*at the risk of patronizing somebody, a gerund is a verb turned into a noun, usually by adding -ing. Not nearly as exciting as turning a noun into a verb--as in I Googled "gerund" because I couldn't remember the fancy name for a verb that's been nounified.
Teaching English to eleven
pre-freshmen. They've got to do well in their classes this summer or all bets are off for fall quarter--like probation, except they're trying to get in, not trying to stay out.
Assistant-
coaching Mr. Baseball's t-ball team. I get to stand in the dugout and keep the helmets coming on and off and the bat swinging in safe directions and the players batting in the right order. Sometimes I stand out in the field too. I Almost teared up today on the way home (really, I almost did) when I caught a whiff of the distinct chemical smell of my jersey--shocked at the memories and emotions connected with that smell, how much I loved playing baseball as a kid, and how
special (for lack of a less sentimental word) the uniform used to make me feel.
(No, that is not my thoughtful coach pose. I've got a mouthful of sunflower seeds and I'm trying to figure out how to spit out the husks without spitting out the actual seed as well.)
Packing boxes like mad. Currently I am sitting on our living room couch and to my left are fifteen boxes stacked in the corner. Across the room are three more. There are one or two in the dining room. Another two on the book shelves. A half-dozen in the boys room, four or five in the hallway, three in our bedroom, and another couple in the closet. It's to the point that I can't pack anything else without seriously hindering our ability to function (Just today the Monkey asked about his green bike, which I'd packed days ago. I had to open up a box and extract the bike so he could ride it. If he asks about his Little People Noah's ark, I'm going to play dumb).
Caring for the QB. She is sick. Really sick. Living off a diet of bland tea and
fudge sickles sick. I'm ready for a one-story apartment.
Finding a place to live in Lubbock. I should say "found" a place, and not a moment too soon. We're moving in two and a half weeks. We just sent a deposit check to
The Enclave Apartments in Lubbock, where we'll be living for at least three months while we explore more permanent housing options.
Examining teeth. I recently poked my head in the Monkey's mouth and discovered that his two-year molars are really, really weird looking. Like two-teeth-smashed-together weird. Like the occasional conjoined strawberry weird (click on the image for a blown-up image).
Watching a lot of television. Since the QB has been sick, we've spent a lot more time than usual watching television. We watched an episode of
Matlock today (classic stay-home sick entertainment, and still on at 1pm). We watched
America's Got Talent (our new favorite. Mostly because of the judges: Piers Morgan is much kinder than Simon. Sharon Ozborne reminds me of my mother--If my mother had spent 30 years managing rock bands. David Hasselhoff's favorite line is "This is what this show is all about," and he gets way too excited about anyone in a bikini on stage, but that may be a holdover from a previous life, so can we really blame him?) Watched a bit of local news (local news, I've decided, is the medium by which people in hell learn about what is going on in Heaven).
One side effect of so much TV is that the boys have been getting to bed a little later than usual. This is the monkey, at 9:15 pm, after Mr. Baseball had fallen asleep and we'd spent twenty minutes trying to get the Monkey to stay in his room. He'd slept until after 4pm that day, so we caved in and popped popcorn.
Reading the scriptures. Thanks to readthescriptures.com, which sends me a daily email reading, I've read from the Book of Mormon nearly every day for the past month. This proves two things: first, the internet can be a really cool way of connecting with information. And second, I live entirely too much at the mercy of my inbox. I think eventually there will be a name for the disorder that compels people to check their email fifty times a day. I think they'll call it "I-want-people-to-like-me-itus." If you're into that kind of thing (reading the scriptures, not obsessing about whether or not people like you), I strongly recommend checking out their customizable reading calendars and team reading options (and no, the website is not paying me for this endorsement, though if they're looking to pay someone, I'm not against selling out like that).
Eating too much. We're busy around here. Worn out. Tired. Stressed. And when I get stressed and tired and spread thin, all I want to do is eat. Chocolate, of course, but we've also had ice cream and cookies and chicken nuggets and Ruffles potato chips, among other things. For a household that usually eats whole wheat everything and gets funny looks at the grocery store because of our cart full of produce (its not uncommon for the checker to have difficulty recognizing some of the "weird" produce we buy--you know, weird, like jicama, winter squash, and bean sprouts), all this junk is a new low.
We're such grocery store snobs. We live in one of the fattest states in the nation, and consider it a point of pride to buy as little pre-packaged food as possible. When we see a cart overflowing with TV dinners, fish sticks, Gogurt and 24 packs of Pepsi we get all self-righteous.
Let's see, pride cometh before the...the...how does that expresssion go? I can't remember... cometh before the...
Sleeping less than I should. Which is why I am going to end this post now. The Athens edition of the Franklin Chronicle is winding down. Soon we'll say good-bye to rolling hills of Athens July and say hello to the wind-swept flatness of Lubbock August.
