Sunday, August 19, 2007

Sunday, Rainy Sunday

A steady downpour is tapping on the sunlight in the kitchen, and I have to leave in an hour for a speed workout that I chose in favor of sitting after school for some diatribe on standardized testing.

I thought this would be a wiser choice for my training, my body, my spirit. At this moment, I'm thinking PSSA. Running in circles for an hour does not seem preferable.

Today Mark agreed to come to noon Mass. I told him I wanted the girls there with me, and he realized that it was important to me. His legs were tired due to his 15-mile run in the Parkway, so I was thankful he managed to get through the hour of sit, stand, sit, stand, sit, kneel, sit, kneel, stand, kneel, sit. (I think I got most of them in there.) Anyway, the girls were great. I felt some sense of peace by going, although it seems almost selfish to pray for yourself when you're accustomed to praying for other people. But if no one else prays for you, maybe it's not too egocentric. Perhaps.

After yesterday's illness, I feel mostly recovered (as I sit here donning a Blue Clue's headband that Grace wants me to wear.) Let's throw in a shout-out to Grace for her uncanny mastering of the porcelain shrine. Yesterday Mark tried to get her to do a Number Two. She balked, cranked a bit, but produced nothing.

Mark asked: No poop?

"Nope," she said, "my heiney's not working."

This morning? She headed off to the head on her own and dropped three impressive turds into the pond. She bellowed for me to run in so she could proudly brandish her accomplishment. Atta girl.

Keni, who's currenly in the midst of a two-hour nap, ended up being quite the card at Mass. She "read" the songbook for most of the service, even holding it correctly as we either sang or listened to Monsignor Hoban. Maybe she's training for the Little Sisterhood. It's been a long time since we've had a nun in the family. I don't know if the Mother Superior can handle her.

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