Frenzy is when there aren't enough hours in the day to accomplish all the things you imposed upon yourself to do.
Frenzy is when you are late to a meeting and the kids won't eat their cereal fast enough and you finally get out the door only to spill coffee on your shirt.
Frenzy is when it is your brand new favorite shirt that now has a permanent coffee stain in the shape of Africa on it.
Frenzy is when you finally make it to class on time and you realize that you left your homework at home.
Frenzy is when you try to recreate the assignment in the thirty seconds it takes for every one else to turn in their analyses of "Beowulf."
Frenzy is when you open the door on a rainy day and the neighbor's 100 pound dog comes barreling in and shakes himself dry all over the kitchen you just cleaned.
Frenzy is yelling at your husband because HE was the one who convinced you that an all white kitchen is "classy."
Frenzy is when the phone rings, the baby cries, and the timer on the stove goes off all at the same time to indicate that dinner is ready.
Frenzy is when the smoke detector simultaneously erupts five minutes later at which time you realize that the menu is now charbroiled casserole.
Frenzy is when you pick up the stack of papers, race out the door to work, only to realize as you pass out your power point presentation that your printer ran out of ink on page three.
Frenzy is when you were planning on going to church on a Wednesday night when you look at the clock and realize that not only have you been on facebook for over an hour but that you have exactly five minutes and thirteen seconds before church starts and you need a shower.
Frenzy is when you realize that you promised a good friend that you would be there.
"Friendzy" is the "little friend" who is going to forgive you for not showing up and will laugh out loud at the cleverness of this extensive definition of frenzy.
25 April 2012
23 April 2012
The Pajama Theory
It is her theory that pajamas tell a lot about the person wearing them. Some people say that one's handwriting or choice of hair color is much more indicative of character than one's pajamas- but she begs to differ. For instance, she remembers being in church as a small child where she was made to sit still and listen to the preacher as he droned on and on about the merits of good works and obedience. She wasn't allowed to sleep during church, or chew bubble gum, or make any noise at all (which was quite hard considering that her grandmother had given her a roll of smarties before church).
So, at least one hour and a half into the sermon that seemed to have more "ahs" and "ums" than scripture references, she began watching the old preacher as he spoke. He had to be at least 75 because the hair that he did have was combed across the top of his head to cover the baldness. He was dressed in a three piece suit with his coat buttoned all the way up to the top and he pushed his glasses up almost every time he said "um."
She remembers thinking it was almost like working with a blank slate; he was that plain. And suddenly, from nowhere came the mental image of this homely man in his pajamas. She had no idea where this idea came from but, seeing as there was still thirty minutes left in the service, she decided to entertain the idea.
Did the old man wear a three piece pajama set (much like his suit)to bed? She could kind of see him wearing plaid, flannel pajamas (with socks, of course)with the shirt tucked in and the pants pulled up to his rib cage. Perhaps, he would wear boxers and an old t-shirt that he pulled over his head and tossed on the floor as he got into bed. Or... NO! There was absolutely no way she could picture him in footie pajamas with little space monkeys on them but it did paint an amusing picture in her mind.
When the preacher reached down to receive a glass of water from the deacon, she began to realize what a pearl her mind had produced. Yes, she could see the deacon wearing red silk pajamas as he padded around the house making sure that the doors and windows were locked before he went to bed every night.
Methodically, she began imagining that everyone was wearing their pajamas instead of their Sunday best. A small smile crept onto her face as one after another, she mentally redressed them all into divers types of pajamas. For some reason, it made all those stern adults seem more approachable. After all, how could old granny "Lisbeth" look crotchety when she was wearing a brightly flowered muumuu? How could bachelor Ed be grouchy while wearing a tank top and boxer shorts?
It slowly became her opinion that on Sundays everyone should forego the suits and ties and dresses and patent leather shoes. The should forget the haughty glances, the bitterness, the judgmental stares and just wear pajamas.
She was quite sure it was a good idea and before she knew it, the preacher had called for a closing prayer.
Later on, when her father asked her opinion of the sermon, she didn't have much to say. And somehow, she couldn't muster up the courage to share her theory of pajamas. Maybe one day, when she was too old for spankings...
So, at least one hour and a half into the sermon that seemed to have more "ahs" and "ums" than scripture references, she began watching the old preacher as he spoke. He had to be at least 75 because the hair that he did have was combed across the top of his head to cover the baldness. He was dressed in a three piece suit with his coat buttoned all the way up to the top and he pushed his glasses up almost every time he said "um."
She remembers thinking it was almost like working with a blank slate; he was that plain. And suddenly, from nowhere came the mental image of this homely man in his pajamas. She had no idea where this idea came from but, seeing as there was still thirty minutes left in the service, she decided to entertain the idea.
Did the old man wear a three piece pajama set (much like his suit)to bed? She could kind of see him wearing plaid, flannel pajamas (with socks, of course)with the shirt tucked in and the pants pulled up to his rib cage. Perhaps, he would wear boxers and an old t-shirt that he pulled over his head and tossed on the floor as he got into bed. Or... NO! There was absolutely no way she could picture him in footie pajamas with little space monkeys on them but it did paint an amusing picture in her mind.
When the preacher reached down to receive a glass of water from the deacon, she began to realize what a pearl her mind had produced. Yes, she could see the deacon wearing red silk pajamas as he padded around the house making sure that the doors and windows were locked before he went to bed every night.
Methodically, she began imagining that everyone was wearing their pajamas instead of their Sunday best. A small smile crept onto her face as one after another, she mentally redressed them all into divers types of pajamas. For some reason, it made all those stern adults seem more approachable. After all, how could old granny "Lisbeth" look crotchety when she was wearing a brightly flowered muumuu? How could bachelor Ed be grouchy while wearing a tank top and boxer shorts?
It slowly became her opinion that on Sundays everyone should forego the suits and ties and dresses and patent leather shoes. The should forget the haughty glances, the bitterness, the judgmental stares and just wear pajamas.
She was quite sure it was a good idea and before she knew it, the preacher had called for a closing prayer.
Later on, when her father asked her opinion of the sermon, she didn't have much to say. And somehow, she couldn't muster up the courage to share her theory of pajamas. Maybe one day, when she was too old for spankings...
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