It was never supposed to be about Improvement

Todd and I were talking on the way home from church tonight. Actually, everyone was talking on the way home from church tonight. When this occurs simultaneously, it sounds like a bad crowd noise scene in a low budget Japanese film. Often Todd and I cannot hear each other. But tonight we could.

“I started laughing in class tonight, inappropriately, when I thought of a new food contest,” I said.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Hold a raw egg in your mouth for 60 seconds and then spit the yolk as far as you can. Distance will determine the winner,” I replied.

“So basically,” he responded, “Your blog is now a stunt show.”

“No,” I said, firmly. “We just have Food Fridays.”

“But you said that Fridays were going to be you doing something you’d never done before. For growth. That’s what the tomato was,” he stated, quite reasonably. I ever-so-vaguely recalled some portion of this conversation.

“Well, the tomato went bad. There was no growth there. It was never supposed to be about improvement,” I said.

“Ok, then,” he said. “You’ve just become a morning DJ show in written form.”

Hmm. That’s not good. We’ll have to do some thinking on that one.

Today ran away with me. I felt like I could not keep up, which probably was somehow related to going to bed at 3:15 a.m. and getting back up at 6:40 a.m. That’s not good math and it definitely isn’t the better part of wisdom.  I will say that what IS the better part of wisdom is that the only thing I took to school for Mama’s Boy’s birthday was some well-thought-out goody bags. Anyone who has read the Cake Wrecks entry from awhile back will know that I should not transport live food. Ever. Or bake. Or serve. Dropping off goody bags is right up my alley. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a gruesome goody bag incident. I’ve certainly never caused one. That feels good.

So the tomato didn’t work out so well. And I can’t play the trumpet. I don’t discipline myself very well in going to bed on time. But ultimately it actually IS about improvement.  For an ancient lady going on 3.5 hours of sleep, this day was a slam dunk. But I’m not chancing two sleepless nights in a row.  So I bid you a fond farewell for now.

I need your doll stories. Or pictures. Or videos. Or poems. Or genealogies.  Next week is going to be fun. Fire away.

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