Away From the Roll of the Sea of Poo-Poo

I was all TGIF! as I headed out the door in the morning. I had one of those never before had days at work were I performed tasks in motion with no emotion. I shuffled papers because I had to. I made copies, sent faxes because I had to. I did recess duty because I had too... All the while watching the clock tick.

The plan was a 30-minute nap when I got home and then I was going to begin a deep clean on the house--prepping for our upcoming Not-So-Annual Fish Fry. Instead I walked through the door and was greeted by the holler of D's voice alerting me to black stuff. To make whole "shitty" story short (mostly because it sickens me to think about it much more) the main sewer line was blocked and spilled...no spewed into the laundry room (my dirty little secret room of the house) like a geyser, then seeping under the walls into the family room and A's bedroom (the only carpeted room down there). Everyone man in the neighborhood morning shower, shave and shit was now in my house, my basement. The house smelt like an outhouse, cow pasture and anything else shitty one could image. There was so much methane building down there if we weren't so sick to our stomachs to strike a match the house would have blown--I am almost certain of this. In a race to preserve my furniture the girls and I scooped bucket after bucket and raced them up the stairs and outside for dumping. It was like an old fashion fire drill. Once MSD arrived and cleared the clogged line, King Ralph (now home) called the clean up company--compliments of MSD.

Now my dirty little secret room is getting cleaner than ever before. But the house smells like a musty old cellar.

You'll love this. M's biggest disappoint is that the Barbie house got wet. The thing the girls were saving for posterity. The item Princess A saved her money for from her four year old allowance to purchase (and then "quit her job" when she saved enough for the darn thing) became the reason of greatest concern. A three story Barbie house!? Go figure. Here I was thinking we were all chancing a risk at a head to toe case of ring worm and M is concerned the doll's house my have to be eighty-sixed. Oh to be young.

A situation of this magnitude called for a stiff drink and a pizza to go from IMO's...at 9pm. Five hours after the basement geyser was discovered. Then, finally 2.5 hours later we all crawled in bed--to the hum of 10 industrial air blowers and dehumidifiers. (I sense the electric meter is pulling a Clark Griswold).

As I was enjoying a solid night's rest and dreaming of...oh God I dreamt I weighed 160 pounds, gained it all at work eating all the poison that lie on the staff lounge tables--I had to wake at 6am.

This early morning wake up call, although not so much welcomed, was for an exciting reason-- D's Middle School Solo/Ensemble Festival performance. Now it is apparent I have a voodoo hex cast on me. First the sewer, then the 830am performance time. (Like who has yet coughed up their morning loogie on a Saturday at that hour to be able to sing?) D and her constant singing ensemble girl posy insisted this year on a difficult four part harmony; it was decided by the choir director the four perfectly blended voices should sing Away From the Roll of the Sea. I listened to the song practiced I don't know how many times through the vent in my bedroom. Always knowing it sounded like the most tranquil piece of music to flutter in the airs of this house. When I listened to the girls at their dress rehearsal, days earlier, I knew they were the best. And, that was not me being bias. So when then quartet took the floor, introduced themselves and named the title of their musical piece my mom heart started to beat. Then it beat faster and faster with each note they sang. The four of them have such a mature presence when they perform. Whatever nerves they have shaking about inside them they do not show, they just open mouth and music notes flow. We four moms all agreed it was a one rating performance--because after years and years of going to these festivals you become an untrained, but somehow a self-qualified critic. (I also love how these festivals are like a peaceful gang war, the band kids don't dare cross in the orchestra kids hood and the choir kids, well they fight for there right to a plot of any available hood space.) The thing I stress to the kids is that is not always about getting a one rating but about the courage it takes to stand up there and perform to be judged.

Then the eight of us left for a celebration breakfast at First Watch while waiting for the choir director to call with the rating. A ONE! Did we [moms] think it would be anything less? NO! D and I toasted a job well sung with two cups of "A Lot" of OJ. While happy-proud smiles graced the faces of four adorable well deserved fourteen-year-old girls.

This weekend so far has had its ups and downs. One more day to go. Please let it be an up day!