One Saturday, I was hosting our weekly game of D&D at our house. We were lounging in the living room after the game session when the doorbell rang.
Under the porch lamp I found my dad, who said he had stopped by to tell me one thing or another - the details were unimportant - and that was all. I thanked him and closed the door, returning to my friends.
You might want to call your Congressman regarding the upcoming (Thursday) bill and voice your opinions on broadcast flags and network neutrality.
Instead of sending Abby to day care school all summer, we have elected instead to send her to the school’s summer camp.
The program is pretty nice. We drop her off at school in the morning as usual. A bus picks takes the campers from her school to the camp for the day, and brings them back to the school in the afternoon. We pick her up just like we would on a school day.
Campers need to be at school before the bus leaves, obviously. Our first day for this was on Monday. We were under the impression from the paperwork that the bus would depart at 8:15, which is well within our usual schedule.
The trick is that the bus driver or the school or someone decided that 8:15 wasn’t early enough to get the kids all the way to the camp (which is admittedly pretty far), and so the departure time was changed to 8:05.
So when we arrived at the school on Monday, I existed the car thinking we had plenty of time. When the bus started to pull out and one of the teachers started screaming to us from the school door, “Get on the bus! Get on the bus!” I was left running to the road to flag down the driver.
Abby didn’t seem to know what to make of the whole thing. I hurried her along, and didn’t even have a chance to say anything to her before her new camp adventure began.
What irks me about this experience is that when we pulled into the parking lot, several of the parents of the other kids going to camp were standing on the school’s little roofed stoop. They all seemed to know, why didn’t we?
Does anyone know how long it should take for two painters to paint two rooms and a set of stairs? We’ve reorganized our lives around the painting that’s taking place around the house. They’re supposed to paint the kitchen, living room, foyer, and stairs up to the second floor, along with a couple of things outside.
So far, they’ve done a lot of patching and no painting of walls. And while I’ve been informed that “slow painters do a better quality job”, I’m still wondering when we’ll be able to move back into our own house.
I might have mentioned that Berta’s sister, Therese, is pregnant and expecting her baby any day now. Really, any day now.
Berta was talking to her on the phone recently, and they were discussing all sorts of baby things, as they usually do. But a new topic arose, something that is often left unconsidered until the nurses at the hospital bring it up - What happens to the baby if the parents die?
Well certainly, most parents would rather than someone they know take care of their baby, rather than for the baby to enter the foster care system. In many cases, I would suspect that an extended family member would be able to adopt the baby if the parents didn’t leave explicit instructions.
But the thing is, you’re supposed to have plans. As parents, you’re supposed to know who would care for your child if something happened to you. And the decision might be difficult for you to decide who to ask, sometimes the decision on how to respond is pretty difficult, too.