Conflicts without resolution…

I began making my schedule of things that need to be done before S’s grandparents arrive for their visit in 13 days.  Plenty of time to finish cleaning up our kitchen renovation debris.  Plenty of time to make the house spic ‘n’ span from floor to ceiling.  There should even be enough time to change out the broken motion detector light fixture on the front of the house (requires warm, dry weather).  Part of making the schedule is making the to-do list and part of making the schedule is figuring out which days to-do tasks.  For example, I won’t scrub the floors until the day before their visit because we have dogs who pretty much make scrubbing floors a pointless task.  But if I wait to do that task until the day before our guests arrive, then I can do a quick re-mop twenty minutes before they get here.

So, I’m making the schedule and I take a quick break to flip through my Sports Illustrated that came on Friday.  There is a story in this week’s issue about Oregon QB, Dennis Dixon, and his hope to rehab his knee in time for the NFL draftWhich, if you read this previous post, you know is my favorite holiday.  I love the NFL Draft.  But then I get a little further in the article and it says something like, “Dixon  has no idea whether he will be drated come April 26-27…”  Wait a minute.  April 26-27?  That sounds familiar.  And not familiar because I’ve been following the Draft Countdown (13 days, 1 hour and 43 minutes remain).  April 26th is the day that S’s grandparents are coming for a visit.  Crap.

On NFL Draft weekend I watch television from Friday afternoon (mock drafts) through Sunday evening (last pick, Mr. Irrelevant).  I plans snacks for the weekend.  I don’t cook and we don’t go anywhere.  I watch the draft and S does homework or makes lesson plans or some such thing.  The first day of the draft is the most entertaining, watching a players stock fall (Aaron Rodgers, Matt Leinart, Brady Quinn…), watching players become instant millionaires, seeing one of the top picks walk out with his new team’s jersey and baseball cap when he has been picked, watching the fans in audience cheer or boo a pick…  It’s all wonderful and crucial to my football loving existence.

But this year on the first day of the draft I will be giving a house tour and going out to eat with S’s gradparents.  And yes, I have been looking forward to showing off the house.  And yes, we always have a nice time with her grandparents.  But, come on, it’s NFL Draft weekend…

A couple of years ago her grandparents and parents came up to visit us in our apartment on a lovely fall Saturday.  When it was planned, I knew there was some sort of football related conflict, but I didn’t get any say on the matter.  It turned out that they visited on the evening that Notre Dame was playing USC.  There wasn’t a bigger game that whole college football season.  It was in prime time.  It was the first year of the Charlie Weiss era.  It was Brady Quinn against Matt Leinart.  And Notre Dame would have won that game if UCS wasn’t a bunch of cheaters.  And they would have won that game if I had been sitting in front of the television, rooting for them and wearing my lucky Notre Dame hat.  I’ve not gotten over that yet.  I doubt that I ever will.

Now I am depressed.



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