Forgive my long stretches on non-blogging. I think of you, little blog, all the time. But I can't seem to find the time to sit and type all of my introspective, irrelevant commentary. Today, though, was a veritable invitation to blog.
The girls and I had a busy day planned: a trip to the gym so I could work out, lunch with our friend Carly and her older and very helpful children (Helen has a crush on a certain tween boy...so stinkin cute!), and then a return to the gym for swimming at our awesome, way cool "aquatics center" (indoor: lazy river, splash playground, big ole water slide, leisure pool, lap pool, hot tub).
By the time we met for lunch, I was beginning to feel like I was on the periphery of a Twilight Zone episode. We had to make a last minute unplanned trip to target after Helen decided today, the day I forgot her backpack of spare clothes, would be an excellent dsay to wet her pants. On the way out of the Target parking lot, we saw the obligatory homeless man with the cardboard sign. Usually it's something about being hungry and I usually ignore it cuz I'm a chicken and I don;t want to make nay eye contact. But today I read his plea, and I think I figured out what his problem is. See, he's 170 years old, and people probably think he's a ghost. Ghosts don;t need food, no? Yup. His sign proclaimed "Disabled Civil War Veteran" Hmmm.....sigh. Please don't judge me for laughing. I I don't think I've ever claimed to have an ounce of sensitivity. Or tact.
As I continued on my 4 minute trip form Target to the restaurant, I passed a man in the Office M*x parking lot. He appeared to be an employee in a food service establishment, as he was dressed in black clothing and apron, and he was parallel to the ground, feet on the curb, doing push ups. "I'll be back to take your drink order after my office supply store parking lot calisthenics." But by far the weirdest event of the day occurred prior to these, after my exercise class. I proceeded to the locker room to take a shower. I approached the sink to wash my hands, only to be greeted by the smell of meatballs coming from the crockpot that was plugged in and resting on the counter between two sinks. In the locker room. Of the gym. Seriously. If there was a pot luck in the locker room, no one told me abut it. And I dared not taste any of the meatballs, simmering away in the locker room. So. frickin. weird.
Lunch was good, but swimming not so much, as we were ushered out of the INDOOR pool five minutes after we got in becasue of a thunderstorm. (Note that it takes me longer than five minutes to get myself and two small children into swimsuits.) We were attempting to wait it out when the place went dark. Blackout at the gym. So we left. Strange day...indeed.