Professor Mojo's REAL Spring Break

--or Late Spring Break, as the case may be. It's the down-time between spring and summer terms, and I have about three weeks of Time To Get Things Done. Naturally, Mrs. decreed that Mondays and Tuesdays would be Daddy/Daughter Time so that we could save two days of child care, which leaves me three days a week to Get Things Done.

I'm not averse to hard work; it is long been known that I can work like a man possessed when the inclination befalls. It helps that I made a long list of Chores, Rat Killings and Honey-Do's for myself, so that I give the appearance of being productive while actually goofing off. Of course, my definition of "goofing off" frequently involves doing chores that I feel need doing but may in reality be quite far down the priorities list. Example: picking vegetables in the garden is an activity that I disguise as a "chore" because in reality I spend a lot of time hiding from work in the garden.

Sometimes chores have to get done in spite of other chores. I had to build a log crib this week and get the firewood off the patio, but I was on Daddy Duty early in the week. Thus, Wee One got her morning walk in by running (supervised) from one end of The Orange Temple of Doom to the other and back while Daddy figured out what lumber and braces he needed. The amazing part was that I got the truck unloaded, the rack drilled and bolted together and moved to its spot, and the whole cord of wood transported from the patio to the crib --all in the space of Nap Time.

Some of my "chores", however, cannot be disguised as anything other than Me Time. Prime case in point: getting the boat started. I forgot (never again!) to put fuel stabilizer in the tank back in November, and so it took me forty-five minutes of cranking, resting and recranking to get the engine to turn over and stay running. I keep reminding myself that the best solution is to take the boat out once a month, no matter the weather, but that isn't always possible. Even so, all that goes by the wayside the second I get the engine to stay turned over and give it the gas and let out that first almighty bwrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRAAARRRRRRRPPPPPPP-B-B-B-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-putt-putt-putt-putt of the year. The smell of two-cycle oil in the engine smoke: God's way of letting me know he wants me to go fishing, and that Right Soon.