Ode to Joy…

Ode to Joy.  Or as it is written in my daughter’s MYC piano book, “Ode to Spider Fingers.”  Which has gotten me wishing for a pair of sticky fingers instead so I could steal away to a deserted island somewhere in the Pacific and empty my mind into a lagoon of salty sea water.

If it only were so easy.

So first things first.  Just in case any of the four people who use to text/phone me are doing so at this very minute (shout out to my family- the ones with cell phones), Brian ran over it a few hours ago with the truck.   And it’s gone dark.  Literally, dark.  Actually, the screen has splintered into a million jagged pieces.  The kids were walking on egg shells after it happened, scared that mommy might pull a fast one on daddy and exercise her (limited) right to bear (licensed )arms, in return for his road rage.  But although it is partly his fault, I won’t hold it against him.  I accept half the blame.  I dropped it while borrowing Son’s bike to pick up the kids after work.

How does one pick up two school-aged children with a pre-teen’s mountain bike, you ask?  Good question.  I’m glad you asked.  I had originally planned to use the remainder of my half hour paid babysitting time after work on this lovely Friday to decompress and go for a walk.  STRESS RELIEF.  (We all know I could put THAT to good use.)  But, on the way out the door, I got a call from Hubby who had a few errands to run and wouldn’t be picking up the kiddos at the appointed time.  So, a compromise was arranged, and I worked out a plan whereby I would bike there to the sitters and he would arrive a short while later to pick up the kids and their back-packs.   And everyone would live happily ever after.  HA. Long story short, he asked me to take along my cell phone so he could call me to get an exact time for pick-up.  The rest is history.

Kay.  Anyone who knows me well knows I am terrible at using the cell phone.  I drop it everywhere, I forget it everywhere and I lose it every day (usually in the dark caverns of my purse).  But, I thought I might just follow his advice and stick it in my pocket for the ride.  Just in case.  So, that’s how it happened.  It fell out of my pocket while I was obliviously riding my son’s bike out the driveway.

Bye-bye cell phone, and “hello again” remaining two hundred dollars left in my contract.  I almost forgot about you while I was texting my husband. (#wishingIstillhadalandline)

OH THE JOYS.  There are too many to mention.  But here are a few more…

The joy of hitting my funny bone on the fridge door this evening and not being able to bend it upwards for the next three hours.  The joy of making baked apples with my kindergarten students and meticulously picking out and carefully washing my own distinctive apple to bake and then eat (snot-free, pee-free and dirt-free, as I try to limit the latter from lingering anywhere on my hands- cannot vouch for my sweet lil’ students and whether  or not they share my same sentiment).  Only to find that while I was passing out apples, one little guy had jumped the gun and was already chowing enthusiastically into my special apple.  Meanwhile, his (possibly) germy little apple sat waving at me on the table saying, “Eat me…I daaaarrrre you.”

Um, no thanks.  My little Kindergarten friend ended up with two baked apples.  One of which (the one meant for me) might or might not have been washed in hand sanitizer.  One cannot be too careful. (#whoyoucallingobsessivecompulsive)

The joy of hearing your name called three hundred times in one day, by pint-sized creatures that make you both want to cry and laugh simultaneously.  And after the 299th time, you feel like you could just turn around and scream, ‘WHAT.DO.YOU.WANT. ALREADY?’  because your name is now seemingly the most annoying two words in the English Language vernacular.

The joy of indoor detention at recess spent with your own flesh and blood who received a red card before the clock had even struck 10:00 a.m.  And one last joy…the joy of cooking supper to feed crying, hysterical children only to realize that same children will end up eating again at least three more times before bedtime.

The joy.  THE JOY!  Joy to the world, people.  You might as well laugh as cry.