It was a long week last week. Lots of weird work hours, lots of errands and school stuff to deal with, lots of rust to kick off after the congressional recess. Plus, my parents got a puppy. So the Young Prince has a new retarded aunt. Another family member also has a new arrival scheduled, but it isn't any of my business to go spreading it around and I'm really just marking it here as a reference tag for when senility kicks in and I can't remember what year other people's milestones occurred.
Saturday, the YP's school held a fundraiser for the local library. The YP took part in a singing contest, along with 10 other grade-schoolers, something like 5 middle-schoolers and 2 high school girls. He did not win the prize for his grade-level -- that went to some home-school kid who played Annie's Song on the guitar. I am told that the public-school kid who played the piano was robbed. I am also told that the YP had the most stage presence and vivacity of any of the kids performing. This does not surprise me, he is definitely more an actor than a singer. Maybe next year they'll have a standup comedy contest and he'll blow everyone out of the water.
It was funny to read his score sheets. There were four judges; one of them is the music teacher at his school, and that guy said he was keeping his scoresheets to go over with the kids individually. Of the remaining three, two of them were close together on scoring the kid -- scale of 1 to 4 -- as 3's on musicality and 4's on personality and performance. Judge No. 4, however, skewed the whole bell curve -- all 2's, with a 1 for stage presence. The funniest part was that the YP handed me her sheet and said, "Yeah, she HATED me!" in the most non-angry, non-disappointed, simply matter-of-fact, "huh, whatchagonnado" voice I've ever heard out of his mouth, especially contrasted with his excitement-slash-mild-anxiety of what his music teacher is going to tell him this week. I have to say, seeing that reaction was probably the highlight of my day, because it is an indicator that he has already figured out when to take things personally and when to blow them off -- a valuable skill I still haven't quite mastered, and one that will serve him well in any case but especially if he decides to keep going down this road and auditions are really what he wants to spend his life doing.
I did not see any of the performance firsthand, however, only the aftermath. I was in another part of the high school manning a booth selling my homemade jam and jelly and making my maiden outing in small business. Very small -- so small, in fact, it didn't occur to me to bring bags or business cards to the event. Live and learn. I did, however, sell 12 jars, at least three of them on the strength of free samples. So I know what I've got is good enough for people to want to pay for it. I am now motivated to find other venues -- farmers markets, online, etc. -- and jump slightly further into the effort. Maybe.
After the sale, I came home and mowed the front yard. And looked around and figured it was finally dry enough that I could slide my way through our swamp and into the back field and mow there.
Yeah, I was wrong about that. I got the mower irretrievably stuck, and even with all 3 Blogger family members pitching in, that thing wasn't going anywhere.
Next morning, I called a tow service to haul the thing out, and it required pooling all the cash in the cash in the house to pay them -- minus $4 that the guy gave back to me in lieu of a jar of strawberry jelly. Chortle. I'm not sure if it was a pity purchase or what, but he seemed genuinely enthused. He also gave me the sage advice of next time using my garden hose as a tow chain between the mower and the car. Which will definitely be cheaper and faster, if a whole lot muddier.
After the tow job (or toe-job, as NYAB and the YP referred to it with peals of laughter -- laughter that derived from very different mental images, I'm relieved to report,) I was presented with cards, flowers, a booklet of gratitude from the boy, and we then went out to lunch for pizza and ice cream. Because, yes, as a matter of fact, my list of preferred culinary delights does rival that of an 8-year-old. We also rented Harry Potter 6, since the YP finished that book about a week ago. He's now on a hard deadline to finish Book 7 by July so that he can see both those movies back to back, the last one in the theater. I rather suspect he will be going to the midnight premier with NeighborGirl, who is home from college for the summer. I further suspect I will not be joining them, but anything is possible, I suppose.
Once the movie ended, we packed it back up and the boys went to the driving range while NeighborGirl and I went to visit her mom, who works weekends at a restaurant/bar. Turns out everyone else's mom was there too, and the place was absolutely jammed. NeighborGirl and I had one drink each, talked to her mom for about 45 seconds, and bolted to a grassy area near the parking lot to wait for the lads to come back.
Home again, I spent the evening finishing up the laundry and working on a new writing project that I'm fairly excited about and the whole family isn't sick of hearing about ... at least, not yet. My dear, dear friend from college who now lives in YA publishing let me rattle on at her for 10 minutes about it and at the end told me that this is definitely in her wheelhouse, depending on a few squishy sex details, and that I needed to start writing immediately. So there's that. Between jelly-slinging and fiction-writing, I imagine it will be a rather busy summer. Plus, you know, that whole day job thing.
Can't wait to get started! Best Mother's Day ever!
You had to have your lawnmower towed? Just how big is it?
And what do you mean with "depending on a few squishy sex details"?
Posted by: cosmiccamper | May 10, 2011 at 12:19 AM
Hee. It's a riding mower with a 42-inch deck. The main problem is that once it sinks, the mud gets up into the blade deck and it's very hard to pull or push past that -- esp. in 2 inches of water that rises when you create big holes in the mud bog.
I mean, YA publishers get very skittish around sex -- some get nervous about kissing. But some of my plot points as currently imagined depend on sex happening. Not necessarily portrayed, but having to occur. But it's fiction. I can make anything happen; I just need to rework my strategies!
How is your relocation effort going?
Posted by: Arwen | May 10, 2011 at 05:27 AM