Maintaining Radio Silence

Never fear, my faithful three readers -- I have not gone gentle into that good night. (When I go, there won't be anything *gentle* about it. I plan to go, kicking and screaming.)

I have been very busy, as the end of all school years tend to be.

*We are winding up all of our end-of-the-year testing, and trying to tie up all the loose ends for the children who most likely won't be matriculating on to first grade. This is also usually the time where we have many visits from irate parents who want to harangue us, even though we've been telling them the same basic information since the first marking period. What do they expect when they don't bother to help their child(ren) with their school work? How can they say they're really surprised that little Johnny is failing kindergarten when we can't even get you to bring him to school every day, much less with pencils and crayons; and nevermind with completed homework? Anyway...it's the same song, every year.

*Offspring is going to be a rising eighth-grader, and with that comes the rush to get her portfolio together so she can audition for the Arts school here in town in the winter for a entering freshman for the following year. We are pushing hard at her to really work on her artwork, but I don't think it's sinking in on her. I really want her to get in this school -- it's fabulous academically, and the potential for her personal growth there would be incredible. The options left open to us if she's NOT accepted I don't even want to fathom.

*Speaking of school -- I have applied to go back to school myself. More on that as it develops, but that's in the extreme infancy stage right now. Haven't even been accepted, but hopefully that's nothing major to worry over.

*I often joke about living in the tropics, but my joke was made real today by the monsoon JF and I experienced as we went out to do the grocery shopping. We headed out to Sam's, and by the time we got there, the water was coming down so hard you could barely see, there was hail the size of Tic Tacs, and the wind was blowing us around like a candy wrapper in an updraft. JF clambered over the backseat like a monkey to get the big golf umbrella for me while he took the teeny collapsible one. We might as well have not even used the blasted brollies for all the good they did us! We were soaked to the skin within minutes, the the wind turned my heavy umbrella into kinetic sculpture. Funnily enough, the small umbrella survived unscathed. The employees at Sam's got a hearty giggle out of our drowned-rat appearance, and they even made a sale with the strategically-placed beach towels at the front entrance. JF snickered endlessly at the fact the umbrellas did nothing to help us, and wandered around muttering about "great big old fat rain."

*We had a Girl Scout appreciation dinner the other night for the leaders in our local unit, and the decision was made to hold it at our local Carrabba's. Now, I'm not a fan of Carrabba's, and I wouldn't have gone except for the fact that it was our end-of-the-year, hand out all the certificates of appreciation type of thing. Our Service Unit Manager called three weeks ahead of time, and reserved their back room so that our large party would not disturb any of the other patrons. She called back the day before our gathering to confirm. Everyting seemed fine -- they had us down for 35 people at 7pm. I was the first to arrive the next evening, at 6:30, in order to do a little bit of decorating on the tables. I was told they were getting our tables together. When the others arrived, they tried to direct us to tables in the middle of the restaurant. They'd given the tables in the back room away. To two people. We asked to speak with the manager. He refused to asked them to move, or to help us in any way. We explained that we'd had that room reserved for over 3 weeks, and we'd asked for that room SPECIFICALLY because we'd be making presentations, and getting up and down a lot, and we didn't want to disturb other diners. He still refused to give us the room. We were on the brink of walking; 25 irate PAYING customers; when one of our ladies sweet-talks him into shooing the parties in the back room out of there as quickly as he can without being ugly AND free desserts for all of us. As we're shown to the table, the hostess is as rude as she can possibly be to me. I would have been happier anywhere else. I will NEVER go to Carrabba's again. I sense an angry letter in my future.

That's pretty much all that's going on here. Offspring took a Girl Scout trip to Orlando this weekend, so I'm just waiting for the call that her bus is trundling up the turnpike, and I should hie my fanny up to the meeting place to fetch her. Stay alive out there, people!