Shopping and long day

I just got done with shopping, both Christmas and grocery. (Well, to be fair, I still need tracing paper for Christmas, but that's another story.)

I bought all the things: all the frozen things, all the macacheese things, all the party things. Okay, again, probably not, because I'll need chocolate to make the hot chocolate for the party on Saturday.

Also, I discovered that it's really hard to find sunscreen in the winter. I got SPFed moisturizer, so we'll hope that works. (The goal being, of course, to not get windburned.)

The Christmas pageant was today. It was a script that I worked on with a friend from college, and we're hoping to submit it to a publishing company to see if they like it. The premise is the four Gospel writers arguing about how to put on the pageant. We had to tweak it a bit, due to the unreliability of our Sunday school kids (and one legitimate case of stomach virus). The adjustments caused on kid, who had practiced his original lines, to get a little upset at being reassigned, but one of the dads really came through with "Oh, you're John now, that's so cool! John's the best..." and did it in a way that didn't seem patronizing. Thank you, Sunday School dad.

Then I preached. Eh. Sometimes, when fighting stress of pageant, stress of stomach upset, and stress of a billion migraines, you just have to say "hey, there's a sermon. Good luck, Holy Spirit, making it work." (Also, Angel Gabriel this morning couldn't pronounce "holy," so it was the "Holly Spirit" that came upon Mary.)

Then I helped put up the Christmas tree. We use a fake tree, and as the one with the thinner and spaghettier arms, I was the one sticking my hand into its angry innards and plugging the strung lights together. No surprise, the tree bit me, right on the underside of the upper arm, where the shirt hem hits.

Then the Easton Municipal Band had it's holiday concert. A few parishioners came, and PS was there. (Actually, she was my ride.) A good time was had by all. There was one moment where the director had to cut us off, give us the number, and bring us in. We were so lost. (It was a bigger stage than where we practice, and the rows were arranged differently. For example, normally the trombones are next to the trumpets, in front of the baritones, and at the performance we were in the last row, behind the baritones, next to the percussion.) Fortunately, because we were all confused, we were watching the director closely, and the time spent cut off was minimal. The best part was that people (at least the ones I talked to) were so impressed by his ability to get (have) our attention, stop us, and get us on track again with minimal confusion and no real full "stop" that the confusion (or, rather, the ensuing solution) actually made them more impressed with the band.

Then nap, then shopping, then dinner, now blogging.

And now sleeping.