I’m not exactly sure, but I’m reasonably positive an 8-year-old’s selective hearing contained the following bits from church last Sunday:
… parade …
… we’ll all wear special T-shirts …
… we’ll walk in the parade! …
… T-shirts are just $10 …
“I’ll be famous!” Grace whispered to me upon processing all she needed.
It’ll be her first parade from the inside, beyond the cart peddlers and creepy clowns, just beyond where Shriners’ go-karts whiz by your feet. Grace, a champ at hoarding 80 percent of candy and coozies tossed her way on any given parade route, is ready for her debut.
Out of our house that tends to lean right, there emerges a child who might just be able to reach across the aisle to represent the ideals of both Democrats and Republicans, a leader whose insight and compassion could spark a true bipartisan movement to get Washington to work for us for a change.
Or, she could endure ridicule from both sides and fail miserably to be heard.
Sometime during her second-grade year, Grace penned a document that might go down in history as a great American declaration. Or, one of her cats might cough up a cat-food-laced hairball on it, and it’ll never make it to her the “best of second grade” scrapbook her mom so lovingly makes.
The assignment: If you were President of the United States, what would you do?
I feel like I’m 4. Or 94. I miss appointments. Forget which day the pool is closed. I could watch Price Is Right every day. (Not Saturday or Sunday, but I won’t know that until I try and tune it in and find Danger Rangers or This Week With George Stephanopoulos on the air instead.)
I’m not losing it, friends. I’m just, unemployed.
It’s given me time to work on my disc golf game (I shot 5-under at Mint Hill!). Play and run with the kids (they kick my butt, so I take them to a figure-8 track nearby so that the laps sort of meld into one another!).
Take a nap (such a good one that I woke up with a sore throat).