Writing and Scouting and Schmoober, Oh My!

I signed up for NaNoWriMo. Check out the cool new icon at left (props to Katie for making that happen). I am filled with excitement and dread, although the latter is rather a stupid feeling, since it's not like I'm being graded on what I write. It's all good, though, because I am counting on myself to be successful in this endeavor. Go Trace; go Trace!

As if spending countless hours at my computer next month weren't enough, I have taken on a whole new endeavor as well. At her request, I took P to sign up for Girl Scouts last night. There were lots of girls there, but unfortunately not many from P's school. It takes five children to make a troop, but as P was the only 2nd grader from her school at the rally, she was put together with all the 1st graders. To say that she is less than thrilled would be a heavy understatement. I told her that if she was unhappy, she didn't have to join, but she said she still wanted to try it out.

So I and four other moms are sitting at this munchkin-sized table in the cafeteria at one of the neighborhood elementary schools. Two were breastfeeding; one was dressed like she either has a high-paying job, or married a man with one (either way, the process seemed to bore her), and the other one had apparently signed in at the start of the meeting and then vanished. Weird.

Then there was me, whose breasts have not nursed an infant in seven years, and who has not held a decent-paying job in five. Apparently, this means that I am automatically troop leader. I don't actually recall saying that I was the man for the job, but when not one but TWO harried-looking mothers with babes at their chests look at you pathetically, what are you going to do?

The "rich or married so but either way so very bored" woman said that there was no way she could be troop leader because the only camping she is willing to do is at Camp Hyatt. Well. Who wouldn't rather rough it with room service? I have a feeling she's going to annoy me for years to come. Or weeks, depending on how long P wants to stick it out. (Hey, I can dream, can't I?)

The next step in this process is that I have to go to a four-hour seminar next weekend on how to be a troop leader. I hate to give up a Sunday afternoon, but I suppose P's happiness is worth it. She'd darn better appreciate this, for I shall be reminding her for the next forty years or so of all the sacrifices I've made throughout her life. Am I evil? Nay. I am a mother. And not the "f'er" kind, either, lest you are thinking so.

Speaking of bad language, which of course I never, ever, use, we heard "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" on the radio tonight. The kids love that song, but I won't buy them the CD because one line says, "What's f'ed up and everything's alright." Why can't they just say "What's goobed up and everything's alright"? Or maybe use "dorked." Or "schmoobered." Just not the almighty F.

Man, I've had to erase u-c-k every time I've typed F. I don't want to spell out the whole word, but my fingers type much faster than my brain thinks sometimes. Thank goodness for delete and backspace keys.

Also speaking of bad language, a few choice words were heard around here this week. The Astros didn't win a single game in the World Series. "Shucky-darn" and "balderdash" were about the only bad-type words that went unsaid. But as bad as it feels to lose in four straight games, I am still very proud of my boys. It's an amazing feat to even get TO the Series, and most other teams didn't make it that far. Some didn't even come close. So hats off to you, 'stros - you're still hometown heroes to me.