Tinkerbell

All I wanted was a dog. Something warm & fuzzy. Something to sound the alarm on the nights the Dad isn’t home. What I got was a snail, the water kind, a fish, two cats and an opossum. Actually, we’ve had the snail since last summer when we got the snail after the disaster with the Dead Fish . Middle child wrangled the snail, happily named Gary after Gary the Snail in Spongebob, from a friend of eldest who had extra. I have no idea how one gets extra snails, I do know middle child has been fascinated by his snail since last August.

The kitty’s happened late last Thursday night. Girlfriend knew we were looking for a pet, me specifically a dog, and her sisters boyfriend mother had two kittens that needed a home. Next thing I know she’s called the sisters boyfriend and they are on their way to our house with Monkey and Dinghy. Poor kitties were just terrified to come to a house with all these wild children. The Dad was very mad. He didn’t want any pets, besides Gary, and grumbled and looked mean the whole time. Since then he’s checked on the kitties every day upon coming home and he’s coaxed Dinghy into his “hobby” room more than once. Tough guy.

Of course with kitties come responsibilities and Friday after school was spent at PetSmart. We left PetSmart with food, litter, litter-scooper, toys and a fish. Squareboy had to have a fish and fell in love with “Comet” on the spot. What the heck, I figured, Comet can share the bowl with Gary and he was only $.19 with my handy-dandy PetSmart discount card. PetSmart loves me.

Then Monday, after days of rain, the kids were finally playing outside with the neighbor girls. In comes eldest, of all people; “Quick mom!” They’d found something. I walked out side to see six kids sadly staring at a naked little pinky. Six pairs of eyes turned to me. All six pairs begging me to save it. Now, if I’d found the poor little thing by myself I would’ve kindly disposed of it. But with six pairs of eyes on me, I had eldest wrap it up in fleece in a box and stuck it on the counter. Then with six pairs of eyes still watching I tried valiantly to feed it water from a rag soaked in water.

“What is that?” neighbor child #1 asked me.
“A opossum” I answered.
“Oh no! Possum’s get in the trash.” And as I later found out surfing the web on the care & feeding of orphaned opossum’s, usually people are trying to stop them from raiding their trash. Not trying to rescue them after they fall of the Mama’s back.

“Whatcha gonna call it?” neighbor child #2 asked me. “All things should have a name.” Before anyone could peep she continued “I know. Tinkerbell! Cause she’s tiny.” I was pretty sure the hairless rat thing was a boy, but Tinkerbell stuck.

On day two I successfully found Tinkerbell a home with a local wildlife rehabilitator. Unfortunately I also successfully got Tink to nurse from a lab pipette filled with kitten formula. The kids are busy being very, very mad at me that Tink had to go.

Demented Turkey Chickens

I was in betty homemaker mode today. I whipped up cupcakes for the kids, frosted & sprinkled in rainbow monkey sprinkles, I threw flour in the bread machine for pizza dough, add in the normal laundry, dishes and some quilting and TADA! Work is less exhausting. I have no idea why I bothered to make cupcakes, the little ones came out of school lugging backpacks filled with junk. If I’d thought of it I would’ve gotten the camera earlier when daughter showed off her remarkable ability to hold FOUR lollipops in her mouth at once. What ever happened to conversation hearts?

Obviously after all that sugar the kids needed to get out. Luckily middle child had left his skateboard at his friends house, this gave me an excuse to get them all out for a walk over to fetch said skateboard. Actually getting them out burned up at least 15 minutes of frantic running around looking for skateboards, bikes and helmets. Only the girlfriend and I literally walked. Or jogged. It was definitely more jogging to keep up with the bikers & skateboarders.

We were barely around the corner when excitement struck. “Ducks!” “Geese!” “Turkeys!” All of the guesses were wrong as a trio of extremely large quail darted out to greet us. They came so close I told eldest to grab one for dinner. I was serious. He didn’t get that and gently tried to pet one. Then squareboy swooped in for the kill on his bike and they scattered like mad… with him whooping & hollering and riding after them like a mad man. That boy.

He caught back up to us soon after, cheeks red from cold & excitement; “Did you see the turkey chickens!?!” Um, ‘turkey chickens’? Quail my boy, quail. “No, no Mom! They were demented turkey chickens.” After about 5 minutes I realized he meant domestic turkey chickens. Still not quail, but a little more understandable a mistake. That boy.

It really was a day. Crossing the big road, a two-lane highway really, a truck passed by as we waited patiently alongside the road. He honked, we waved and the girlfriend squealed “oh NO! A chicken truck!” I started laughing because of the turkey chickens. Then the smell hit me. Chicken trucks suck. Daughter buried her face in my hair “Oh your hair smells so good mommy, let me smell it some more.” We couldn’t cross the road fast enough. Run far enough, get away from that smell fast enough. Now we know why the chicken crossed the road. To get away from it’s own chicken shit smell.

Oh! It was Valentines day today. The dad bought the daughter her first diamond ring. He’s competitive.

Opening Ceremonies

Opening Ceremony

I'm tired and I blogged this morning. However, before I forget, friday marked the start of the Olympics. The Opening Ceremony's were well commercialized on the evil, bad tv and, therefore, the kids were beyond excited and impatient for them to start. I had a day off. Regardless, I was exhausted. It's like; wooooohoooo day off! Permission to be exhausted. After some laundry, chores, bath including leg shave and dinner preparation I was done for. The kids were counting down the minutes to Opening Ceremony Time.

Daughter finally seemed to get irritated at my lack of interest, she's obviously never seen Opening Ceremonies before. She decided to get the food ready for the Olympics. She kept running in and informing me of the snacks she'd set out. It sounded very interesting, but got annoying all the same. I'm awed to say she kept up the steady run into my room, to the kitchen, out to the living room and over again for over half an hour. Finally the Olympics started and I ventured out to share in the glory with the kids.

They were all parked, excited as can be, in front of the tv. The coffee table was filled with snacks by daughter. Cereal in bowls (no milk), a block of cheese with a knife (her knife, part of a toddler set), crackers, fruit and fruit snacks. Each boy was digging in one snack or the other so she did good. Pleased all their various tastes. While I groaned inward at the mess she made, I beamed outward at her excellent hostessing abilities.

The kids watched the whole, long, boring, Opening Ceremony. Only daughter waned in enthusiasm. Middle child excitedly repeated each blurb of mundane information from the commentators, causing all of us to be future trivial pursuit sports champs. Squareboy wants to be a skater with a fire hat. Sigh.

Saturday the fun continued with Women's Ice Hockey. The Canadians beat the Italians 16-0. Middle child, being of Italian heritage, was extremely insulted that "his" team didn't score a point. He stated the score frequently with great indignation. Sadly I am more proud that he watched a women's sport with such enthusiasm than that he is proud of his heritage. Somewhere I am doing something right.

The Pied Piper

Pajama day was Friday. I almost forgot. We were on the way out the door when I remembered. Luckily I had remembered the night before and the pink, footed, favorite pajamas were clean & fresh on the dad’s dresser. Not that daughter ever wears pajamas to sleep in. She sleeps in panties just like the brothers sleep in boxers. She wears pajamas up until the minute she’s ready for sleep. I know my day is over when they come off, because next she lays down her head and closes her eyes. Gone for the night. Amazing. Not even with Ambien do I fall asleep that quickly & easily.

Unfortunately pink, footed pajamas are tough to shoe. We finally found some clogs that work, thank God for Oma’s and random presents. I thanked God again when we got to the school and noticed that not a single kid forgot it was pajama day. They were so excited and so cute! I wished I had a picture of the class to share and not just daughter. As for the flute. It was “R” week and the prize for “R” bingo was a recorder. Yeah. 16 hopped-up preschoolers excited to be in pj’s in the middle of the day all playing on recorders. I don’t know which parent was in charge of the “R” prize but I will find out. I will.

The Uniform

Per my promise to my mom I cornered eldest after school today. Today is Thursday and on Thursday he has to wear his uniform for JROTC. She wanted a picture of him in uniform. It so happens that today the girlfriend rode the bus home with him, therefore, I have a picture of him in uniform. With the girlfriend, not in uniform. Not quite sure what she is wearing, it appears I’m out of the loop. Maybe I haven’t watched enough tv to know what’s in anymore. Though, actually, I feel, and the dad feels, I do watch quite a bit of tv. Even commercials.

Watching commercials with your kids, like driving in a car from A to B while listening to your kids and not your cell phone, can be a very enlightening experience. Tonight I learned that daughter has learned that boys must buy big girls jewelry on Valentines day. The guy shooting the arrow into his wife’s butt had not learned this lesson. Daughter sighed & rolled her eyes and stated that he should’ve bought her jewelry… before the announcer had his say. When she started in on Roman, the boyfriend, buying her jewelry when she is big I started in on how she could get a job and buy herself jewelry. She was quiet for a minute, big deal for daughter, and I thought “Aha!” I’d finally broken through. But no, she said;

“Yes, I could. But it would be better if Roman buyed it for me.” No more tv. Really.

Television is just bad. Take American Idol, there are people on American Idol who can’t sing. They don’t seem to know they can’t sing. I know they can’t sing, 99.99% of America knows they can’t sing, but somehow nobody in that 99.99% ever bothered to tell them they can’t sing. So they are on national, bad, tv being utterly ridiculous. Embarrassingly ridiculous. Now I know I can’t sing, 99.98% of America has told me so.

You will never catch me on American Idol. However, I love to sing and I feel, in the sanctity of my home, I should be allowed to sing. The dad, while under protest, supports my love of singing. The daughter, tonight, during the theme song to CSI (an old favorite by The Who), told me;

“You get to sing once a year. This is not your once a year. Maybe next year you can have another turn.” I think she would make Simon Cowell proud.

The Superbowl

I watch one football game a year. The Superbowl. I actually look forward to it because, honestly, I like football. I'd watch at least once a week and cheer on my favorite team if I could. I love yelling at the tv, I love beer, I love fatty, salty snacks and men in tight pants. Football is great! But I only have time to watch once a year.

Neither team this year was on my favorites list, whether that be favorite to cheer or favorite to boo. But I like to root for the underdog, and I really liked Seattle the one time I visited so I cheered for the Seahawks. Poor babies. They had every wrong call in the book thrown at them. I had great fun yelling at the tv. The kids were a little shocked at 1) my loudness (and for some of you this should be a big "Huh?" moment) and 2) my comprehension of the game. I did have a life before you kids. Really. And I really do enjoying sharing these moments with them. Little bodies, or big bodies in the bigger boys and girlfriends case, spread all over the furniture. Why can't they sit like normal people? Sharing snacks, crackling fire, in our new-to-us house. Except for the fact that we are all here all the time, including girlfriend, it was our first party in the new-to-us house! Wooooooohoooooooo!

Sadly, the commercials were very disappointing this year. Only the Nationwide's got a real giggle out of me and then some just missed the boat entirely. Though Jackass is once again a favorite word in my household. And the half-time show. Sigh. When the Superbowl powers-that-be choose Mick Jagger for a tame, family-friendly, risk-free, half-time show you know you are getting old.

Apparently older than Mick. He moves much faster and smoother than me. The kids were shocked at the old guy rocking on tv, though the girlfriend giggled "Hey! I know that song!" While eldest looked at her as if she was nuts. Luckily daughter saved the day by showing off her "skills" AKA "moves". She tried to imitate Mick on the screen. If only I knew where 1) the dad hid his videocam and 2) how to use; I would really have something to share right now.

Morning from HELL

Daughter had no school yesterday. Parent/teacher conferences. The good news is that she is going to, drumroll please, KINDERGARTEN next year! She is so excited to wear the Catholic schoolgirl uniform (man that just looks wrong, thanks a bunch SNL). The dad is a little upset that was even a question, after all, she is brilliant. At least precocious.

The truth is that daughter is very bright, unfortunately she is also extremely, um, willful. If she wants something, if she wants to learn something, do something, doesn’t matter what, she’ll learn how. If she couldn’t give a flying crap, well, good luck. Unfortunately she is not totally mesmerized with the art of reading, or even learning her letters. Why should she? She wants a sign read? Ask a brother. She wants a story read? Ask a brother. No need to do for yourself if you have brothers.

On the other hand, climbing trees, riding bikes, making coffee, these are all things she can do because, God forbid, she should be left behind when the brothers do those things. These ready-for-Kindergarten things really need to be kept in the perspective of the child involved. Luckily teacher noticed this about daughter, and while daughter is still behind on the whole reading-by-age-four thing, teacher is confident that by the end of summer she’ll be doing just fine. Because teacher lives down the street and plans to work with daughter. I feel incredibly flattered teacher has taken a shine to daughter, here I thought it was just me & the dad thinking she was great. But it’s contagious.

Lest anyone out there are coming away from this thinking daughter is just stunningly wonderful, let me sum up my stunningly horrid morning. I’m not a morning person. However, middle child must be up by 6:30 to catch the 6:55 bus. He is able to do this, in this short of a time, by 1) showering the night before, 2) eating breakfast at school and 3) the bus stops at our house. There are serious benefits to living in subrural North Carolina. Anyway, I get middle child up at 6:30. Though the child is almost 14, he cannot wake up without the mommy yelling “HEY GET UP” in his ear. Squareboy, who shares a room with middle child, does not wake up to this.

Once middle child is actually sitting up and blinking confusedly at the bright light in his eyes, he’s on the top bunk, near the light, I stumble back to bed till my “real” wake-up time… 7:00 a.m. This morning I was wide awake for some reason and did some laundry, puttered around, and then went to the bathroom. At some point the 7:00 a.m. alarm went off, which daughter turned off. Shortly thereafter I layed back down for a minute before the alarm went off. Which, of course, it already had. I wound up jumping out of bed, after a nightmare of being late, go figure, at 8:00 a.m. And tried to get daughter up.

Daughter reacts to bright lights in eyes by scooting to the footend of the bed and curling any & all blankets around her and squealing “No! Bright Light!” I ignored her briefly and went to get squareboy, only to find him up, dressed and with his lunch packed. Two sandwiches, a family-size bag of chex mix, two drinks, two fruit snacks and some carrots. He was planning on being hungry at lunch (the kid is 8. Eight-year-olds do not, ever, eat that much in one sitting). I let him take it all to school because 1) we were late, 2) he’d packed his own lunch and 3) he’d packed his own lunch!

Back to daughter, still squealing. I dress her. Squealing progressed to screaming. Wrong pants. Itchy shirt. The socks don’t match. WTH?!?! She even slept in an hour. More stuff happened, what it boils down to is that she screamed, squealed, whined from 8:00 a.m., until I dropped her off at school at 8:42 a.m.; where Roman told her “you’re lucky you’re late you missed chapel.” Daughter nodded her head, solemnly agreeing, she’s mad at Jesus for making Gorilla’s, flashed me the cheesiest grin because her boyfriend had talked to her and then skipped off to class.

Oink Oink and Moo Moo

Hmmm, I have this whole blog written, see below, but I suddenly remembered the sole picture on my camera since I promised myself I’d start taking more pictures of the kids… two, three, days ago. Can you see it? Am I performing miracles with my ability to manipulate this program yet? I came home from work and had to find daughter. She’d been hiding. I found her behind the only stack of boxes left in our new-to-me house. On the hardword floor, fast asleep, curled into a little ball. I just felt the need to share this. Now, on with the program.

My mother, while very loving, can be so mean. Yesterday she sent a package out to Squareboy. He’d begged her for his very own holy water, and she just happened to have a big, huge bottle from Lourdes. Have I mentioned we are Catholic? Anyway, yesterday the package arrived. Addressed to Squareboy. Daughter promptly burst into tears. Not to be politically incorrect, but girls are really more whiny, um, sensitive, than boys. She wanted a package. She ran out of the room to have a fit in her room… at least that’s a step in the right direction. Right?

She was back in two seconds. “Oma?!? Oma!?!?!” I swear that box smelled like she sprayed her perfume in it. The Oma smell permeated the room, the house, immediately. Daughter smelled it in her bedroom, all tears forgotten, and came tearing out looking for her Oma. Who was no where to be found. More tears. Damn girls.

Besides Squareboy’s holy water Oma had sent some stuffed animals. “Do they work?” She asked me this morning when I called to thank her. Yeah, they work. Dork. What you send us broken stuff now? Lovely.

“What do they say?”
“Oink, oink and moo moo.”

It was a pig and a cow. She burst out laughing so hard I can almost feel the tears coming out of her eyes through the phone. What the hell did she think a stuffed cow & pig would say? I never did find that one out because when I even mention the cow & the pig and she started giggling again. I had to bring her happiness down a level and comment on her meanness. I told her daughter had cried because squareboy got a package and she didn’t. Warm, fuzzy Oma feelings kicked right in, “Oooh, poor baby. But I sent her a toy too.” Then I had to explain daughter didn’t want the pig. I’m the pig lady. So the pig was mine. My mom was very sad about this until it was time to hang up. Instead of saying “Bye” I said “Oink, oink”. In between renewed hysterical, hicupping laughter she said “Moo, moo.”