SO. I have this blog. But see, here's the thing:
1) I never have time to write on it.
2) That's a total lie. I have lots of time. What I don't have is hands-free time. And I really hate typing one-handed. Hence why I just stare at your blog for hours at a time waiting for you to update it.
3) My mind is a blank. And I don't just mean I have writer's block or something like that, I mean I have a completely empty skull, wind whistling through it Homer Simpson-style and everything, 24 hours a day. I don't think anything at all. Ever. Even now I'm staring at these words wondering what the hell I'm writing. I'm sure you and I have that in common at least. It's nice to have friends.
4) Cheese and crackers.
So I have nothing of worth to tell you, but I almost started to feel guilty the other day for not writing anything in nearly a month so I figured I'd better get rid of that feeling right-quick. Wouldn't want the ol' emotions to get in gear after all this time or anything.
Hey, speaking of food, I have a random story to tell you. So back in the church congregation the Husband and I attended when we first got married I was one of the folks in charge of making sure all the kids saw the light and got religion. I remember one of the kids that moved into the ward's boundaries was named Rusty. Rusty was maybe five or six, was very active, and had never been to any church before in his life. The concept of sitting still, without inflicting damage or harm, was completely foreign to him. Speaking of foreign, this kid was German, too. He was born in America and all, but his parents were flat-out German, accents and all (this is important, trust me). He was a big, sturdy, solid, German kid.
So anyway, little Rusty was a handful. The Sunday School class he was in had to have two teachers, despite the class's small number of students: one teacher taught the class, and the other teacher held Rusty down until he got learnded good. Or I'm assuming that's what happened; all I know is it took two of them. And frequently they needed more than that because Rusty was quite often brought to his mother rather than cause any further medical or emotional distress. So one Sunday a group of us gathered outside of Rusty's classroom door, waiting for him to be shoved out by his handler at any moment. He had already been talked to once that day and had been given his last warning, and wouldn't you know it, he didn't seem as if he was going to heed that warning any century soon. So it started with me (one of the counselors) and Bryn (the other counselor), and eventually grew to include, I believe, the secretary (who knows what her name was), and the entire bishopric. Normally, the only member of the bishopric who should have been there was [Kirk], but Rusty usually attracted a crowd and we got all of them. All of us standing in the hall, not two feet from his door, waiting for him to be shoved out, and all swapping Rusty stories in the mean time. [Kirk] told a great tale that day in the hallway. He said one day Rusty was acting up (of course) so he personally took him to the foyer and sat him down on the couch, sat next to him, and they sat there for the remainder of church together. He said their conversation soon turned to Rusty's very solid, German-like frame:
Rusty: I'm hungry.
Kirk: Sorry to hear that.
Rusty: I'm really hungry!
Kirk: No, Rusty.
Rusty: But I'm REALLY HUNGRY.
Kirk: Well, you can't eat right now. You'll just have to wait.
Rusty: But I wanna talk about sausages!
Kirk said it was all he could do to not crack up laughing. It wasn't even that Rusty wanted to EAT sausages, he just wanted to TALK about them.
Kirk, thinking to himself: Geez, kid, how German can you get?
I'm fairly certain that Bryn and I said, "But I wanna talk about sausages!" to each other for months afterwards, busting up laughing each and every time. I still laugh just thinking about it. See, now you're in on the joke, too.
So there you have it. My Rusty story for the day. I'm pretty sure either he'll wind up on America's Most Wanted or wind up speaking to us at General Conference. Either way, I wouldn't be surprised in the least.
*Get it? Brat? 'Cause "brat" is short for bratwurst? Man, I'm brilliant even on my stupidest day.
11 comments:
Sorry you're sick but you are stil as entertaining as ever! Hope you get better soon! And that your baby can learn not to be held so we all can get more of you!
I needed that story, because I have a Brat of my own in sunbeams. He hauled of and was hitting and kicking me yesterday, in fact. And all his mother does when we go get her, is coddle him. Yeah, like that helps lady.
So, thanks!
Hooray! My fun stories help heal bruises! I'm sorry that kid is such a brat, Meredith. And the presidency does nothing at all??
Ryann, if this kid can learn that before six months, it will be a Christmas miracle. Apparently I don't raise kids that don't need to be held 24/7.
dude, abby i was wondering when you would post again. i try to post something everyday just because it annoys the hell out of me to find not one person has posted. at least i did, crap post or not. i'm sorry your still sick. remember you can always bring the kids over for a little break. seriously. the girls would love to play with PW and i would love to play with your baby. let me know....
Oh Abby how I've missed you. :)
oh, by the way, i forgot to tell you that story is HILARIOUS! sorry i forgot to mention that before..... :)
i was just too excited that you finally posted something!
I have a date on Friday. Call me tomorrow so we can talk about it.
Oh, and we'll talk about sausages, too, if you'd like.
Ha! I love the rambliness of this.
I think, inside, my husband is still just like this little boy. If all our conversations were about sausage, instead of about our feelings, he would be a much happier man.
Awwww, I like little Rusty already. I'm just glad I wasn't there to have to handle him. Terence has an older version of him in his primary class right now, and he just got the joyful Christmas present of another wild child added to the class. Fun times for Terence!!
Sorry your hands are full with SP though-- does she at least sleep good stretches at night?
I had erased the whole family from my mind. Thanks for the reminder Abby. Those were the good ol' days...that weren't always so good. I was remarkably well behaved with that kid, I usually ended up in the bishop's office apologizing to some rotten kids parent for trying to "parent" their spoiled kids. It's amazing how involved a parent will suddenly get when they hear that their kid's sunday school teacher tells them to sit down and shut up or there's gonna be a serious ass whoopin'...or their scout master tells them if they want to behave like a bunch of hoods they can go back to the ghetto they live in and stop wasting his time. Sometimes I'm amazed I had kids of my own...considering how few I actually am willing to tolerate. Of course my kids knew from the start that if needed, I could probably convince their mother to start over from scratch and make a replacement for the "missing" child. And yes, Abby, you got the story absolutely correct. Can we talk about sausages now.
Kirk
Might I suggest some Wellbutrin or Elavil. Of course, that might make you cut down on the humor.
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