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This past weekend, the fam went to a neighboring county's fair. It was quaint, precious, packed with people, live music and full o' carnies. Having never really been to any carnival to speak of, I never noticed this niche community. I'd heard the jokes and seen caricatures on TV. Wow. Up front, let me just admit my bias....I think the carnie reputation is well deserved.
First and Second Daughters and I got on the "vomitron" or whatever the brain scrambling ride was called. I was loving the idea of having the family participate in something as American as a county fair. Loving it, until Cletus-the-slack-jawed-yokel approached to secure us into the ride. Every horror story involving carnies came to mind as soon as I saw him lumber toward us with the grace of yak. I cringed at his unkempt grooming, visible body odor, dull look in the eyes, etc., and then I was shocked and horrified to notice that his fly was down. O gawd! Now I had a decision to make. Was he the stereotypical carnie-perv, or was he "special?" Either choice did not bode well. If he was a perv, I had my two beautiful, innocent daughters sitting here, waiting for him to "belt 'em in." On the other hand, if he was "special," what the hell was he doing running a ride that potentially launch us into orbit???? I settled on the perv option. At least I could karate-cize him if necessary. I preemptively lowered the security bar over us, only making an inspection by him necessary. The whole time, as I'm almost losing consciousness over his profuse b.o, I'm praying my two naive daughters do not notice that his fly is down, and God-forbid, anything else! I still shudder at the memory. Well, we survived, and thankfully, Daughters didn't notice anything "out of place."
Hello Friends. It's been busy, busy, busy here. Sorry for the dry spell, but it may be awhile till I get consistent again with my posts. School is busy, the kids are always busy, and the household keeps moving and grooving! Don't think I've forgotten you...I haven't, but for now, I'm on hiatus.
And as a parting gift, I'd just like to encourage you with this lovely picture of our fearless leader. He's been called the messiah, the One; and you know you don't have to pay your mortgages any more, right? Well, I think he thinks you should just call him Mr. Cool. The way his first month has gone, I'm tempted to light up a doobie!
Since New Year's, the darlings have been sick in one way or another. It's a major downer. I hate the way the house feels when people are sick...it's just icky. Fourth Darling is the latest virus victim. Saturday night, it was my "turn" to stay up with her. So, all that night, we'd sleep for about forty-five minutes at a time, between crying and bouts of coughing. (FYI - it was Fourth Darling crying..not me). I gave up the dream of actually sleeping in our bed, so we ended up on the couch. The next morning, the other darlings creeped in, one by one. This is when I thank God that in our zeal to "organize" our house we didn't give up cable.
God was good. There was a Phineas & Ferb marathon on the Disney channel. (By the way, if you ever get to watch an episode of Phineas & Ferb, it's great!). I was able to put that on and then half consciously doze. I would get up every so often and drag myself to the kitchen to fill orders for juice, cereal and trail mix. My children are so brilliantly perceptive that they could sense the exact moment that my body would relax and I would find that semi-conscious nirvana, and that's when they would ask for something. It was in one of these moments, where I was actually left alone that I found myself levitated off the couch with the blood curdling scream of Little Man. I was awake, watching his lips move before my hearing kicked in. When it did, between the sobs, I heard him say "There's a peanut in my nose!" What? Surely I'm still in a stupor. Anyway, my kids are not "the kind" that stick things up their noses.
Oh contraire mon frere. To my horror and humiliation, Little Man is exactly the kind of kid who sticks peanuts up his nose. After unsuccessfully coaching him to blow it out his nose, we moved to the bathroom. I pulled out my handy-dandy instruments of torture tweezers and tried to grab the little sucker. No success. I had to then wake Darling Man who was recovering from his night-before-last duty with the sick Fourth Darling. At this time, all the sister Darlings are almost in tears thinking that Little Man's going to suck the peanut into his brain, and I'm calculating the costs of a visit to the emergency room. Just then, Darling Man seriously tells me, "Hold his head." Oh crap. What's he going to do? From somewhere, he produces a dentist's tool. You know, the one they use to clean your teeth. Doesn't everyone have one of these? I've got a death grip on the boy's head, and somehow, Darling Man produces a snotty peanut. Not as horrifyingly gross as one would think - comparatively with the other things that come out of kids' bodies. THANK GOD!
With the danger gone, it was hard not to just bust out laughing. I didn't want to make Little Man feel bad, so I held it in. Later, when I was sure I could keep a straight face, I asked Little Man why he put a peanut in his nose. Looking at me as if I had no insight at all, he told me, "Well, I wanted to see what it was like to be an elephant." Good enough. At least he had a somewhat logical reason. This proves he's not the typical little troglodyte who sticks things up his nose. ;)
So now, he has the confirmation that he is not an elephant, and I'll never buy trail mix again!
Today started out okay. Everyone wanted to get up earlier than I did, but that's about par for course. We ran an errand, and then started chores at home. When I say "started chores" I mean "I" started chores. It was actually a beautiful day, so it was good to see the darlings playing outside. January and February can get really ugly here, so I want them to get as much time outside as possible.
I transferred my load of laundry from the washer to the dryer, and turned the nob and pushed the start button. Nothing. Nada. Niet. I can't believe my dryer. I love it, and I hate it. It's so nice and big, and the inside is stainless steel (so I don't have to worry about damaging it). So, I drug all the wet clothes (quite heavy) and loaded the kids up to take the clothes to my Darling Mom's house. That sucked two hours out of my day.
During the late afternoon, the First and Second Darlings were being catty to each other - something I've noticed ramping up. Yesterday, Second Darling broke down in tears because she feels left out from First Darling's activities. Part of that is First Darling is growing up, she's in that no-man's land between kidhood and pre-teen. Any-hoo. I pulled out the big guns and warned that if they both couldn't treat each other the way they should, I would put them each in a bedroom alone, with no toys (because one must learn to be kind before having toys) and the coup de grace, I'd take the oh-so-cool bunk bed and give it to Third and Fourth Darlings to share. I was on the verge of loosing my religion. Of course they thought was totally harsh, but oh well.
So, in this new year of 2009, my resolution is to hold my children to more accountability in all the aspects of our family life. I think Darling Man and I have gotten lax, and it's showing. These next few weeks are going to be ugly, but I think if we can get through it, we'll be in like Flinn.
After I finish this post, I'm going to be creating charts, schedules, consequence matrices, school check-lists, etc. Oh yes, there will be blood...but as long as I have a cigarette and snazzy swim cap, (see above), I'll be fine.
Yesterday, we had quite a fruitful day of schooling. Everything was clicking, and I was on a high from having no spats, rolled eyes or complaints. Little Man was at pre-school, Fourth Darling was somewhere, probably checking in with her CIA handlers. So, First and Second Darlings and I were discussing the upcoming grooming of Lola. I think it was First Darling who asked why we couldn't just do the job. I faintly remembered something ugly about the process, so we "googled" dog grooming. It came to the part of the process of the cleaning of the anal glands. Aye-freak'n-carumba! Like suckers, the three of us were crowded around the lap top to watch the abomination. As soon as it happened, First Darling ran off in dry heaves, saying "I need some water. I need some WATER!!!!" Second Darling started screaming at a pitch that almost cracked the glass candle holders. Have you ever laughed and dry heaved at the same time? It's hard to do, but I managed. So, dear ones, this holiday season when you're bored and have nothing to do...BEWARE of Google. Not everything should be seen. Please remind me of this when one of the Darlings asks about embalming.
I found this little plaque, and I think it's the greatest idea I've come across in a while. If it's too hard to read, this is what it says: "Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO, what a ride!"
Isn't that great? Just keep that in mind when you're trying to do everything.
Well, the process has begun. I've started talking to First Darling about hormones, and the whole "body changing" thing. I also talked to Second Darling, and tried to explain to her that sometimes First Darling might be grumpy or sad, and not understand why. (I wanted to tell her to hold onto her socks, because she's next - whaa, whaa, whaa). Well, the other day, I was swinging Second Darling on the rope swing, and I asked her how she and First Darling were getting along. (There have been some sisterly spats). "Well, last night she said she was mad because her horny toads were bothering her." Oh my gosh, I almost bust out laughing. I said, "You mean her hormones?" "Yes," she said rather plainly, "those too." Is that not the most hilarious thing? Now when I'm PMS-ing, I'll blame it on my horny toads. Nasty little creatures, aren't they?
