Rocky woke with a sore throat this morning. She's already missed a few days of school because of a virus that has been hanging around town for a couple of months and I really didn't want her to miss any more but her tears plucked at my guilt strings and I sent her back to bed after a healthy dose of TLC. At lunch time she decided that she was feeling better and we decided that she should finish out the school day. With yesterday's tragic events still fresh on my mind, I stepped into the Jr. High School, expecting to be stopped by a faculty member but instead I encountered only a vast empty hallway. To the left a class was in session, Spanish I believe. I didn't see anyone through the glass walls of the main office where the secretaries sit. It was a still as a ghost town. It wasn't until I stepped into the attendance office that I saw anyone... the principal greeted me from his inner office and the attendance clerk looked up from her desk.
To say I was disturbed would be an understatement. I numbly signed my daughter in and left in a daze. When Dickidoo came home I voiced my disbelief. His reaction was the last thing I expected. The teachers aren't paid enough and the school districts don't have enough money to hire extra security. It just wasn't going to happen. He said I was being understandably emotional but he was just being realistic. Naturally I denied his claims vehemently. I told him that I had expected something to be learned from yesterday's tragedy, and I certainly expected more from him as the father of my children than a pessimistic 'It ain't gonna happen'. He let me vent but never apologized.
At what point in our marriage did it no longer matter who won the debate so long as the point was made? He didn't change my mind any more than I did his, but we said our peace. We spoke and we listened. I guess I can see his point although I don't agree with it. There was no winner, no loser, and no hard feelings.
Although, technically, because I am the woman and I am older I win by default....
I mowed my legs this evening. I don't know why since I had just done so last week and my bikini season ended years ago. Maybe it was frustration, who knows... who cares? Anyhow, I pulled out the sharpest razor and went to work. I'm a creature of habit... mostly bad habits, but habit none the less. I always start with my right leg. The new Venus razor made short work of the 5 o'clock shadow that adorned my leg. I inspected the razor head and noted with satisfaction the dark stubbles that I had scraped away.
I wasn't prepared for the length of the follicles I chopped off of my left leg. I could have braided them! How could that be? The last time I had encountered a length difference of such drastic proportions was when I had gone into labor with Zack and discovered in mid push that while the leg in the right stirrup was neatly shaved and smooth as a baby's bottom, the left leg was as hairy as a Sasquatch's behind. Clearly I had yet again shaved only one leg and neglected the other. Grrrrrrrrr.... I hate when I do that.
Tomorrow is Poisoned Blackberries Day... how goofy is that? I have decided to boycott Poisoned Blackberries Day and will instead observe another, more reasonable holiday of my choosing.
I here by proclaim September 29th as Hazelnut Flavored Coffee and Chocolate Truffles Day, to be followed by the International Night of Beer Binge-ing. Yeah, now there's something to celebrate! (Poisoned blackberries? Sheesh, give me a break! Who thinks these things up?)