Land o'Lessa

Last week, The Pup did the unthinkable.

She turned 12.
TWELVE.
Really, what did I do to deserve this?!

So flash back to a couple years ago, in fifth grade, where the Pup discovers a desperate desire to learn to play the french horn. We talk to the band leader at the elementary school, and the one who teaches Jr. high and High School, and are told to start her on Trumpet. Flash back to two years of OMGLOUD while she not only learns it, but this year – lands the coveted first chair in her 6th grade band.

But still – STILL. The longing for the horn…. OH how she wanted to play the French Horn. Ms. S. told her that it would take private lessons, as making the switch is not very easy, and not all Trumpet players can become French Horn players. Ms. S plays trumpet, and does not play the French Horn, so she knows of what she speaks. The Pup looked at her mournfully, and sighed that it would be ok, she knew we couldn’t afford the lessons, so she’d just stick with the Trumpet.

INORITE?! SIGH.

So, I did what every mother on the planet would do. I made the call. I called Ms. S. and arranged a meeting with her, without telling the Pup. We spoke of the difficulties, and the challenges, and the possibilities. And we came up with a plan: I’d get the Pup lessons all summer, we’ll rent the French Horn for the summer, and the pup’s bandmates would be none the wiser – if she can make the switch (according to her summer teacher, who will tell it true) she will. If not, she’ll return to Trumpet in the fall, and we’ll know which horn she was meant to play. She loves the trumpet too – so it’s win-win, really.

Of course – I told the pup none of this. I sent in the cash to the teacher for the rental, without putting an instrument on the list – Ms. S was in the loop, of course. Then, on the first morning I got to see the little brat after her birthday (she was on the 6th grade camping trip ON her birthday. SOB) we had this conversation:

Me: Oh, by the way. I’m not renting you a trumpet for the summer. Sorry.
Her: WHAT? But Mom! You already paid!!!
Me: Sorry, i decided not to.
Her: …did you buy me one? (Not even hopeful)
Me: Pfft. You know I can’t afford that.
Her: DRAMATICSIGH I know. I can’t even get lessons.
Me: I can too afford lessons. So I’m not renting you a trumpet.
Her: …what? I don’t understand….
Me: I rented you a French Horn.
Her: But… I TOLD MS S. WE WERE RENTING A TRUMPET.
Me: I told her we were renting a French Horn.
Her: BUT I TOLD HER A TRUMPET YESTERDAY
me: but _I_ told her last week…
Her: (finally dawns that I’m not fucking with her -well, much) OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU.
Me: I am pretty fuckin’ awesome, I know. Pick up the French Horn. Your private tutor will be calling next week.
Her: (noisy squeals only a dog could hear, excitement, hugs, BESTBIRTHDAYEVER, off to school)

So. This is how our summer will be:

God help us all.

Yesterday, I wrote the date down several times. I plugged it into the work computer and looked at schedules, and planned my day. And each time, something nagged – I was forgetting something. Something important. Someone was gonna be PISSED if I didn’t pull my head out of my Inventory Prep Exhausted Ass and figure out wtf was going on…

It took about an hour, and then?

Kevin’s Birthday. Yesterday was his birthday. He would have been 39 – and dreading the big 40, while simultaneously planning a big ass kegger for it too. And I”d almost forgotten.

Part of me felt guilty, but I’m not afraid to admit part of me felt sort of relieved too. It’s a mark of healing, I’m sure, a mark of ‘I’m Ok, really’ even if I didn’t need such a mark. It certainly did explain why yesterday was a bit offkilter, a little uneasy, a little frustrating, and a lot of fun at the same time. Because that’s how life with Kevin was oftentimes too.

Somewhere, though, he’s laughing his ass off at me. Through our lives together he only had to remember two dates – our anniversary and my birthday (which he always mixed up with Valentine’s Day anyway. *L*). All other Important Dates belonged to my memory banks. That I forgot – even if only for a couple hours – I’m sure is amusing him greatly.

I blame my age.
He would too.
(Oh, the hazards of marrying a younger man, hm? )

…does it take one Blond PepperMist to notice I’ve got TWO laptops sitting here with me, which means she gets to use Charlie more often than before?

This many hours:

THIS MANY.

Hee.

Spent the day at the swim meet – working the timer table, and cheering on all the kids.

Here – you cheer too!

The pup got:
4th – 50 backstroke
10th – 50 Freestyle
5th – 100 IM – 3 seconds off her time AND a ducky.
7th – 50 breaststroke

(advantages to being at the timer table – getting overall results before the kids. hee!)

Thanks to peppermist for videotaping for me! You rock!

This right here:

This is the reason I’m attempting Nano again, since not managing to finish since 2004. It’s her fault. And she’s currently beating me.

Harumph.

I got typin to do…. *dashes*

(And in the “write what you know” category, the complete and utter dreck I’m churning out is based on my job at Walmart. So, if ya wanna get a glimpse of my days… —> click the links over there on the sidebar. I’m posting the entire disgusting mess of words on a semi-daily basis at http://snippets.gonfalon.org. hee. Enjoy.)

ETA:
Peppermist: Where does the mysterious Aunt live?
Me: Houston.
Peppermist; then she’d have to go from AK to Texas..
Me: There’s a town in AK called Houston!
Peppermist: WHERE? GOOGLE IT!
Me: (does so) See? easily within driving distance for us.
Peppermist: …she doesn’t have a car.
Me: Maybe her boyfriend does.
Peppermist: …I CAN WRITE IN A BOYFRIEND! Thanks Mama! I LOVE YOU!

….and that, people, is how NaNoWriMo goes…