Time Management

The dark haired beauty is sitting in a tent, er excuse me, in her secret hideaway that no one knows about. It is the same secret hideaway that is located five feet behind my chair. Tomorrow she’ll go back to school or I’ll lose my mind.

Don’t get me wrong, I love that little girl like nobodys business. She means more to me than words can express, I even share my Beef Jerky with her and if that is not love, I don’t know what is.  Last week she was truly sick.

She had a fever that kept coming and going and a double ear infection. Here at the home office she was frequently parked next to me, but spent large chunks of that time sleeping. Two trips to the docs to confirm that she didn’t have H1N1 and a bit of worry ate up large amounts of time.

A low grade fever yesterday and some caution kept her home today. The just in case theory played a role in all of this. You know, we’ll keep her home just in case there is something still wrong. Not to mention that last week 47% of her class was out sick.

Well I am pleased to say that she is feeling well. She is singing songs and reading books to me. She is brushing my hair and making me beautiful. I keep trying to tell her that you can’t make me beautiful and that I don’t mind having this ugly mug. It has character.

But you can’t argue with her. You may recall that I have some simple rules for Dating my Daughter. I am beginning to think that she doesn’t need my help and that any boy that chooses to take her out will soon learn to their chagrin that they are no longer in control of their own life. Heck this little powerhouse of energy might take over the world in her sleep.

She is so stubborn and determined I may send her to Iran. After ten minutes that meshugehneh Ahmedinajad will be in tears. Of course I will have to go with her because after the past few years he deserves to feel my size 12 boot in his ass.

But I digress. You see this post is about time management. In simple terms that is me crying for help, wondering if she’ll watch a movie or sleep so that I can get a little work done. I thought that she was occupied with her doll and tried making a telephone call to a client.

Midway through she wandered over and tried to get my attention. I smiled at her and gave the one minute sign. She disappeared for a moment and then came back. This time she started tapping my leg.I smiled and gave her the sign again. Walked into the room and turned on Spongebob for her.

Boy, I felt like superdad. Got the client eating out of my hand and my girl taken care of, life is good. A few moments later I learned not to be cocky. She came and found me. I could see by the look on her face she wasn’t going to last much longer, so I gave her the one minute sign and smiled again.

As I turned to walk away she reached out and grabbed me. Now I can assure you that what she grabbed was not was she was reaching for. But it doesn’t matter. Thanks to that moment I can tell you a few things. Those spam emails that offer pills that help you grow are not needed anymore. Thanks to that moment horses would be jealous of me.

Ok, I am exaggerating a bit. But trust me when I say that I am not exaggerating about the squeak that issued from my throat when this took place. If you have listened to any of my audio posts you know that my voice is relatively deep, at least it was. All I know is that for a moment I sounded like Mike Tyson.

So here I am a little while later. The voice is back to normal and I obviously back at the computer. She is occupied for the moment, but I think that today is going to be tough. She has bounced back from her illness and for that I am grateful. But after having been sidelined for a while what she really wants to do is run around.

In fact you can see little electrical charges shooting from her. Her batteries are completely recharged and she is ready to run. I am just praying that I can use the secret hideaway to keep her busy until the Calvary can come charging in. I can almost hear the bugle signaling charge. I just hope that they are better than the boys at F-Troop.

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