This Is Where Time Goes

Such a busy day for one Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.

It began at 5:20 a.m. when Farmer H got up for work. Nobody sleeps past the time Farmer H gets up. Much like the teacher, Mrs., clapped her loud hands in the Junie B. Jones books, Farmer H stomps his angry feet from bed to bathroom, from bathroom to laundry room to porch to angrily fling a full scoop of dog food into each dog's metal pans, then stomps his angry feet from porch to laundry room to bathroom where he angrily flings his pills from their bottles into a container, then angrily slides the shower door open and closed. After all that, he stomps his angry feet back to the bed, where he plops his angry butt on the mattress to fling Mrs. Hillbilly Mom skyward like a two-year-old on one of those inflatable thingies on an America's Funniest Videos finalist show. After a short lecture on why Mrs. Hillbilly Mom should be on the same schedule as he, Farmer H angrily grabs his keys from the dresser, stomps his now-workboot-clad angry feet to the kitchen, angrily opens and closes the microwave to warm his bacon/egg/cheese/English muffin, then angrily slams the kitchen door.

I arose with a clatter of angry cartilage in my knees to take medicine, call my mom, have breakfast, shower, read a National Enquirer and a Globe, and put away yesterday's clean dishes.

I went to my mom's house, where she had trimmed her front-porch hedges for me to walk through. There I busied myself looking for pictures of The Pony at his smart camp, logged her out of her email, interrogated her about her password, put her computer back like it was, and headed for the bank.

I drove through a downpour, treated myself to a 44 oz. soda, picked up the mail (which included my very special MO Lottery check) after dodging a wasp, but not the bird that careened out of the mailbox next to EmBee on Friday and Saturday, carried in the wheat rolls and brownies that my mom gave me, patted both dogs and yelled at a cat, started cooking lunch at 2:30 p.m., and carried more toilet paper to the bathroom.

I carried my soda and bubba cup of ice water to my dark basement lair. Went back upstairs to get lunch and put away Farmer H's soon-to-be supper, cut up some strawberries, threw away some cabbage, connected my internet, and took lunch down to the lair.

I went back upstairs (13 of them to be exact) to fiddle with my recalcitrant internet that had ceased working over the past 15 minutes. On the way back downstairs, the phone rang mid-flight. It was my mom leaving a message that her phone made a noise while she was talking, and she wanted to see if it was me.

I called Mom and told her no, but I was fine. Then I ate my lunch at 3:30 p.m. and checked out a few items on the internet.

It really seemed like I accomplished more.