Thursday, August 23, 2007
To borrow a line from TobyMac
And paraphrase, I bet you thought I fell off the face of the earth.
Well, no, not really. Maybe wish I could have, but didn't.
Tuesday just before lunch I found out that our football special edition (the one we do every year this time, the one I've been responsible for the PAST THREE YEARS, the one that I completely forgot about) was to publish. Next week. And I haven't gotten any information from the schools. (Which Shirley said was OK, because she'd forgotten too and hadn't sold any ads.)
So the last two days I've been spending every spare moment putting this football tab together. On top of my regular work. And, thanks to some big-hearted football coaches who are getting their information to me lickity-split, I'm almost done.
I was hoping for today, but I guess it'll have to be tomorrow.
But - the Fairy Tale Ball!
My assumptions were correct - every girl there was either a princess or a fairy. Actually, two girls just came in their regular clothes.
Guess they didn't think the rules applied to them. They do, after all, attend the private school here.
We were 30 minutes early, because I'm a big doofus and thought it started 5:00. When it started at 5:30. So we got to talk to the teacher/owner while she finished getting things together.
We even got there before the Fairy Godmother. Who, by the way, Anna Marie wanted nothing to do with.
Anna Marie made a hair barrette with curly ribbon, and bracelet out of a pipe cleaner and beads, and a magic wand with a Popsicle stick and a big foam cutout of a star.
Good times, good times.
And we got a tour of the studio, which is still under renovations. And Anna Marie ran around playing with the other girls.
Except for the lack of food (Who in their right mind has an open house and doesn't serve food? Especially in the south?) it wasn't too bad.
I handed over a check for the uniform order, and an auto-draft form for the monthly tuition and we left to change, eat, and make it to church in the nick of time.
And so begins the life of a dancer.
Or at least the next nine months.