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And in non-crayfish-related news (sorry, the tank is right next to the computer)...

We're settling into Fall here and the accompanying schedule change. Danny is the proud custodian of a well-used trombone. I gave him his first "lesson" tonight -- I played trombone in middle school. He's already getting some decent sounds out of it.

Even more frightening, Sadie is a total natural with this thing.

FAMILY BAND!

Ahem.

Anyway, I'm taking the 'bone in to school Monday to have the band director check it out. And I'll be back at school on Tuesday to help in the library during Danny's class. I was there today for Sadie's, helping the kids find books but mostly [dun dun DUN...] SHELVING. Ugh, what a thankless, tedious job. aerrin, O library expert, does it get easier with practice? or at least quicker? The worst part of it is for every book I put away I found three that were shelved wrong, and this doesn't even take into consideration the ones that were knocked onto the floor or stuck horizontally across the top of the shelved books.

What else? I'm back to teaching with a full complement of adult students. Danny and Sadie have each had their first ballet class of the season, and Nutcracker auditions are tomorrow. I'm NOT teaching little kids, and this makes me very happy.

The kids are still doing karate twice a week.

Homework is being done, and we haven't missed the bus yet (although we've come close).

I do love September.

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The heat kicked on last night. It’s officially fall.

And Sadie wouldn’t let me sleep in on the only morning I could sleep, even though daddy was awake and doing nothing but watching yet another old Japanese film...

I was having such a lovely dream, too.

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I had the scare of my life tonight.

I had brought the kids apple picking this afternoon, then on the way home we stopped at the supermarket to pick up ingredients to make sloppy joes for dinner and banana splits for dessert. When we pulled into the driveway, Danny volunteered to bring in the bulging apple sack. I started bringing in groceries and putting the perishables into the refrigerator.

When I went out for the second load of bags, my heart stopped. On the sidewalk was the apple sack, tipped over and nearly empty. Apples and the squashed remains of apples were all over the front lawn, the sidewalk, and the busy street in front of our house.

Danny was nowhere to be seen. And he didn't answer when I called. It was like the first five minutes of CSI. I could feel the panic rising in my voice when I noticed a boy across the street, waving and shouting over the traffic. "He's down there," the boy called. I vaguely registered the presence of a few other people across the street, including a couple of adults, and no one looked horrified.

I walked far enough down the sidewalk to see around the bend, just in time to spot him desperately try to flag down an oncoming car to rescue an apple that had rolled into the road. I shouted for him to get off the street; he heard me and came pelting up the sidewalk, clutching apples to his chest and sobbing. "It's all my fault," I could just hear him wail. Tears were streaming down his face. "My beautiful Paula Reds. I'm such a bad kid."

I ran down to meet him, holding out the hem of my sweater to take the apples from him, and hugged him. They're just apples, I told him over and over again.

We ended up having to throw out most of the poor apples that he nearly killed himself to rescue, so battered were they from their excursion that they weren't even fit for applesauce.

I already felt stupid for mourning the dying crayfish. Today I had a dopeslap of monumental proportions to my sense of perspective.

(no subject)

And in case I didn't feel bad enough, when I was tucking Danny in tonight he told me that he was right behind me when the apple bag toppled -- at the foot of the walkway as I was going in the front door -- and that he yelled to me to help him and I didn't come. He fretted about how few apples were left in the bag and worried about whether I would still be able to make pies.

I finally promised to bring him apple picking next week on his birthday, to the orchard he liked so much last year. I could tell he felt better because he went back to acting like an infurating dork.

I just couldn't stand hearing him say that he hated himself and that he was a terrible person.