First Day Jitters

(alternate title: Parenthesis R Us)

I start the new job tomorrow. I'm pretty stoked; I went in today for a software training session and found out I can wear jeans! ('doesn't take much, what can I say?) It also turns out this week is the agency's United Way fundraising week and tomorrow is a bake sale followed by a chili cook-off on Friday. Needless to say, I signed up for both, knowing full well that my banana bread recipe (thanks, Coreen!) is far superior to what most people think of as food of the gods.

Upon leaving the agency, the afternoon progressed fairly normally. I came home and picked up a CD case for my little old lady (I volunteer for Computers for Seniors) and was off to pick up Sparkycus at school. The boy has confirmation on Wednesday nights, and the youth ministry staff opens the gym and rumpus room areas to the kids after 3:30pm on those dates. Dinner is served for a ridiculously low price ($2.50, I think!) then we parents converge at 6pm for a half-hour worship service. Then from 6:30-8:30, the kidlets do their classes and mess around. Where was I going with this? Oh! So Spartacus and I decided to have a "date night" kind of thing. We went to Johnny Carino's for dinner (Spartacus' current favorite place to eat.) We then meandered on to Fleet Farm (the upper midwest's answer to Lowes & Home Depot before those places found out that people up here actually DO exist) to look at oil-filled electric heaters in anticipation of ridiculously high heating bills this winter. By the time we got done, it was already 8:30. Being good parents, we had already arranged for Sparkycus to hitch a ride with a friend's parents.

At 8:37, we got a call: "The door is locked."

Good parent points: gone.

Instructing the child to go home with the friend, we told him we were en route (we were!) and would pick him up shortly.

Since Spartacus INSISTS on eating this sausage/pepper thing, he was brewing something nasty and asked ... nay ... DEMANDED to be dropped at home so as not to (and this is a quote,) "Gas up Mary Ann's house."

Since I like Mary Ann, I complied. (beware, ye mine enemies!)

Upon arriving at the friend's, I was invited in and asked to help with the assembly and set-up of an air hockey table. A BIG one. Not very inclined to actually perform manual labor, but always glad to entertain, I stayed. It soon became clear that my (lack of) muscles wasn't going to cut it. Sparkycus put in a call to his father and he soon appeared at the door. (we live something like four blocks from one another.)

Now keep in mind that the last thing I said to my family as we parted ways was, "now, I gotta go home and make banana bread and I'm wearing my last pair of clean underwear, so we can't screw around you guys. Let's get our stuff done and get home. Use your time wisely, okay?" Idiot.

So we get the table set up, we play a game and BAM! it's NINE FRICKING THIRTY!! Idiot.

We rush home, we start laundry (funny side note: it's midnight and I just jumped up, hit "save as draft" and ran my fat ass downstairs exclamining, "oh shit, oh shit, oh shit" on every step because guess what ... I FORGOT ABOUT THE CLOTHES IN THE DRYER!! Say it with me ... "idiot.") Laundry started, I begin sacrifing bananas at a rate never seen before by human eyes. Now, keep in mind this is a recipe I've been using for six plus years ... it's old hat, right? Wrong! Along the way, I decide that since it's for a bake sale and I'm going to have to slice it before wrapping it, I should just make muffins instead. I paw through the packed tight cupboards and unearth cupcake liners. (thank God they don't expire, that's all I'm sayin') I whip up a batch of dough in no time and pop those little suckers in the oven. In something akin to slamming the car door just as you realize that not only are your kids in the car with the keys, but you've also just locked the door, I realized that I omitted the two eggs in the recipe. I, of course, think this is hilarious. Spartacus, however, does not. What he does do, however, is help me squeeze the contents of almost two dozen little paper liners back into a bowl to receive their dose of chicken progeny. Superman strikes again! Somebody remind me to make a "contains nuts" sign (I had an even split of nuts/no nuts ... in pink or blue cups, mind you) since I had to mix it all together in the end.

That's all for now. I need to check on the laundry again and figure out a way to get to sleep so I can rise at 7:15. (I think there's probably going to have to be some caffeine involved.)

Last paragraph: His majesty (Spartacus) thinks it's cheating to use the same mix I use for all of my chili since it comes out of a bottle for the cook off. What's the difference? It's not like I'm opening a can. In fact, I open SEVERAL cans of different types of beans and tomato sauce before resorting to the all-in-one spice bottle. Is it cheating?