Lord Willin' And The Creek Don't Rise
2005-02-21, 3:47 p.m.

I am slowly recovering from a 4-day migraine, which always makes for a fun weekend. Today I am actually up with the sun, rather than sleeping the day away and prowling around at night like a hungover vampire. Clarification: I�m up with what little sun there is between thunderstorms. The Universe is having a marvelous time toying with me, as it is weather changes that trigger my migraines. What better way to make Sally scream than stacks of thunderstorms interspersed with drops of sun?

To top it off, Son has strep throat. Again. If you�re gonna get sick, this is the time to do it, because one of the local grocery store pharmacies is offering amoxicillin for free for the month of February. Son is simply devastated at having to wallow around the house for another day, being forced to watch cartoons and play video games and eat copious amounts of ice cream. Sometimes it�s just tough being a kid.

I knew he was deathly ill today when he told his sister he loved her. She responded in kind. Rapture and Apocalypse to commence sometime this afternoon. It�s a definite sign.

The other sure sign of Son�s sickness? He didn�t make it all the way through the afternoon at Marvelous Marley�s birthday party. He was well enough at the pizza place, but flatly refused to go see the movie afterwards. He wailed and railed and lunged into the back seat of the car, while I tumbled over myself making awkward apologies for his behavior to Marley and her mother. We barely made it out of the theater parking lot before he fell asleep. Son doesn�t nap unless he is ill. He spent two blissful afternoons taking long naps; blissful for ME, that is. As much as I hate for either of my children to be sick, the quiet was a blessed thing indeed.

Barring migraine continuances and sick children, I am supposed to go on a fun overnight retreat on Friday with my ladies� church circle, a hang-out-all-night-with-wine-by-the-gallon event. The �P� in �Presbyterian� actually stands for �Party�. I guess that makes us Party-be-terians. I have already begun coaching Hubby on how to care for our children overnight without the umbilical cell phone. Last year�s retreat, my first, entailed hourly bleating from Hubby, who had absolutely no clue what to do with his own offspring. He finally overcompensated, took the kids to the park and movie and restaurant and allowed Every Forbidden Food for breakfast, and resumed his hourly calling until I arrived home noonish the next day to the agonized groans of our children. �You�re BACK? But Daddy�s FUUUUUUUNNNN�� Hubby has promised that the kids will be fed, entertained, reasonably clean, and that he will be able to do those things without my digitally-enhanced vocal support. Maybe.

Now you have an insight as to one reason why we switched to Presbyterian from Baptist. There are many fabulous Baptists and many fabulous Baptist churches, but as Presbyterians we have not yet been told we are going to hell in a handbasket for the most minor of infractions or the occasional wine cooler. We also have not been visually assaulted by pastors in obscenely loud suits and utterly impossible hair. It must be a Baptist edict that the pastor will use *Consort For Men liberally, so that no matter how flamboyantly he epistles the apostles his hair will. Not. Move.

I did love our Baptist church in SC. The pastor levitated with warmth, wore an absurdly noticeable yellow suit, and was one of the most likeable persons you could hope to meet. He also cut an imposing figure with the children, given his tall stature and silver hair. The pastor popped into the preschool room during Vacation Bible School, and one little girl was very excited to announce to all that God had come by to see them.

God may not have dropped in for tea today in a manifested form, but I have been on the lookout for an ark in the creek next to our house. The waters rose enough that wildlife has been tromping through our yard two-by-two. Clingman�s Dome will have to be a suitable substitute for Mount Ararat. In addition to our family and critters I will carry along my newest purchase, courtesy of a Japanese yard sale: an Ultraman clock. Every home should have one.

I believe God has a marvelous sense of humor, and should our creek rise any more, it is not an ark that would appear, but the Love Boat. Isaac, I'll have a Fuzzy Navel, thank you. Of course I can have one. I'm Presbyterian.

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