Child #4 (5 if you want to be specific, but that's a story for another day). Baby Charlie, yes, at 5 years old he is still called Baby Charlie...AND he's not even the youngest child or the youngest boy. So there! Feel free to submit possible nicknames. Nothing seems to stick.
Back to the point, my wonderful, adorable, exasperating child #4. He is hilarious. I say God made him cute so I don't kill him and I do believe there is some truth to that.
Today, I had a ton of work to do on the computer and really needed the kids out of my face. It was a beautiful afternoon and when they complained they had nothing to do outside, I gave the girls the 6 little bottles of nail polish that I forgot to give them for Easter. (That means they got too much stuff in their baskets if you ask me).
The boys were out playing Army man with their bows and arrows. I'd call that Indians, but that's just me. Baby Charlie has been running around the neighborhood with a bunch of older boys playing Army man and he gets annoyed b/c he has to borrow a gun from one of them. It's not that I have anything major against buying him a toy gun, he just hasn't been in need of one til now. And since he was just as happy to run around with his bow and arrow today...I'm thinking I can blow it off for a few more weeks. Sawyer doesn't quite play Army man. At 3, the older boys let him be like the "Innocent Victim" that pops out from behind the furniture in a shoot 'em up video game. They try not to shoot at him when they come running around the corner and he's using his bow to "golf" the wiffle ball around the yard. He is however, great for pointing out the direction the other kids ran. Of course he's a double agent; an equal opportunity snitch.
Back to the girls who are SO excited that I just gave them new nail polish for no reason! I'm such a cool mom...if they only knew. I go back into the living room to finish writing a timeline of one of the kids medical histories. This is long and tedious and frustrating beyond belief. At this point, someone knocks at the door. I am faintly reminded that I saw the doorbell sitting somewhere in the house. (Yet another brain cloud - did you read the last post? If you did then you would know what I'm talking about and not feel left out)
***I would at this point advise any parent to double check that your doorbell is securely fastened to your house. There are few things more annoying than having your children remove the doorbell from the front of the house then proceed to hide behind the tree and ring it every 47 seconds. Think about it, you can't sit there and wait until the brat comes sneaking back to ring it again. They are all falling all over the ground behind the oak tree and you can't see them. They tried sitting in the living room holding the doorbell under their leg, but quickly realized that if there is a child within yelling distance I am NOT getting up to answer the door...now, back to the knock.
It is my good friend's husband. He has come to help me figure out a Geek Squad question that I need to find the answer to b/c Charlie's laptop has a virus...in Iraq. Gotta love those Signal guys! Good Friend's Husband (names have been changed to protect the innocent) is making progress and showing me how to navigate the computer which I think I understand but will not be able to do once he walks out.
Enter child #4, with a big grin on his face. This is trouble and I knew immediately what was going on.
"Look at my toes Momma!"
"They're lovely." I said, "Who painted them?"
"Me! Did I do good?"
I'm wanting to crawl under the desk, b/c as much as Good Friend would've laughed her ass off, men just don't see the humor in this kind of thing. I then reassure Good Friend's Husband that he should be glad that his boy is the oldest. As I write this I realize that I completely forgot Good Friend's Child #4 is a boy and has two older sisters. Oops! (Good Friend is probably reading this and thinking I should be lowered to Acquaintance status)
I return to the discussion at hand. "Can I see your fingers?"
"I didn't do them."
"YES!!!" I shreik in my head. Then I foolish ask "You know why you shouldn't do your fingers right?"
The reply "Because I can hide my toes in my shoes, right?!?"
I'm actually wondering if this is how drag queens start out and what Charlie will think if Baby Charlie puts his toes up to the web cam the next time we Skype. Sawyer came in a few minutes later with a pedi mani and feeling very happy. (These were of course rainbow manicures.)
Good Friend's Husband has turned so pale you could see the thoughts circling his brain. "Must leave now. Must leave NOW!" This is actually good as it replaced "I can't believe this house is such a disaster!"
"Well,Mary,justtellCharliewhatItoldyouandit'llbefineseeyoulater.Bye!"
"Uh, thanks, bye!"
We try to follow Good Friend's Husband out to the porch to bid him farewell but he's gone with the wind. Charlie starts telling me of yet another YouTube video he found of something Micheal Jackson. What I find truly amazing is the amount of random stuff on YouTube. Storm troopers moon walking, MJ vs. Sponge Bob, and my personal favorite; Michal Jackson videos done with Lego's. He's seen them all and made the rest of the family suffer through each and every one. He's borderline obsessed. He told me last week, "I very want a shiny glove Momma. Just one!" He has also asked to walk through the cemetery on post to see if we can find Michael Jackson's grave. "He could be there Momma, he could!"
As he babbles away I am picking up toys from the front yard that a leprechaun must have left there b/c certainly NONE of my children would have left them out. "It's not just that I didn't play with it, I didn't even see that toy today!"
Suddenly, I hear him pause and my brain tries to replay his last statement...uh oh, it was a question. You can tell b/c he's looking at me with that I-just-asked-you-a-question face. Crap...
"What honey?"
"Do I look like him?"
"Who?"
(Loud sigh of exasperation) "Michael Jackson! You know, but not the skin."
"Um, I guess you can dance like him."
"I think I would very like..."
Is he gonna say he wishes he was black? The irony of that will be lost on the masses. Please God, don't let him ask for a Jheri curl.
"I would very like a Michael Jackson t-shirt that I could wear."
I didn't know I was holding my breath until I let go....
Fast forward to 8pm, I am writing Josie's research paper, another long story that just doesn't fit into tonight's schedule. I hear this horrible clonking noise upstairs. I couldn't tell if it was the neighbors or not. I had recently sent Lyra up to go to bed and Charlie to get jays (as in PJ's) on.
Finally, I am concerned enough that I get up to make sure it's not a herd of cattle.
There stands my boy, my husbands namesake, the child that holds so much hope for brain cells in the family; naked as a jay bird walking around in a circle with the heels I wore to church Saturday on his feet. As I'm silently praying that these are not the shoes he was planning on hiding his painted toes in, I say "What on Earth are you doing?"
"I'm tap dancing. Did ya hear me? Was is good? Wanna see?"
"Yes so did the neighborhood! I don't know, how could I? And NOOOOOO!!!"
He clomped down the hall, happy as a clam singing "Beat It."
So I'm wondering...do you think anyone will do a sociological study on the sexual preferences of kids whose same sex parent has been deployed multiple times?
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