a day late and a dollar short - part two

I apologize for the distractions.

I imagine that if you don't like basketball, or the Georgia Bulldogs, or this blog for that matter, my previous post may actually have caused the counter at the bottom to go backwards. Not that it matters, but it may be a first in blogger history.

A concerted effort is going to be made to compile the events of the last week in order to catch up with current happenings. The date automatically displayed at the top of each post makes me nervous considering I already feel like I am always a day behind and the blogger "time keeper" only reinforces my insecurities as SLACKER. It either has to be in this format, one that summarizes many memories in just a few sentences, or the contraption from the movie Back to the Future will have to be utilized.

Anyhooo....

Traveling like a Rock Star
I met my friends from South Carolina in Atlanta a few weekends ago. It is a trip we have taken for years, one that has had as many as 25 girls attend, and an annual get away that is looked forward to with much anticipation from the moms and a little bit of dread from the dads. What makes it so unique is not that lots of shopping and dining and gabbing take place, but that the aforementioned activities are chauffeured in true rock star style. Like this:



This is not our actual ride but it is pretty darn close. The generous dad of one of my friends owns the "bus" which he had customized to support his tailgating endeavors. A back bedroom was removed and replaced with a table and seating that will sustain 20 women playing cards while simultaneously lip syncing the words to every song on the Grease soundtrack. We are driven all over Atlanta, arriving in style at each destination, with a little fanfare from curious onlookers and a whole lot of disappointment as we disembark. Any hope that a Dixie Chick or the drummer from Coldplay is going to emerge quickly vanishes as hyper moms with purses on their shoulders step down the stairs leading to the next shop our plastic will visit.

What's Mine is Yours
The fun and frolic came to a screeching halt when I arrived home from my weekend to two children with fevers and flu-like symptoms. An appointment with the doctor the next day confirmed that they had strep throat which would spread to the third child by midweek. I scrambled to make changes in my work schedule, actually taking the oldest to the softball course I teach, pacifying my trooper with a sprite and his Nintendo DS. Three children with strep throat: good times.

You're Not In Kansas Anymore
Fortunately,everyone perked up by the end of the week to travel to my mother-in-law's house for a visit. Our closest friends, Jon and Tricia, also live in the same town and we were able to get together with them on Saturday, just in time for the weather to go berserk.

Tornadoes were spotted in the area, and like many small towns, blared a siren in warning much like the one heard in the Wizard of Oz. This siren went off on four different occasions, prompting four different trips to the basement with four adults, five children and one puppy (whose name should be changed to Toto). In between the many trips up and down the stairs, we were able to witness an enormous amount of hail that poured out of the sky and eventually covered the ground. It reminded me of the "good ice" you can only get in certain fast food restaurants; the kind that looks like rabbit pellets which you will drive all over town just to have it poured into your diet coke. If you don't know what I'm talking about, check out Zaxby's. Your drink will never be the same.

Later we watched the Georgia basketball team win their second game on Saturday which would send them to the finals on Sunday. Please appreciate my restraint. Go Dogs.

Can I Get a Glory?
Sunday morning we went to church with John's mom, Mary. The service was a relevant, worshipful experience with much joyful, vocal participation from its enthusiastic members. They are bold and demonstrative in their faith and I greatly appreciate their love for the Lord. I tend to be a little more reserved outwardly in my worship style, but inside know that I'm clapping and dancing like the closet charismatic I am. It all counts, right?

Chase, my eight year old son, was unaware, as we were, that he would be participating in the worship service. The children of the church were gathered from their classes and brought to "big church" to publicly present an offering. It was really sweet, except Chase, in his own words, "didn't know any of these people and next thing I know I'm up on the stage. What's that about?"

He did just fine walking across the stage and then back up the aisle of the church. I caught his eye as he exited and the sly grin on his face told me that he had more to say about the matter.

Later, as we were riding home, I asked him about his unexpected experience.

"It was okay. But did you hear that lady? She yelled, 'WAAAAAHOOOOOOOOO', right in the middle of church! It sounded like you during a basketball game."

My delightful, conservative Presbyterian son. I was actually doing the same thing - just on the inside. It all counts, right?