Update At But I have been bothered since that day. I know better, but when the meal started, I grabbed the dessert fork (the one above the plate), rather than the salad fork (the outer one). Yeah, I know, I'm an unwashed boor, a philistine, a country bumpkin come to high society. I was especially bothered by it because I directed my daughter to put down the "right" fork and use the "wrong" one with me. Whilst listening to Bruce Springsteen and struggling with a database issue this afternoon, it struck me. With all of the problems in the world, why should I worry about, lose sleep over, or even give a flying fork - or other F-word - about which damned fork I used? We have young men and women dying in Iraq - people who would give anything to see their families one last time, and have given all for my family. People whose lives are being wasted by our commander in chief, who has a brain cell count somewhere south of your average baboon's IQ, and who has more "advisers" than he does good ideas - and yet listens to so few of them. I know the world isn't a black-and-white place. Unlike some, I believe that if we had concentrated on turning Afghanistan into something of a showplace, Iraq would yes, still be under Saddam - he'd also be increasingly isolated, backed into a corner, and unlikely to avoid pissing off his neighbors to the point where they would, themselves, take care of him. We would be free to deal with North Korea. But I'm not the president. That moron is. For another 24 months. God help us.
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Update At Rhiannon went to the doctor Monday early evening, where we got the frightening news that "oh, yeah, her immunization for Whooping Cough wore off, you need to update it." Where the hell was THAT piece of information in the manual? "Oh, well, we took a look at her chart, and we can't update her. The vaccine we have is combined with the tetanus shot, and she just got one two years ago, she shouldn't have another for at least three more years." Nice. Not. So they stuck a STICK up her nose (she was trying to imply firewood, Ann said "little bit bigger than a toothpick." Painful, I'm told, either way. That was for the 24-hour turn-around test, which probably wouldn't head out to the lab until Tuesday morning sometime, so we should expect results by Wednesday morning. Lovely. By Tuesday morning, they felt utterly unwell. I kept Jack home, and he was quite perky by the afternoon, so I figured I would bring him to the Cub Scout meeting - where his aunt was bringing her search and rescue dog along with some of her friends to talk to our den about search and rescue, and how to stay found. Wednesday morning I took him to Chess club (Rhiannon was still coughing like a true Canadian Honker) and settled down to get some work done - After dropping Lily over at the vet's for her Bob Barker. Plopped down in my chair with about 10 seconds to spare, dial into my first call, and the other phone starts ringing. School - "Can you bring Jack his homework folder? He forgot it." Ah, um, no, sorry, still on a phone call. Apparently my son decided "no" was the wrong answer. Just after lunch, he chucked up, and I headed down to pick him up - breaking out of my SECOND phone call of the day. Which I returned to when I got back, and stayed on it until I finally killed the battery on the cordless phone. Twice. Off to get Ann, then back home. More work. Both kids stayed home Thursday, and Ann - finally - popped her cork with the doctor's office, who said "just a second" - five minutes later, they gave her the results of the test. Negative. Lily, on the other hand, had been rolling in the snowbanks behind the vet's office hours after her surgery. She also yacked up (seems to be the week for it) a two-inch long hunk of plastic toy she swallowed. "You need to supervise her chewing" the vet's assistant said as we came in. Um, yeah, got a 24-hour-a-day attendant to do that for me? I was thinking of getting a couple of wireless 2.4 Ghz cameras, attaching them to Jack's Robosapien, and chasing the dog around the house, but she's really not at all liking Robodork. So there went that idea. So Friday - TODAY - both kids FINALLY went to school for the first time this week. And I stayed up until 2:30 this morning working on a problem I managed to resolve (quite elegantly, I thought), stumbled into a few more, and now, 12 hours into today, I'm gonna call it quits, and check in, again, with my mother, who has managed now to break the ball off of her RIGHT (that is, GOOD) Femur, and is WAITING to hear from the doctor what she should do. Yeah, I know, but I have cats. I can't out-stubborn them, either. I do guarantee you that when the person from the doctor's office finally calls her back, she'll lay one of her Catholic Mother guilt trips on her. I still maintain that the Catholic Mother guilt trip is far, far worse than the Jewish Mother guilt trip - because the JMGT is typically so far over the top you can usually - eventually - shrug it off. The CMGT is much worse - because you BELIEVE that you actually DESERVED IT. Ach well. Off to have some greek chicken. nononononono, not like that, first of all, it's chicken breasts, secondly, we made it ourselves. I have no knowledge of what the chicken did before he was butchered, senator, but the breast itself looked eminently edible. Well, raw, but cookable, you know? Now I'm going to go break up a fight between a puppy and a ten year old. Sadly, they're both working with the same IQ at this point on a Friday. Actually, the Puppy's might be a bit higher. Great - now he yelling at the dog "but it's MINE" like that will solve all the world's ills. That boy will go into politics, mark my word.
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