First Day of School...Here We Go Again
So today is the first day of school. As in prior years, the kids, though they protest, are more than ready for a little structure after three months of camp, traveling, lounging around by the pool, video games, and me telling them to get out of bed, go weed the garden, play your cello, go outside and get some exercise.
The lead up to this morning was not promising. Though the boys dutifully went to bed at reasonable hours (all three before midnight), I realized as I was getting into bed that the shirt I had promised to have out of the laundry for my son's first day in high school was, in fact, still in the washer. I briefly entertained the idea of rising at 5:30 to put it in the dryer and decided to shelf the notion until morning.
My husband was in bed before me, nursing his ailing back with a combination of muscle relaxer, excedrin and a heating pad from Brookstone that hummed loudly as it massaged his sore flanks. "Nothing is helping," he muttered. "Drink some whiskey," I replied, recalling how nothing else had worked for me when I had a similar ailment ten years ago. Two shots of Jack Daniels, which I downed on the recommendation of a pharmacist client, had done the trick. Hubby decided to tough it out instead.
Lights out, and much tossing and turning ensued. I was tired. If only I could get a good night sleep, I mused, I would rise bright and early, toss my son's shirt into the drier in time for him to wear it, whip up a lovely breakfast belgian waffles and bacon (the request had already been made by our older son, the one who's a senior in high school now), and all would be well.
Alas, it was not to be. Around 1:30, Hubby gave up trying to get comfortable and went downstairs to watch whatever Will Farrell movie he had lately rented for the boys. I slept while he was gone. After he returned to bed somewhere around 3:00, I was again awakened, this time by a loud CRACK coming from someplace in the woods. Almost simultaneously, the little light that we had in the house emanating from various LEDs and the bathroom nightlight was extinguished.
"Great," I thought, "no power." I wondered exactly where a tree had fallen, and if there were at that moment live wires dancing in our driveway. It has been known to happen. Hubby snuggled in close and began to snore. I wondered if he tried my whiskey remedy, and drifted off to sleep.
Later, I was again awakened, this time by the sound of all power surging back into the house. Just as the loss of electricity rendered all the clocks useless, particularly frustrating when one is planning to rise before six, the return of electricty then transforms them into red blinking lights worthy of decorating Snoopy's doghouse at Christmas. "12:00...12:00...12:00..." my clock blinked into my eyes. I knew the boys' clocks would be blinking as well. What really wakened me that time, though was the rebooting of computer central in my office, 8 feet down the hall. The printer makes a particularly noisy time of it.
"12:01...12:01...12:01..." my clock blinked. I grabbed my watch, which thankfully has glow-in-the-dark hands, and squinted. "What time is it?" Hubby asked, temporarily roused from his long-awaited rest. "3:30," I said, and we both dropped off to sleep once more.
In what seemed like minutes later, I heard my son's footsteps as he walked down the hallway and into the bathroom, right outside our bedroom. I wondered what time it was. The night was as dark as ever, and no birds were singing. The shower surged, and hubby and I rose to our elbows. "He thinks it's time to get up," I said, feeling around the table for my watch. "There's no way it's...." I was wrong. It was 6:10.
I grabbed my robe and went to wake my other son, who had to be out of the house by 6:30 to catch the bus down the block. He said he had a good night sleep but wondered why his alarm didn't go off. We looked at it. It was blinking "2:37...2:37...2:37". "We lost power last night," I said. "Sorry honey but you'll have to wear a different shirt today." "No problem, Mom." He's a good son.
I went to the kitchen and there on the counter was a tiny empty bottle of Jack Daniels. "Wish he'd listened to me earlier," I thought, as I threw the belgian waffles together, and made coffee and bacon. And by the time the boys came down to breakfast, all was finally well.
The lead up to this morning was not promising. Though the boys dutifully went to bed at reasonable hours (all three before midnight), I realized as I was getting into bed that the shirt I had promised to have out of the laundry for my son's first day in high school was, in fact, still in the washer. I briefly entertained the idea of rising at 5:30 to put it in the dryer and decided to shelf the notion until morning.
My husband was in bed before me, nursing his ailing back with a combination of muscle relaxer, excedrin and a heating pad from Brookstone that hummed loudly as it massaged his sore flanks. "Nothing is helping," he muttered. "Drink some whiskey," I replied, recalling how nothing else had worked for me when I had a similar ailment ten years ago. Two shots of Jack Daniels, which I downed on the recommendation of a pharmacist client, had done the trick. Hubby decided to tough it out instead.
Lights out, and much tossing and turning ensued. I was tired. If only I could get a good night sleep, I mused, I would rise bright and early, toss my son's shirt into the drier in time for him to wear it, whip up a lovely breakfast belgian waffles and bacon (the request had already been made by our older son, the one who's a senior in high school now), and all would be well.
Alas, it was not to be. Around 1:30, Hubby gave up trying to get comfortable and went downstairs to watch whatever Will Farrell movie he had lately rented for the boys. I slept while he was gone. After he returned to bed somewhere around 3:00, I was again awakened, this time by a loud CRACK coming from someplace in the woods. Almost simultaneously, the little light that we had in the house emanating from various LEDs and the bathroom nightlight was extinguished.
"Great," I thought, "no power." I wondered exactly where a tree had fallen, and if there were at that moment live wires dancing in our driveway. It has been known to happen. Hubby snuggled in close and began to snore. I wondered if he tried my whiskey remedy, and drifted off to sleep.
Later, I was again awakened, this time by the sound of all power surging back into the house. Just as the loss of electricity rendered all the clocks useless, particularly frustrating when one is planning to rise before six, the return of electricty then transforms them into red blinking lights worthy of decorating Snoopy's doghouse at Christmas. "12:00...12:00...12:00..." my clock blinked into my eyes. I knew the boys' clocks would be blinking as well. What really wakened me that time, though was the rebooting of computer central in my office, 8 feet down the hall. The printer makes a particularly noisy time of it.
"12:01...12:01...12:01..." my clock blinked. I grabbed my watch, which thankfully has glow-in-the-dark hands, and squinted. "What time is it?" Hubby asked, temporarily roused from his long-awaited rest. "3:30," I said, and we both dropped off to sleep once more.
In what seemed like minutes later, I heard my son's footsteps as he walked down the hallway and into the bathroom, right outside our bedroom. I wondered what time it was. The night was as dark as ever, and no birds were singing. The shower surged, and hubby and I rose to our elbows. "He thinks it's time to get up," I said, feeling around the table for my watch. "There's no way it's...." I was wrong. It was 6:10.
I grabbed my robe and went to wake my other son, who had to be out of the house by 6:30 to catch the bus down the block. He said he had a good night sleep but wondered why his alarm didn't go off. We looked at it. It was blinking "2:37...2:37...2:37". "We lost power last night," I said. "Sorry honey but you'll have to wear a different shirt today." "No problem, Mom." He's a good son.
I went to the kitchen and there on the counter was a tiny empty bottle of Jack Daniels. "Wish he'd listened to me earlier," I thought, as I threw the belgian waffles together, and made coffee and bacon. And by the time the boys came down to breakfast, all was finally well.
posted by calabresewoman | 11:24 AM
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