Life is what happens . . . or birthdays, football and assorted other distractions

Was it John Lennon who said, "Life is what happens when you're making other plans?" I think so. Whoever said it, he was right.

All week long I have been planning to finish Spence and Sadie and send them to my editor to spend the weekend. But guess what. They're still here. Not only that, I expect they will be here until Monday -- and if I'm lucky they will leave then.

The worst of the sorting is sorted. And the tsunami of ripples has been tamed. But there are other ripples along the way that I need to smooth down. And so I'm trying to find time to work on them.

But this happens to be the week when my mother, three of my grandsons and my son-in-law all have birthdays within four days of each other. Which means that while I had made other plans, what I really have been making is birthday cakes. Three of them so far.

I've also been birthday present shopping. Fourteen is a hard age to shop for, believe me. Fisher-Price doesn't extend their range that high. Fortunately he's a football fanatic, so there's always something footballish to look for (he has a remarkable collection of jerseys to which, this year, I felt we didn't need to contribute. Been there, done that quite often enough. Besides, what can I get him for Christmas if I do the jersey thing now). Also, I need to do my research first.

It's important, I think, to only buy jerseys of good receivers who are also good role models. Some aren't. At least they don't live up to my standard -- which is, do I want my grandson wearing that guy's name on his back? Suffice to say, he doesn't wear jerseys of players that his parents and grandparents do not think are worth looking up to -- regardless of whether or not they can catch a ball.

So, fourteen is tricky. Two -- especially since the people turning two are twins -- is also tricky. Especially it is tricky because they are the third and fourth boys in a family of boys boys and more boys. Which is to say, they pretty much have everything boys of two need (did I mention that they stand to inherit a remarkable collection of vintage football jerseys provided the jerseys survive that long). So, poor little lads are getting winter boots and mittens. How boring is that?

Eighty-seven is a hard age to buy for, too. So I spent today -- when I'd been planning to do Spence and Sadie -- instead putting together a photo album of eighty of the best pics of the last four years, including weddings, holidays, vacations, and people blowing out the candles on birthday cakes. I think she was pleased.

I don't even want to talk about the son-in-law who is impossible to buy for. I sent him a check. I hate doing that, but sometimes a person just has to throw in the towel, say, "You know what you want better than I do," and hope it's true.

And Saturday, when I should be working on Spence and Sadie, I'm going to be at a Family History Fair all day -- being useful in a general sort of way, and then giving a talk for an hour about using collateral relatives and neighbors to break down genealogical brick walls.

Wish me luck because I have never talked on a genealogical topic to anyone, let alone a room full of people who actually expect me to know something. I hope I do. Otherwise, it would have been better for all of us if I'd stayed home and worked on Spence and Sadie.

But late Saturday afternoon (I have a plan!) all my commitments are over for 18 hours (until the birthday twins show up on Sunday morning) and Spence and Sadie and I are going to put our collective noses to the grindstone and get this sucker over with.

Monday they are going to London -- ready or not!