except in the sense that everything is already his anyway.

Stick a fork in me, honey, I’m done. Over and out.

3 comments:

Bonnie said...

Ugh, I'm sorry. Bless you for serving in primary. I love my children, but I don't like teaching other people's children.

Jenni said...

I like primary almost as mych as being in YW. My kids are bigger so they only gets treats once in a blue moon.

AlisonH said...

White bread. Remember tearing the crusts off when you were a kid and rolling the innards of the slice into a pleasing round hardened lump? And then eating it? Go for white bread next time, it's cheaper anyway.