God bless the Sainted Child's Girl Scout Troop Leader. That woman puts up with a lot - namely, me.
I am consistently late to meetings. I don't mean to be, it's just there aren't enough hours in the day to get everything done that needs to be done. Or maybe I just over-commit myself. (I'm going with the former, since it absolves me of blame.)
In addition, I need constant reminders of where and when I am supposed to be somewhere. I get calendars an entire year in advance. I know where they are; I look at them, it just doesn't sink in.
So when Leader messaged me the other day to remind me that we had cookie booth sales on Sunday, I asked her, "this Sunday?"
She didn't miss a beat. "Yes, this Sunday. ... it was on your calendar."
Yeah, the calendar I looked at and completely forgot. Well, there went a Sunday planned for on the couch. Also, there was a hockey game I was going to miss. I'm always missing hockey games going to things with the kids. I hope they appreciate this when I'm an old lady and put me in an old folks home with a Center Ice package. (Although my neighbors would probably appreciate it if I kept it down to a dull roar, but maybe I'll be lucky and they'll all be deaf.)
I managed to find her sash. This year, Leader gave them out preassembled. I suspect this may be because I am known to glue the wrong troop number onto them. (I only did it the once, but I'll never live it down.)
Also, I found the sash, which is a feat all in itself. You would better appreciate this if you could see the inside of Sainted Child's closet. There are many things she does very, very well, but organization is not one of them. I'm actually afraid to stick my hand in there. If she ever had a monster living in her closet, it probably perished under a mountain of clothes, books, toys and God-knows-what-else a long time ago.
Be-sashed and uniformed - well, mostly, on account of her misplacing her pins - we arrived to sell cookies. (I just realized I sent my pins through the wash with that day's blouse as I write this; crap.)
Selling cookies means that Sainted Child makes the Sad Eyes at people and asks them if they want to buy - every single time they walk past, regardless of whether they indicated a prior willingness to do so or not. We also had improvised sandwich boards for the girls to wear this year, and they paraded through the mall as walking advertisements.
It's character building, right?
(Wallace-Minger is The Weirton Daily Times community editor and can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org) She is a Weirton resident.)