It Purports To Be A Glorious Day

Here in the Singer household we are All About the Excitement Value for Your Blogging Dollar. That's why it makes such good sense to visit here. Where else can you get the daily scoop on what matters most?

OK, other than those gazillion other blogs out there, I mean?

So, in an ever increasing effort to keep you informed of the miniscule events of my day-to-day life, let me inform you of this:

Today will not be a stellar day.

Oh, it started out just fine. I got up early and determined to make my world-famous blueberry muffins out of the Betty Crocker box for breakfast. I pre-heated the oven, sprayed down the pan, mixed up the batter, filled the pan, turned around to open the oven door to put the pan in the oven, and...

...ran the pan into the chair at the kitchen table and dumped the whole thing.

On the floor.

Upside down.

Oh yes.

Yes MA'AM.

So I did what any sane woman with a Great Spritual Background would do.

I uttered an expletive. Loud, long, and with great gusto. With special emphasis on a certain consonant combination used to silence people in the library, and an extra- special punch on the second syllable of what should have been a one-syllable word used to describe what comes out of the south end of a northbound baby.

It was not a proud moment in the Singer household.

And then, leaving the mess on the floor, I made scrambled eggs for The Girl. Who promptly began to complain, because after all, she WANTED BLUEBERRY MUFFINS, and WHY DID I HAVE TO SPILL ALL THE BLUEBERRY GOODNESS ON THE LINOLEUM WHEN I *KNEW* SHE WANTED THEM MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF??? And then, as we were having this important dialog, she suddenly remembered she hadn't made her lunch for school.

Now, being the Kind, Understanding Sort y'all know I am, I had to fight my inner goodness - but only because it was most important that I let out the dog, feed her, clean up the mess, make breakfast for The Boy, and oh yes, GET READY FOR WORK MYSELF. I told her to make her own lunch.

And the world as we know it came to a screeching halt.

And by screeching, I mean that The Girl started in with it. And screeched for a solid five minutes about how she was going to be late and it was all my fault and she wasn't about to put all the sandwich stuff away because she didn't have time and what on earth was *I* going to do but stand around while she did ALL THE WORK and she just couldn't BELIEVE I would put her in such a position.

Oh yes, the day was getting better and better.

So I ignored her and went about my tasks. She actually did make her lunch, finish her breakfast, brush her teeth, put on her face and perform voodoo rituals on her hair that no known soul could fathom before putting the sandwich fixins away. Because after all, she would be suffering the fate worse than death if she didn't.

There would be NO driving lesson after school.

She slammed out the door with me calling "I love you...have a good day!" in a bright and cheery mom-voice after her.

She hates that.

And I grinned as I did it. I couldn't help it.

And then....and THEN...

I made the SECOND batch of blueberry muffins of the day (we are nothing in the Singer household if not prepared for disaster, since we suffer it so often and with such great aplomb). The Boy was aroused and he went downstairs to eat while I got ready for work.

His father came in from work. He nagged. He pushed. He pleaded. And still the Boy Child sat and ate and watched ants, and played with various and sundry items which should have been thrown out in the trash on Monday, but which he "saved" from that plight because they were "useful."

Ahem.

And then the gates of hell broke forth.

My husband, the sweet, kind, ever-patient man that he is, was through. He told The Boy that if he missed the bus he was WALKING to school, and he emphasized it with a couple of swats on the behind.

Of a thirteen-year-old.

Such is our frustration with this child at times. We do things that will garner laughter from our children at the most trying of times, knowing not what else to do. It was to my son's credit that he kept a straight face.

And so he missed the bus.

I had to go by the bank on the way to work, so I detoured just to make sure he wasn't being held captive by slave traders on the way to school. And I ended up giving him a ride part of the way.

And immediately felt guilty.

So I called my dear husband to confess, and we had a slight altercation over the discipline of said child.

Which made the already glorious day just that much better.

So then I did what any sane woman would do...I called in late to work. Because, after all, when you have fodder for the blog, you just have to write.

And so I did.