On call.

There is a bird declaring its presence outside my house with loud, long calls that sound remarkably like a phone ringing in the distance. I wish whoever he's calling would answer. I dislike the sound of a phone ringing.

Also, my roommate J asked me if I would come pick him up this morning, if he dropped his car off to have more (unnecessary unless you're a guy who likes the latest toys) work done on it. Cue fluff headed girly voice here: It's a red one! Nah, I'm not that hopeless. It's a Trans Am and he's pondering door panels or some such thing. The guy's version of redecorating - altering their cars over and over again.

Anyway, he asked me if I'd be willing to come get him. If he decides to have the work done. But he won't know until he gets there and talks to the guy. So I am waiting for a phone call, and I have no idea how long I need to wait before I'm in the clear, because he didn't know. Sigh. You ever try to get a kid dressed and into the car in less than half an hour? If J calls, he'll have a long wait, but I guess it is better than driving down there with him and wasting the trip if he doesn't have the work done.

I swear, marshalling troops across Europe has to be easier than organizing my family life! I tip my hat to the women who keep families with three, four, twenty kids organized and running (somewhat) smoothly - my one Evil Genius is enough!

So there's this bird outside, sounding like a ringing phone, and I keep thinking "Oh, J's calling, better get the...d'oh!!" I may have to throw one of T's stinky old sneakers at the critter. Oh, wait - that kind of cruelty in warfare was outlawed by the Geneva convention. Seriously, dogs run from the stench of these things...dogs that will happily roll around in, then consume, weeks-old road kill. Last time T wore these shoes home, I thought something had crawled out of a swamp and expired on the shoe rack.

Excuse me, I think I hear the...d'oh!