Bicycles and T-Shirts...and some other junk

Bicycles and T-Shirts both do essentially the same thing, they hide your nipples. That's kind of a weird statement. For sure it is, but it came to light in the context of a silly song that Daddy was making up this morning, so it's okay. I don't recall what the song was, and I have no idea why I was singing it, or what inspired me to compare t-shirts and bikes in such a manner as to bring nipples into the equation? For whatever reason it found the clean oxygen of living on the lake, and once it exited my lips there was just no taking it back.

Children make you say reediculous things. Fortunately, they contribute to the nonsense themselves, and moreso. It makes for interesting conversations. Like yesterday when Zo said confidently (and oh-so profoundly), "It's a beautiful day for kicking stones." Indeed it was. So as astonishingly odd as the statement may have seemed to the passer by, it made a great deal of sense. My bike and t-shirt thing didn't. Zo wins. I do, however, earn mondo points for using the word, essentially, in a song.

On other notes, today is Saturday...Zo has gymnastics, there is a super cool art festival downtown, our nephew Beezer's Championship football game is at 1pm, and somewhere in all of that we will enjoy steaming coffee, breakfast on the run, lunch at our old high school haunt, and more fervent packing and cleaning up of our sad and sorry lake lives. We move in two weeks.

Lets see, what else is happening? Oh, I have to apply for my own job with the school board, and run the risk of not getting it, which would alter my existence entirely. I would lose approx. between $15,000 and $20,000 each year, no longer be visiting schools and helping kids, probably wasting my addictions, grief and crisis education (that has cost a significant chunk), and very likely helping to develop an experiential education/leadership center for youth at the YMCA. I could go from delivering kids into detox to delivering high ropes programs on the cheap. That's messed up. I've been a wreck of a disaster of a basket case for weeks now, but I keep reminding myself that you can't roller skate in a buffalo herd, or something like that...Oh, and I swear a lot, and get easily frustrated. I occasionally fight back a nervous (drowning in anxiety) tear and more often than not question the universe's sudden harsh treatment of it's favorite son. Me.

Shrug...dunno what to do about it, except just go out and get the job that's already mine by straight arming the competition, making the selection committee punch drunk with my awesomeness, and maybe make a veiled threat or two. For now I'll just go to gymnastics and thank the great God's of the universe that I'm not one of those gymnastics parent type people that I loathe. Maybe I'll sing another song, or maybe not. There's always crying but it's so emasculating.