Well anyway, how was your Sunday?

Hello blogdom! Allow me to introduce you to the feisty side of Season.

Let's see...
A lady in my ward—a very old lady—told me that I need to lead the music faster in Sacrament meeting. Did you know I lead the music in my ward? Well, I do. I know I know I know she didn't mean to hurt my feelings, but for crying out loud I'm doin' my best! Our organist isn't exactly a speed demon. If you've ever been the ward chorister then you know what I mean when I say that we're not just having a picnic up there. Then, to really make her point clear she said, "I'm falling asleep!" It's times like this when I have a choice to make. I could have pointed out that I felt the exact same way whenever she gives a comment—which never fails to turn into a 15-minute story—in relief society. But I opted not to go that route, and told her I was trying my hardest and walked away seething because it's taken me months (months!) to feel semi-sort of confident up there and now it's all ruined. Ruined! (Said in a voice of agonizing despair.)

Then another lady in my ward—another very old lady—asked me (for the 7th time, I believe) if Clara was a boy or a girl. This time I had an even harder time biting my tongue, and did point out that she was, in fact, wearing a dress. I did not, however, point out that the dress was pink with orange and pale pink flowers all over. If I was dressing a boy in such apparel, I would be the first to agree that I deserve a kick to the shins.

And my personal favorite? After finally (finally!) getting Clara to fall asleep in Sunday School, how many women would you guess decided that they needed to:
a) play with her hair
b) pinch her cheeks
c) rub her back
d) get all up in her business and practically shout "Look at her sleeping, the little darling!"
or e) all of the above
as Relief Society was getting ready to start. I actually lost count. I don't usually get too worked up if someone touches Clara, especially if it's someone I'm acquainted with, but when she's sleeping?? COME ON, ladies! Work with me here! She woke up, of course. And was as happy as a clam—for a good 5.5 minutes. And since she'd had a late night last night and her most recent nap had been cut frightfully short, she and I spent the rest of the meeting out in the hallway. I finally threw in the towel and left early. I learned a valuable lesson though. In a room full of loving ladies, it's virtually impossible to leave a cute little baby alone. I shall heretofore leave the room should Clara fall asleep, and return once the lesson is well underway and everyone's quietly settled in for the long haul.

A quick cut-in from the non-feisty side of Season: If it sounds like I hate my ward, which, I can understand why you might think that—let me set the record straight that I really love my ward. Especially the old ladies. I think they're great. Even the two I spotlighted. But even though I love 'em that doesn't mean that I won't blog about 'em if a good story arises....

Anyway, Clara and I arrived home to find three shopping carts in our breezeway. One from Target, one from Best Buy, and one from Smiths, I believe.

Now, let me take a moment to introduce you to our crazy neighbor.

I know the word "crazy" is used lightly and freely these days, but let me assure you that I mean it in the most sincerest of terms. Here's the few things you should know about our neighbor, who lives above us and to the north. She hasn't cleaned her apartment in 8 years. (Although she once conned Tom into cleaning some of it). She's writing a children's story about the end of the world. And once she makes the big bucks she'll finally be able to pay back all the people she owes money (a long list of people, which includes her daughter—and us, as a matter of fact. ...We're not holding our breath.) In the mean time, however, she buys things like big screen tv's, oodles of worthless merchandise from Target on a daily basis, and flowers. Loads of fresh flowers. Gardens-worth of fresh, beautiful flowers, which she leaves in her car and various other places to promptly die. I could go on and on, but in short, she is the sole purpose behind why I called our management and had them drill us a peep hole. And oh yeah, here's a fun one—she believes she's God. An angel came down and told her.

So there you go.

Recently her car has disappeared. I'm not sure if it got repossessed, or if she got in an accident, or if she just somehow managed to misplace it. Whatever the case she's now hoofin' it, and so each day we find a new shopping cart, kindly left right outside our door. But today it's reached an especially high level of ridiculousness, because there are three.

Most days she just keeps all her stuff right in it (which, oddly enough is never in bags...), probably because her apartment has already reached its full junk capacity.

So for the second time in one day, I was seething again. I've been threatening (to Tom) that I'm going to call our complex's management and report her, or leave a scathing note on her shopping carts telling her to MOVE HER JUNK but that's a little tricky when you're dealing with a total nutcase! One evening last fall the lights were out in our breezeway. And since it was pretty dark and she couldn't see to climb the stairs, she began screaming obscenities over and over to herself and it was all around disturbing. Left a pit in my stomach as I realized just how unstable she really was. So you see, I think she's able to get away with a lot around here because everyone's afraid of her.

So now you've met our neighbor. And I'm glad I got all that off my chest.

Anyway. Back to me and Clara. At exactly 4:17 p.m., a sleep-deprived Clara totally lost it. Berserk. Livid. At exactly 4:22 p.m. I had a bottle in her mouth and exactly 5:00 p.m. on the dot she was in bed, babbling herself to sleep. And you better believe it's for the night.

All in all, I'd say it was a pretty successful day.


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P.S. I can hear our crazy neighbor rummaging through her carts right now. Do you dare me to run out there with fists a-flyin?