The Rack of My Salvation

I learned in church that Jesus, you know, the San of Gad, is the rack of my salvation. And here all this time I thought it was rock, but rack makes so much more sense! After all, you can hang stuff on a rack, like your sins, or your faith, for example. But rock, well all that comes to mind is “dumb as a rock.”

Ethan now has a potty seat and Roseli is trying to encourage him to go potty in the toilet. Today, he sat naked for a while on the toilet, saying “Mommy, I’m going potty!” which really meant, “I’m sitting on my potty seat.” He got bored and got off the toilet to play, when he peed on the bathroom floor. Roseli said he froze, not knowing what to do, then he said, “Mommy, I shee-shee!” (which is Portuguese for pee.)

Wake Up Wail

Ethan woke up early this morning in a rage – he needed Mommy in the rocking chair, not in bed, and not Papai in the rocking chair. Mommy would have nothing to do with it at 6 a.m., so I went to hold Ethan for a while. He finally figured that Mommy in bed was better than no Mommy at all, so I’ve been booted out. We think he might have an earache, but it’s hard to tell. I didn’t sleep long enough, but at least I was able to finish watching the sales DVDs that I should have watched before I even came out here.

Death Threat

I got a call this morning from a Mr. James Isaac, threatening to put a f-ing bullet between my eyes. I had sold a security system to him on Cinco de Mayo, and on Seis de Mayo, the tech, Robert, went to install the system. Due to a small paperwork error on my part and Mr. Isaac’s unwillingness to provide a second emergency contact telephone number, the system could not be installed. Later on last night, Mr. Isaac’s home was apparently robbed. I don’t have any details about what was stolen, but he thinks Robert or me is responsible. I, in turn, contacted the police to let them know he was threatening my life. An officer came over while we were having a barbeque outside and wrote some scanty, cramped, messing notes in his little notepad and said he would write a report. The officer had absolutely no personality, was totally unfriendly and overly paranoid. In my perfect world, he would contact the Rockford police, where Mr. Isaac lives, who would convince him I had nothing to do with the robbery, and Mr. Isaac would call me to apologize. Of course, that will never happen. Maybe in the afterlife when all truth will be known. It’s a weird situation, and Roseli of course is worried. I’ll be working in a different area, just in case. Otherwise, I’ve been getting sales, and selling door-to-door is not the worst job I’ve ever had. That honor goes to writing grammar tests, which I did last summer.