name change and other administrative matters

As we headed out to do chores this morning, my LSH wondered why I was bringing the camera. "For the blog, of course!" I replied, which reminded him to ask me what LSH stood for. When I told him it was Long Suffering Husband, he was disappointed. He thought it stood for Loving Supportive Husband, and he is certainly that, in spades. After all, who else would let his wife sleep in while he handled morning matters (including packing lunches for almost the entire school year), and unquestionably accompany his wife to nurse out a weaning ewe for her, and step in to carry the chicken's full waterer at the same time? A Loving Supportive Husband, that's who. After 15 years and 10 days of marriage to me, he also qualifies as long suffering. But that is no longer his official title.

As for other administrative matters, today is the last day of school for Primo and Secondo. I was up working until 1 am this morning, and when I stumbled down in search of coffee at 7:15 am, my LSH reminded me that we had forgotten gifts for the teachers and bus drivers as is our usual practice to thank them for putting up with our kids (especially the bus drivers, who wait patiently as our kids tear down the driveway). This end-of-school-on-a-Monday thing has really thrown me for a loop, more so than usual.

I managed to get Secondo to write thank you notes to each of his teachers before he caught the bus. My LSH and I decided that, when I ran into town to do my usual errands, I would also pick up some flowers for the bus drivers. But it was a half-day, and I was already running late thanks to the farm chores and answering the bazillion work e-mails from Friday that came in while I was at the mall. I finally took off for town with 25 minutes to go until Primo got off the bus. I tapped my toes at the bank while a new teller fumbled through the transactions. (I know service people think I am a very impatient person. I am not. I am just a person with not a lot of time to spare, which I admit is almost always entirely my fault.) I ran breathlessly into the flower shop to see if she could make up a couple of bouquets for me, but no luck: she was busy with other orders. I flew through the post office and headed over to the hardware store, which once again saved my butt. I grabbed two hanging baskets of flowers, prepared to pay whatever they cost, and was pleasantly surprised when they were only $10 apiece.(This is the third gift-giving occasion this year in which they have rescued me. I love our local hardware store.)

After running like a maniac down Main Street to my car, baskets in hand (won't be the last time), I managed to make it past the school in time to ascertain that the buses hadn't left yet. Whew. I rushed back and parked at the end of the drive to await Primo's bus, because every almost-7th grade boy wants to see his mother waiting at the end of the drive for him to get off the bus, with a hanging basket of flowers in her grasp. My kids clearly also deserve to have some sort of "suffering" adjective added to their names.