It’s 9:48 p.m.
And I just finished listening to Caroline practice the flute.
This is exactly what I want to be doing at 9:48 p.m. after a long day.
But she came home after soccer practice and was suddenly worried about her lack of skill as a flutist because there’s some sort of test tomorrow and she realized she doesn’t really know how to read music. She didn’t really appreciate my suggestion that maybe this was related to the fact she never practices.
I did my best to give her a quick overview of the musical scale but it’s safe to say she isn’t going to be the next Sir James Galway.
(I have no idea who he is. I just googled “Famous Flute Players” and found an article that stated everyone would have Sir James Galway on their list.)
(And by everyone I guess they mean no one I know.)
(Who are these people making lists of famous flutists?)
(And are any of them interested in coming to my house and teaching my daughter how to read music?)
All that to say, even without the impromptu bedtime flute lesson, it’s been a long day.
On Sunday afternoon I drove to Houston with Bops and Caroline because I was speaking at a church in Katy on Monday morning. Bops offered to go with me because I mentioned I was kind of afraid to stay by myself in their house in Houston and Caroline ended up getting to tag along after she begged and pleaded and said it would basically make her life richer and better to spend twenty-four hours in Houston with her mother and grandfather. What else was she going to do with that time? We know it’s not practicing the flute.
So I agreed because it seemed like a great chance for us to all spend quality time together and make precious memories. And that’s what we did. We went to our favorite Italian restaurant and watched some T.V. and then we all got ready to head to bed. Which is when Bops announced he was just going to sleep on the couch because he didn’t want to have to make up his bed in the morning. It seems he would rather get a mediocre night’s sleep on a couch as opposed to having to mess with decorative pillows.
Of course I don’t even begin to understand this logic, but I am married to a man who spent the better part of his high school years sleeping in a sleeping bag on top of his covers because he didn’t want to make his bed in the morning. Maybe that’s why he married me. So he’d have someone to make his bed.
Anyway, we woke up Monday morning and Bops and Caroline dropped me off at the church and headed to go eat breakfast until it was time to pick me up. I spoke to the sweetest group of women and they even presented me with a gift bag after it was over that included a package of Mrs. Baird’s cinnamon rolls, a gift certificate to Taco Bell and Chick-Fil-A and a one pound bag of M&M’s.
Sure. To the casual observer that seems like a random assortment of gifts until you realize those are all things I mention in my books. Just like Hemingway did.
And to my delight, they even included this t-shirt from my old high school. I think it’s going to be my new favorite.
After I finished my talk and visited with you a few people, I gathered up all my things and headed to the parking lot to meet my dad and Caroline. They’d had a nice breakfast together and had also made a purchase that essentially sums up the difference between being a parent and a grandparent.
(I realize you all wanted pics of Gulley as Wonder Woman on yesterday’s post and there were none. Now I give you this latex hand. I promise I’ll post a pic of Gulley in her costume when I get one.)
I don’t even know what horrors this hand is supposed to have endured.
All I know is my dad would have never spent his hard earned money on a fake bloody rubber hand when I was a kid. I mean, that’s $8.64 that could be invested in a sensible mutual fund.
But for Caroline? He was all in on the horrible hand.
Which I guess is a grandfather’s prerogative.
I just wish she’d spent the car ride home resting that disgusting, bloody hand on his shoulder instead of mine.