Dear Friendies

Ok, so I have to do some serious backpedaling now, because I just slammed that last blog out there to get Holly off my back. I did NOT expect her to invite scores of people to peek at it; I hadn't edited it or re-read it even; it was just a one-minute flailing out there to see if that's the kind of thing she had in mind. It's not exactly the stellar piece I would have wanted to start out with and for the life of me, I can't find the DELETE icon on this site to get rid of that whiny-pants entry.

BOTHERATION.

So for reals now, we're just going to make this a group conversation to my dear friendies (well, and the kids). This way, you won't feel compelled to respond to some of those longer emails (I've heard rumors to the effect that they carry a sensation of "homework" to some) and can just pick and choose what you are in the mood to read. For the record, the first person I ever heard use the term "friendies" was Debbie and it is SO the perfect term, that I quickly snatched it and use it shamelessly to describe all of you.

Tomorrow will be Tim's first day back at school. (I can just see Debbie hunkering down in her chair with a grin, because any Tim anecdotes are sure to run the mercury on the entertainment thermometer into triple digits). We had to visit the campus today to get his schedule, meet with his special ed coordinator and trot around to the classrooms so he could get a rough idea of where he was going. We also decided he needed a smaller size PE shirt. As we paid the finance lady, she glanced at her watch and remarked, "Oooh, you might JUST make it to the student store before they close."

I told Tim to take the receipt and run ahead (I was wearing a skirt and flip-flops) and see if he could catch them. He had to tear through the expansive quad and lunch area, which were entirely bereft of human life, amplifying the "THWAK-THWAK" of his panicked, flat-footed running to deafening decibles as it reverberated off the lunch area's metal awnings. His sunglasses flew off his head en route, but I yelled after him that I would get them. He barreled to a halt at the student store, poked his head in the door and bellowed urgently, "HELLOWW? ANYBODY? HELLOWW? IS THERE ANYONE HERE AT ALL?" Understand now, there is no plant life whatsoever on the campus, except for the beautiful waving palms encircling the quad, but they are sparsely placed and of skyscraper height, so all that cement made for very excellent acoustic effects. I immediately envisioned every neighbor within a one mile radius running to their window wondering why this person shouting at their front door didn't have the courtesy to use the doorbell. Needless to say, I flip-flopped along as fast as I could manage, propelled by embarrassment as well as bursts of chuckling, but a nice looking fellow, with a bit of a startled look on his face from what had to have been a fearsome auditory jolt on such a peaceful afternoon, showed up before more shouting was required and handed breathless Tim a better sized shirt. There is no further question that my boy has himself a competent set of lungs.

So there you have it; the first installment of "Life With Tim". He's terribly happy that instead of having to start his first school day at the repulsive 8:05 of normal days, he gets to show up at 10:15 instead, because he's an upper classman. Sweet.