. . . that would require finding them. Or maybe I hate a particular duck and want it to be lost forever.
I have five draft blogs waiting to be published, some of them about our trip to Yakima and some about getting ready for our second year of home schooling and some about loading my pockets with rocks and walking four blocks to Lake Ray Hubbard and swimming with the fishies, but Chopin and Woolf have not prevailed in my tempestuous psyche.
I have five thank you notes to write, curriculum to create because I'm too bull-headed to just use someone else's, a film to finish, a viola teacher to find, a husband to rehearse music with, a Bible study to catch up on, a child to persuade that special olympics softball is just as good as baseball, a band poster to post, a resume to bedazzle and a budget to squeeze a little tighter since I put unleaded in my diesel engine a few weeks ago when I was deliriously ill, all while trying to convince a child, who shall not be named, NOT to buy a red hoodie with a yellow hammer and sickle on it AND hoping my ip address has not been linked to any terrorist plots to pants Glenn Beck. (I just said I didn't want to be linked to it, not that I didn't want it to happen:)
That being said, and just to be safe, I have taken to wearing pocket free pants so rocks don't find their way in and "the superman/banana" doesn't hurt as bad. However, this means I can never find my phone.
If I haven't called you back, don't assume you're a duck I hate; I've just been hard core web searching for pictures of a socialist rubber duckie to post, instead of attacking the aforementioned list.
What to do? Ah , yes . . .