Sunday May 4, 2003, My day, such as it were
The wife woke me for church like she does every Sunday morning, with the warning that I had ten minutes to get ready. No problem. That might seem odd to most people, but she knows I was up late and wants to let me sleep as long as possible. One more reason I love her.

We had a guest speaker at church. He droned on and on. You could tell when it was time the service was usually over. It appeared the attentive, patient, congregation was being overcome by an ADHD epidemic. Just when it appeared he was finally about done he declared, "I only have three more stories to tell." And he told them. Not that it mattered, people were hardly listening. Or maybe it was just me. We left the church twenty minutes later than usual. There must have been some benefit of surviving this adversity, but I don't know what it is. If something becomes apparent I'll let you know.

Leaving the church means the wife gets the kids, I get the van. I stepped outside and it was raining. Great. Other people were running to their vehicles. I could not. Running is jarring and can set off my trigeminal neuralgia. When trudging through the rain without recourse one does tend to complain to God. Like, why was this freaking thing ever in my head, why is it still in my head, what did I ever do to You? The tumor has been a problem for years, and I've never been comfortable being angry at God over it. After all, I have so much to be grateful for. And if you slow down, you can enjoy the caresses of the rain.

Then we went to Hy-Vee for lunch. We needed a few other things anyway. It actually works out well. The food is acceptable and nobody is going to be upset because my rowdy kids are ruining their dining experience. At least they shouldn't. No grocery store is a fine-dining experience. It's food and a table, now get over it. The kids eat quickly, because they know if they do they get to go look for stuff without us. It becomes an adventure for them, and the wife and I get a little time to talk. It works for all of us.

You can sometimes tell where the kids are. It's a pretty new store with smooth, polished, cement floors. The kids like to go to the household goods area, grab plungers and stick them on the floor. Pop, smock, pop, smock. They do it with no rhythm really, just lots of enthusiasm. And laughs. You can hear it all over. It wouldn't be surprising if the help says, "Here come the plunger kids" when we walk through the door. After all, we're regulars.

Sometimes I think they shouldn't play with the plungers. Anybody who buys one is entitled to a new plunger, and we're turning them into used ones. On the other hand. What difference does it make? It's not like they have odometers or depreciation and how often do plungers wear out anyway? I rationalize. And the kids continue to make industrial music in the household goods aisle.

There's work to do on the house, and brakes to change on the car. But it's raining. So I'm just going to stay inside and play with the kids. Maybe we'll get out the plungers. Nah, that'd be gross.

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