Move over Mom whose son wanted to be Daphne for Halloween…I’ve got a serious problem!

A few years ago there was a huge controversy about a little boy who wanted to wear a Daphne costume for Halloween.  Daphne, as in Scooby-Doo, Daphne. 

It was an interesting concept. While I thought the Mom handled it well and I felt she was right in letting him wear it, a friend of a friend was so insulted by the notion I had to just cut her off.  Honestly, I don't think I talked to her again after that FB explosion.  (For the record, I have not been involved in a full blown posting war since Obama announced he single handedly killed Osama Bin Laden while blindfolded and having one hand behind his back....at least not one that I remember....)

I could see both sides. I hate to throw my kids to the wolves if it’s not necessary.  I love my kids and would never want to put them in a situation where I know they could be abused.  For example, several years ago Tali was at a birthday party and made matching Tshirts with her best friend.  They decided to wear them the following Monday.  I don't even recall noticing the shirt, but it turned out that it had a rainbow and a triangle, maybe the triangle was up-side-down, I really don't know.  I got a call from the counselor shortly after 8am that Tali was in her office crying and could I please bring her another shirt.  Apparently, members of her class felt the need to tell her that she was wearing a "Gay Pride" shirt and since it had "Tali" and the name of her friend on it...you get the idea.

Charlie and I discussed it later.  Even when we looked at the shirt, at her age, it certainly didn't seem to represent any position on homosexuality to us.  Maybe, maybe, if I had really examined it before she walked out the door I might have said something.   But what would I say, "People may tease you?"  Just the indication of a problem would've led her to not wear it, and really?,  she shouldn't have worn a shirt she made with no agenda besides having a BFF? I don't even think Tali really knew what "gay" was when she was that age.  And not that it matters either way.  I have friends who are gay.

The point being, with a typical child, I think if I deemed the importance of the lesson they may learn would be more than the pain of the wolves, I hope I would just say a prayer and give them lots of love on the other side.  I'm trying to think of an example....aaannnndddd I got nothin!  I'm certain that there have been instances of the above somewhere, sometime.  I'll have to get back to you on that.

Sawyer is not a typical child.  He has Autism.  To be clear, I did NOT say he was not a normal child, just not typical…as in not neuro-typical.  And this is where our story starts:

The other night after a long day of playing soldier he wanted to see what the Revolutionary War soldiers wore.  His odd, but reasonable requests are an often frustration for me.  I’ll be in the middle of doing something, like pricing 3852 things for the yard sale and he wants me to drop everything to see what some Brit wore during the Revolution.  And in autism fashion, he will NOT LET UP until I stop what I’m doing to find his answer.  When typing it in, I understandably came across some Halloween websites.  You may think my reaction was one of relief that it was so easy, and joy that he found what he wanted in a short amount of time.  Ha ha ha, you fool!

Although he is 7 years old, I am still learning how his brain works.  I should’ve anticipated spending the next forty-five minutes looking at “uniform costumes” with him. I had planned on twenty.  When he saw the “Red Coat” outfit, he was smitten. 

“That’s what I want Mom.  I want to be a British Soldier for Halloween.”

“Okay Sauce, we can ord-“

“WAIT!  Is that one from the Civil War?”

“Yes, it’s a Union Soldier.”

“I want to do the Civil War.”

“Okay, let’s look at some.”

We started scrolling through 742 links to costume websites when a friend happened to call and ask what I was doing.  She suggested he be a Canadian Mountie considering his obsession with all things Canada.  What an awesome idea!  That would be THE perfect costume for him.  If you know anything about Sawyer, you know that he will someday defect north, renounce his US citizenship and officially become Canadian. 

Okay, Canadian Mountie, it is.  Then again, maybe not.  Surprisingly, I could not find a Mountie costume for a child.  How strange is that?  Little Canadian children don't want to grow up and wear big brimmed hats and funny pants?  What the heck is wrong with you punks, eh?  Those pants could hold a lot of stuff in the thighs...a LOT.  Off the top of my head, I have no doubt you could fit a two liter bottle of soda in each side or one of those tiny helium balloon tanks.  It'd be a party in your pants!  Okay, okay.  I meant that in the most innocent way, this here's a family show.  I stand corrected. Fair enough, PG13.

Upon the realization that Great White North could not provide a Halloween Costume for my son, I attempted to put it off.  I sent a small prayer to heaven before asking Sawyer if we could look again tomorrow.  NOW who's the fool?

This was not going to go away and it was gonna be dealt with here and now.   Back to the Civil War costumes.

"What is Maryland?"

"Hmmm?"

"What is Maryland?  In the Civil war was it North or South?"

"Well, lemme think. This is why your father should never leave this house.  At the very least he should have a phone-a-friend line that I could call any hour of the day.  Um, Maryland, Maryland, the Mason-Dixon line, hmmmm, South, yes, definitely South."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!  Look at your Momma answering a history question.  Oh yeah!"

He was not impressed.

"Are they the grey ones?"

"Yes"

"That is what I want."

"Whaaa?"

"I will be a Grey.   What are they called?"

"The guys in the grey uniforms were the Confederate Soldiers."

"They were the bad guys right?"

"Well, yes, they believed in slavery and the North knew it was wrong.  But they were all Americans and so they weren't really all bad.  Once the North won the war, everybody was friends again."

I field a lot of 'who are the bad guys' and 'can they get to us' with Sawyer.  I was tip-toeing on shaky ground and was understandably worried about a face plant!

INSERT DADDY HERE WITH RESPONSES TO THE NEXT HUNDRED QUESTIONS THAT I WILL NOT KNOW THE ANSWER TO.  Why does he have to be on the other side of the world right now?

I'm trying to think fast,  "Wouldn't you like to be a 'good guy' soldier?"

"I was born in Maryland."

"Well, that's okay, you could pick the North."

"I was born in Maryland."

"I bet some people in Maryland fought for the North."

"I was born in Maryland."  His exasperation with my apathy about the "rules" of who was on who's side of the war growing by the second. "If I was born in Maryland and it was the wartime and I went to war, I would go and be on the bad guys side because I was born in Maryland and that is what the people born in Maryland did Mom."

I lost the battle ten minutes ago, why am I prolonging my surrender?

"Fine.  I'll order the costume now."  And I did.

Thanks to Amazon Prime, it only took three days of Sawyer checking the front porch for packages every hour on the hour for it to arrive.  Making Sawyer happy is not an easy thing to do, so to see the joy of his face when I showed him the package after school one day made any heat I may get completely worth it.

The uniform consisted of grey pants w/ a thin gold stripe down the leg and an over-the-head jacket that looks military-ish.  I noticed that although the cardboard picture in the bag had a huge confederate flag on it, there was no confederate flag on the uniform.

BINGO!  Huge sigh of relief!  I mean, I understand why Sawyer feels he needs to wear the Confederate Uniform and I know that very few people would think any less of the little kid wearing a confederate uniform, but they certainly might think less of the MOTHER of the little kid wearing a confederate uniform. 

Trust me, we don't have any rebel flag window stickers on the back of our pickup truck.  Shoot, we don't even have a pick up truck....or a gun rack for that matter.  Not that there's anything wrong with that.  I have friends with pick up trucks and gun racks.

Sawyer was happy with the outfit alone for a few days until we went to the Ft. Leavenworth Heritage Museum for a family night.  In the gift store were little Civil War hats for little Yankees and little Rebels alike.  He needed one.  I of course had no money and had to go back a week or two later.

Thanks to the US Gov't, the first time I went back the museum was closed because the gift shop was closed.  But that is another post altogether.

I was able to eventually purchase the hat...which has a large confederate flag on the front.  Only flashing lights and a siren would make it more conspicuous. Maybe I should've looked into "pimping" his hat.  I mean, if he's gonna wear a Confederate costume, he may as well flaunt it right?  Uh, yeah, I don't think so.

Is it horrible to let him wear this costume?  It is an ugly part of this country's history, but it is part of our history.  Where do I stop letting Sawyer be Sawyer in order to be politically correct?  How do I explain to him that some people may get the wrong idea and think we are a family who believes in racial inequality when he can't even grasp that concept?  Will that even cross the minds of the adults answering the door tonight?  Why can't I have normal stressful situations?  Why do mine have to border on the freakishly bizarre?

 

What I really would like to do is print out business cards that say the following:

"My name is Sawyer.  I am dressed in a Confederate Soldiers' outfit, because I like learning about the Civil War, not because I (or my Mother) am a racist.  I do not believe in slavery and although my Mother did not vote for Obama, it had nothing to do with the color of his skin.  She has black friends.  Really!  Also, the sword I am holding is made of styrofoam unlike the pencil I was wielding dagger-like while yelling at my teacher the other day.  I come in peace.  So does my Mother. (Who is a really nice person by the way)"

Wish you were here!

Dear Charlie~

I was going to write you a note and post it on FB, but by the time all the following events occurred, my monologue had run so long in my head, I knew I needed more room. 

What I wanted to tell you initially, was that I mailed the flasks that you asked me to mail.  (Actually, that is now a lie, but you'll understand as you continue to read this)  There were two on the desk, so I hope that is all you are counting on.

Thank you for warning me to check for liquids before mailing them.  I would certainly not want to mail anything that is "liquid, fragile, perishable, or hazardous." One flask was almost full of whiskey!  I started to feel drunk as soon as I opened it when the smell burst forth and up my nose.  Because money is tight and only going to get tighter (I'll explain below) I drank the whiskey instead of pouring it down the drain.  Thank you for that as well!

After rinsing out both containers I found a perfect box to mail them in.  It is a Schwann's "Lasagna Roll Ups" box.  That was the next thing I wanted to tell you.  When you see this box, please know ahead of time that it does NOT contain frozen food from the truck you are so fond of.  You may even see it as a tease, but I didn't mean for it to be, it was a dimension thing.  Rest assured, the Schwann's man misses you too and is very excited for your possible future employment with the company.

I had the flasks in the box and was trying to tape it up only to find the mailing tape was MIA.  I know I used it right before we left for FL to pack up your birthday gifts which arrived a week late.  (I've been meaning to tell you, I think the Kazak calendar may just be a week or two ahead of the rest of the world.  It could happen!) I went looking for the tape.

It is always on the shelf going to the basement and I couldn't imagine where else it would be; this house being the definition of organization and all.  I searched high and low for a good 20 minutes, even going to the third floor.  This required a conversation with Tali who is home sick from school.  I have diagnosed her upset stomach as a side effect of raging hormones and teenage angst.  "Why would I know where the tape is? I don't use tape."  Oh, right.  Of course you don't.  Sorry for disturbing you Ms. Blair!

This would be a good spot to stop and tell you that I have already been to a dentist appt w/ Lyra this morning who announced on the way, "I didn't do all my homework last night, so after the appt we need to go home so I can finish it."  To which I replied, "Certainly dear, I really had nothing planned in that 45 minutes between your appt and your brother and sister's appt." 

After I finished Lyra's homework, we drove back to Ike to pick up B. Charlie for his orthodontist consult.  On the way I got a text from Tali saying, "Come get me, I'm gonna throw up."  I resisted the urge to write back, "No, I'd rather have you in the car AFTER you puke." 

Lyra went to class, I dropped off two six packs of Ensure with the nurse.  Sawyer's consumption of liquid gold has only increased as his weight and food intake has decreased.  Mo money, mo money, mo money! 

Charlie got in the car and babbled about several things I'm sure.  I just couldn't tell you what they are because I wasn't listening.  I went to pick up Tali and told the secretary to check the nurses' office.  "I just got a text saying she felt sick."  There was no intention of throwing her under the bus, but the secretary squawked, "Please remind your daughter she is not allowed to text in class."  I resisted the urge to say, "Please remind your attitude not to be such a bitch!"  (I'm getting good at the resisting thing)

At the orthodontist, Tali was reprimanded for not wearing her rubber bands.  I wanted to whisper "Don't poke the monster," but I doubt they would've listened anyway.  The best part of the visit was when the Dr. told me that it is imperative to begin "Phase I" of B.Charlie's orthodontic plan as soon as possible.  Considering just implementing the plan consists of four separate appointments and the phase itself will take about one year, I was afraid to ask how many "Phases" there will be.  Suffice to say that "The Gerard Jaw" is quite the swimmer in our gene pool.  There will be a palate widener along with a facial mask and other equipment that will have B. Cha resembling the girl in "16 Candles" who couldn't get a drink from the fountain.  Mo money, mo money, mo money!

I think the least the Orthodontist could do is "gift us" the frequent flier miles he earns after we pay for his trip around the world.  Maybe I'll suggest that to him.

Meanwhile, back to the tape, I finally decided to give up and use duct tape on the box and scotch tape on the label.  For me, this is akin to biting strait into a full Kit-Kat bar without breaking one rectangle off and nibbling the chocolate from the sides.  I don't usually "do" non-mailing tape on a parcel, but I was trying to get to the Post Office before they took their 1-3:30 siesta!  What a crock!  What place of business in the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA closes from 1-3:30?  We ain't THAT close to Mexico! Errrr, don't get me started.

After making sure Tali was tucked in and not planning the demise of me or her siblings, I went back downstairs to find the tape on the dining room table.  Both rolls together, mocking me as they lay on their flat sides.  I loudly exclaimed, "Father Fred, I realize it's close to Halloween, but today is not mischief night or even mischief day and I'm in no mood for reindeer games or ghost games or whatever you call them!"

I looked at the kitchen clock, 12:55.  It's a few minutes fast so I had a decent chance of making it.  I probably should've walked considering the amount of whiskey I'd consumed but I was in a hurry.  Besides, the only kids out and about in the middle of a weekday are home schoolers. (Before anyone freaks out---I'M KIDDING....sort of) I was getting in the car when a maintenance man comes out of our street long carport/shelter/sad excuse for a community garage.  The whole awning like thing in the front is sagging and looking like it's gonna collapse at any moment.   The floor of our spot is covered in water.  (Did I mention it's been raining for 12 hours?) 

"Ma'am, do you get water in your garage all the time?"  I resisted the urge to say, "Well, considering there's NO DOOR, yes." (Really good!)  I told him the truth, I had no idea if we always get water along the side and back wall during a heavy rain.  That was the other thing I wanted to ask; Do we get water along the side and back wall during a heavy rain?  Maintenance wants to know.

There was a discussion of a neighbor moving their car out of the structure because the worker needed to rope it off with Caution Tape.  I resisted the urge to ask for a piece to put across Tali's doorway. (Really, REALLY good)  As I drove down the back alley they were constructing a barrier.  Can't wait for Sawyer to come home to find out his new scooter has been quarantined.  He's such happy-go-lucky guy, he'll certainly be understanding of the situation.

I pulled up to the Post office at 1:02 and could hear the snoring from the parking lot.  So the LAST thing I want to tell you is that I will mail your package after 3:30 this afternoon.

I love you and miss you~

Me

Just 1 of 400 Days

Saturday, September 28, 2013

It began at 6:52am when I opened one eyeball to see Tali descending from the third floor in her volleyball uniform.  She needed to arrive at school before 7:45 to leave for a tournament and I was relieved to see that, in true Tali fashion, she’d gotten herself up and was in no need of any assistance from me except a ride to the Junior High.  I happily closed my eye and immediately went back to sleep until 7:23. 

We really didn’t have to leave until 7:37 and I had no intention of doing anything but donning a sweatshirt and sliding on my Merrill’s before walking out the door.  At a minimum, at this point, I still had a good 10 minutes to listen to silence when I heard the thumps up the stairs.

“Mom, the game is not cancelled!”

I watch my 10 minutes slide down the drain like cold gravy.  I attempt a smile. “Happy Birthday my boy!”

“Thanks Mom, the game is not cancelled.  I checked the inbox and there is no message from the coach. ”

He’s referring to his first flag football game of the season which was scheduled for 10am.  It’s very exciting to have a sporting event on one’s birthday…especially, the first of the season!

“Charlie, it’s still early.  They probably won’t make a call about the weather until 8.  Let me see what my phone says.”

My phone is showing Kansas City weather from yesterday afternoon and is refusing to update.  I go to check email see it hasn’t updated since late yesterday.  How dare these technical conveniences get in the way of my laziness!

I call the weather hotline:

“Hello.  You have reached the Fort Leavenworth Youth Sports Weather Hotline.  Today is Tuesday, September 24.  As of today as youth sports and activities will go on as scheduled……”

Well that helps!  I turn the phone off and remove the battery and explain to Charlie that if it rained last night and is still raining, there is a REALLY GOOD chance his game will be cancelled.  Regardless, he is happier than a camel on Wednesday and there is no talking him down.

I roll out of bed, put on a sweatshirt, shoes, grab the keys and take Tali to school.  It’s raining.  Not just spitting or drizzling, but raining.  Crud!

Once home, I crawl back into bed and check my phone.  New email.  The game has been postponed until Monday.

“Charlie!  Come upstairs…..”

It was ugly.  Tears, rage, whimpers; the situation was grave.  I finally got him to stop crying and crawl into bed with me.  (Happiness is having a crying child come and get in bed with you so you don’t have to get out of bed to comfort them)  It took a bit, but I got him to stop crying and think about the two parties he was attending that afternoon.

Since the football game was cancelled, I was then open to attend Tali’s volleyball tournament.  I eventually dragged myself into the shower and got dressed.  Because it was the final tournament of the season, I decided to bring the video camera to get some footage to send to her Dad.  That was a twenty-seven minute exercise in figuring out what disc was in the camera, finalizing it, finding a Sharpie to mark it (because the last time I was desperate for a Sharpie I took it from the video camera bag), and plugging in the camera to get a full charge.

Josie had spent the night with a friend so I had to pick her up and bring her home to stay with the little ones.  No one having the slightest interest in going to cheer their sister on = Alone time for Momma!  I was not going to try to persuade them to come along.

Charlie had not even started on his book report that was due Monday, nor did he have the instruction sheet on how to do it.  That added thirteen minutes for a phone call to a friend who made a copy of the sheet and sent her husband over to the house with it. 

The plan was this:  the kids would clean up, Charlie would work on his book report with Josie’s help and all would be right with the world.

My plan to leave at 9:30 turning into a 10:45 reality was the first indication of how the day would pan out.

The tournament which was in “the next town” was 45-50 minutes away.  How did I forget I live in Kansas?  It was like Laura Ingles thinking Pa could run to the Quick Mart for a ½ gallon of milk.  Not so fast Half-Pint!

The rain continued to pour as I drove down some country “highway” which occasionally would go from one to two lanes so cars could safely pass the tractors.  After covering much of Lewis & Clark’s trail, I got to the town “right up the road,” and found the high school.  I arrived to see the last of the first four matches and then they broke for lunch.  Figures!

I did get the camera set up and was able to tape a bit.  Unfortunately, Tali was very off today.  It happens.  I just wish it didn’t happen the one time I had the video camera with me.  Regardless, she is still recovering from a head cold and I swear her balance was off. 

During lunch I decided to see how things are going at home. (Excuse me while I make a mental note)

*Note to self:  If you are away from home and no one is calling from that location to report a fire, a murder, or make a request for medical insurance information before treating a patient, do not, I repeat DO NOT voluntarily call the dwelling.  I’m serious. Resist the urge!   You think I’m kidding, I know.  But seriously, DON’T!  I mean it!

It’s hard to say exactly how or what went wrong and when it did, but let’s just say that the amount of crying and wailing and gnashing of teeth was apocalyptic.  There was nothing I could do about this book report when I had never read the book and I was 30+ miles away.

This is the point at which a mother must pick her battles.  It is not fair to burden the older child with a younger child who cannot and/or will not focus.  Especially if the older child is one who will blame herself for her brother’s failures!

The people lucky enough to be in this rural high school cafeteria in earshot of my phone call heard something like this:

“Charlie, calm down and listen to me……..Charlie……Charlie………….Charlieeeeee!  Listen.  If you can’t do the report that’s….Charlie?  Are you breathing?  Listen. To. Me.  Breathe.  Get yourself together and you can go to your friend’s house.  But here’s the deal,…..  Charlie?  Get a Kleenex……… (3 minutes of silence from me as I listen to banging and scratching against the phone)….Okay are you back?  Go get yourself dressed and ask one of your sisters to walk you to Lachlan’s* house.  BUT….are you listening?  We are spending the day tomorrow working on the book report.  You may not watch TV; you may not go to your classmates’ birthday party at the horse farm, no Kindle, no Wii, no computer.  Got it?  Charlie?  Got it?  Okay, just making sure.  Yes, I love you too!”

*The name of Charlie’s friend has been changed in order to protect the innocent. Also, he's Australian so I picked the Australian-ist name I could find!

Tali’s team should have won the last of their games with no problem.  Unfortunately, there was a problem…it’s called girls can be so annoying.  Some of the girls were criticizing the others for not playing well and then the tears started.  (Her volleyball team is a blog post or two in itself)  Thankfully, Tali does not let herself get caught up in that garbage.  I try not to be one of “those psycho sports moms” but I get very caught up in the game and I want them to win if they can.  I used to be a cheerleader, what can I say?

The drive home consisted of an explanation of the drama that was occurring on the court, then pretty much silence.  We were both very bummed.

Charlie called to say that no one would walk him to Lachlan’s house so he could get a ride to another friends’ birthday party.  That was another 10 minutes of tears until I got Josie on the phone and she agreed to walk him. Josie got Charlie to Lachlan’s house and Lachlan’s parents got Charlie to the birthday party.

Lachlan’s parents were having people over to watch the Australian Rules Football finals.  I really don’t know what that means, but I knew that alcohol was involved.  I threw together a 7 layer dip, got Sawyer dressed and got over there as soon as I could.  The place was full of Aussie’s which makes me happy because I love to listen to them talk.  I usually only get every 2^nd or 3^rd word, but after a few drinks it somehow become easier to understand them.  I had no clue what was going on with the game, but when my friend cheered, I cheered!

After only one beer, I found myself joining in the conversation saying things such as:

“Crikey mate!  Did you see that bloke?  What a bludger!”

and 

“Aerial pingpong is quite the bottler, eh?”

Sawyer likes to play at their house because they have Electronic Battleship.  We had a few tears when two of the kids wanted to play with him.  One little girl said, “I know ‘im, that’s Sawyer.  He cries a bit at school.”  

Although it sounded adorable, all I could think was, “Great, even the International kids think he’s weird!”  Anyway, we got the girls to do something else and Sawyer was fine until a 2yr old British boy became intrigued with Sawyer’s game.  He just wanted to play.  The Dad and I tried to run interference, but he was quick.  Sawyer got to the point where the kid would get within 5 feet of the game and Sauce would just fall over and start crying.  Fun times!

Charlie and his friend got a ride back to the house where Sawyer and I were.  All the boys went outside to toss some odd looking ball around and get dirty.  I had a few moments of peace and used them to have another drink!  Josie called to say she was going to go to church and did I want to go with her.  I had to pass.  Poor Josie…how did she end up with a lush for a mother?  Actually, I hadn’t even finished my second drink, but I’m sure in her eyes I’m already just a few sips away from hell.

 The game ended with the brown and yellow team winning (good) and Charlie coming in from outside with a bloody nose (bad).  Of course what could be more appropriate than a bloody nose at a rugby-like, yet not a rugby game?

It was at that point I ran to the commissary to pick up a cake for Charlie.  I had thought we would go to dinner, but it was getting late and we didn’t have time to go somewhere that they would have desert, much less sing.

The girls called and asked if they could go bowling at 7.  It was 6.  We still had yet to do presents, dinner or cake.  I took the boys and Lachlan with me to go get the girls.  Charlie agreed that McDonalds would be the fastest.  We drove to McDonalds and ordered the regular with one extra burger for Lachlan.  Because it was Charlie’s birthday and all the kids are usually begging Sawyer for extra nuggets, I got him a 10 piece.

We drove back to the house and the girls inhaled their food.  They told Charlie to hurry up and open his presents.  He did a great job tearing through everything.  Let’s just say it was a Duck Dynasty Birthday and leave it at that.  Charlie was very happy.  By the time he was done a few other kids had arrived to get a ride to the bowling alley. 

As I was getting the car keys, I saw a burger sitting on the table. 

“Lachlan, did you eat?”

“No ma’am.”

“Why not?”

“No one gave me a burger.”

“Now you know, when you are at the Carltons, you need to speak up.”

“I don’t believe Charles has eaten his either.”

“Charlie?  Did you eat?”

“No!” he said with agitation.

“Girls, where is Charlie’s burger?”

This was met with a few grunts, shrugs and someone saying there were only four burgers in the bag.

Note to self:  ALWAYS, ALWAYS COUNT THE FREAKING BURGERS BEFORE DRIVING AWAY!!!

We piled a bunch of kids into the car and drove to the bowling alley.  I dropped them off and waited the obligatory 5 minutes to make sure there was someone there that made it worth staying.  After that, we drove Lachlan home.  I felt obliged to go in with him and explain to his parents that I almost forgot to feed him and please remind him to speak up when he’s at our house.  I’d rather fess up now, than have them talking about me every time someone didn’t get their food.  “Remember that American woman who forgot to feed our son?”

By some miracle I was down to two kids in my care.  From the munching in the back seat, I knew that Sawyer had gotten his nuggets and that he was sharing with Charlie.

“Charlie, are you having some of Sawyer’s nuggets?”

“Yeah.” (Notice his friend answered my question with a “Ma’am.”)

“Will those fill you up for dinner?”

“They’ll be enough until we go back to McDonalds for my hamburger.”

“Really?  You want to go back?”

“Moooooommmmmm, it’s my birthday.  Shouldn’t I at least get the hamburger I ordered?”

Any God-fearing Catholic child knows the power of a good guilt trip.

“Okay, Charlie, you’re right.  We’ll go back.”

I drive all the way back to McDonalds, which in the scheme of things is not really that far.  However, in that moment, it was as if someone told me I had to drive to Colorado.  I was getting tired and the boys, though chattering in the back, were not fighting, which told me they were tired too.

As soon as we turned into the parking lot, I could see the drive through lane, which had been empty before, had a pretty good conga line going.  Why was McDs packed at 9:07 on a Saturday night?  Didn’t these people have anything better to do?  Oh, right.  We live in Leavenworth, KS…they don’t have anything better to do.

We waited behind 6, SIX cars to pull up to the ordering station where I spoke with one of Charlie Brown’s parents.  After explaining that we didn’t get one of our burgers, I was able to make out some garble about the second window. 

It was then I noticed the near silence in the back seat.

“Charla, are you awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, we’re gonna get your burger in a second.  There are just a couple more cars ahead of us.”

“K”

Answers consisting of a single letter signal one of two things in my house.

1. I am talking to a teenager.

2. I am talking to someone who is about to fall asleep.

“Hang in there buddy.  Don’t fall asleep!  We are almost there and you can get your dinner.  Seriously, Charlie, don’t fall asleep.”

“K”

I pull up to the window and inform the girl that we are back because we didn’t get one of our burgers the last time I was at her window.

“Wow.  That took awhile.” She said.

“Well, we drove all the way back to post, we didn’t eat right away and even after we realized there was a sandwich missing, I had to drop some kids off at different places.  I came back as soon as I could.”

“No, I meant it took you awhile to get from the ordering box to the window.”

“Oh. Yes, well that too!”

She hands me the brown lunch sack size bag with a pitiful lone burger and one lousy napkin without so much as a “sorry for your inconvenience.”

I smile sweetly and say “Thank you.”

I pull away from the window and my heart hits my stomach with a thud.

“Charlie?”

Nothing.  Not even a letter!

“Charlie, hon, I have your hamburger.”

That’s when the faint snore comes through loud and clear.  Both boys are racked out in the back of the van.

Un-flippin-believable!

Actually, no it’s not, it’s completely believable…this is so believable in fact, that if having to bet on the outcome of the evening, I could’ve doubled our savings account.

I sigh and turn the radio up as I drive all the way back through the thriving metropolis of downtown Leavenworth, KS missing my husband.  And then I heard it.  Like a telepathic message the radio played one of his all time favorite songs.

“1, 2, 3, and to the fo”

Could it be?

“Snoop Doggy Dogg and Dr. Dre is at the door.”

I could hear my husband Charlie’s voice rapping this entire song word for word on one of our first dates.  (Pretty impressive for a white guy- he scored big points for that)  I turned the back speakers off and cranked the pitiful minivan radio.  For just a few minutes I was that girl again, riding in a BMW convertible with the top down, Snoop blaring in my ears, my only concern was making sure I got up for work in the morning.

I think God must’ve felt very sorry for me in order for Him to choose that song, to make me feel better.  It helped.  It really helped.  And little did I know all those years ago, in Arlington, VA that I would one day find such deep comfort in a “G Thang.”

And so my friends and readers, until I write again; I will close with the immortal words of Andre Romelle Young and Calvin Cordozar Broadus, Jr.:

It's like this and like that and like this and uh
It's like that and like this and like that and uh
It's like this, and we ain't got no love for those
So jus' chill, 'til the next episode.

 

 

 

elloHello

Someone Left the Cake Out in the Rain

So there we were, walking from my nieces' wedding to the reception a short distance away on a balmy Florida evening.


*Hold up.  Back Story:

You have to understand, before I get further into this blog that this was my KT getting married.  My first of about 47 nieces and nephews that have come along since.  I was in 8th grade when Kate was born, making us about 12 years apart.  Approximately, the same distance apart as her mother, Val, and I.  As Val came home for vacations and holidays, I was always around.  I watched her grow up and love her with a fierceness.

I made a teddy bear cake for Kate's 2nd or 3rd birthday.  Little did I know then, that "cool cakes" would be my claim to fame as a mom.  Kate went on to become the oldest of six kids, in a very awesome family.  Things were not always easy.  Money was tight with such a large family and Kate's parents separated when most of the kids were young.  Kate, however, was old enough to witness (and remember) the not so good times.  In college, she got pregnant and made what I think was the not typical, yet bravest choice.  She not only had the baby, but kept her and has raised her into one of the two most rockin' 9 year olds I know!  (The other being B. Charlie of course)

Without lots of details, I just want you to understand that here is a kid who didn't have it easy, but has a family who loves her in addition to the most fabulous Aunt anyone could ask for!  So when she called to tell me she was getting married, I cried.  I just want the happiness for her that she deserves!

As plans were made, it turned out she was going to get married while my husband was gone.  The thought of bringing 5 kids to Florida by myself for a wedding in which they had to look somewhat respectable was a bit daunting, I must admit.  Money is not abundant in our household either and so after looking into driving (19 hours) or a train (you can't get there from here) it was not looking like I was going to make it.

When Kate saw this in an email, she fell apart.  "I need my Auntie Em!," she told me.  As any good Catholic will understand, in a case of guilt vs money, guilt will always prevail!  I pleaded my case to my hubby and he said "Just get the tickets.  It's only money, really."  And so I did. (Thank you Charlie)

There will be a whole other post dedicated to the trip itself, but let's just say it was a whirlwind.  As I talked to my niece leading up to the wedding, I realized how much she had done and paid for herself.  Her mother has been living in Italy for the last year and no other "maternal figures" are near her in Jacksonville.  She really put the whole thing together as a one woman show.  I felt horrible.  I should have been calling, checking in on her, helping her make decisions, listening when she needed to vent, etc.  I should have done more.  Even Saturday, when she was completely freaking out trying to set up I should have figured out a way to get over there and help, but without a husband accompanying me, my brain was fried and I didn't.

*End of Back Story*


So there we were, walking from my neices' wedding to the reception a short distance away on a balmy Florida evening.  There had been talk of rain, and grey clouds were looming, but they were moving quickly so I prayed they would pass.  The wedding and reception were at a high school that looked more like a college campus.  The path from the church around the lake to what I donned "The Tree of Life" was lovely.  The tree was ginormous (my blog- I can invent words) and under it was a circular deck holding tables with centerpieces of candles and flowers.  There was guest photo album table, guys cooking up incredible wood stove gourmet pizzas, two "Mommy juice" bars, a "candy" bar for the kids (great touch), and a very handsome (read:HOT) acoustic guitar player that was beyond amazing.  It was hard to take all this in as Sawyer tugged on me and whined and fussed to go to the soccer field next to the tree.  I told him as soon as I saw the cake, we would go.

The story of the cake topper was one Kate had told me the night before.  She had ordered it from England and it was supposed to arrive on Wednesday.  By Thursday, she was losing it and John (her very calm fiance) told her that she was allowed to freak out if it had not arrived by Friday at 10am.  Apparently, the doorbell rang at 9:57am Friday and needless to say, Kate is now BFFs with the Fed- Ex lady (who may or may not be aware of this relationship, but still has bruises from Kate's hug).

Because John's last name is FOX, it was a running theme throughout the wedding.  I brought Sawyer over to see the cake despite his protests.  It was a stunning cream colored three layer cake.  At the bottom of each layer was a clover green ribbon of icing.  Very simple and classy.  The topper itself was a porcelain bride and groom, a porcelain Fox bride and groom.  Adorable!

While I watched Sawyer play an imaginary game of soccer on the field using an acorn that he kept stepping on and having to yank back out of the grass, I kept an eye on the clouds.  They were getting darker and closer.  There was no contingency plan for the reception.  As I was not involved in the details, I found out later, they had researched the weather and this weekend was the weekend where it was least likely to rain in accordance with Florida history.  Yes, well, consulting the Farmer's Almanac is all well and good...until the drops start to come down.

My first thought was that Sawyer might freak.  He's not a fan of thunderstorms and I could hear some rumbling.  By the time we got off the field and under the tree it had started to rain a steady rain.  The tree provided a bit of shelter initially, then the skies opened up. It was at this point that all concern about Sawyer went out the window.   I have no idea where he went or what he did while the rest of this story takes place.  I was standing by the cake when it dawned on me and a few others that it would be ruined if we didn't do something.  It's all a blur but the next 15-20 minutes went something like this:


Someone was holding a coat or something over the cake.  I went over to a tall table and grabbed the table cloth.  Putting it over me, I then leaned against the table and shielded the cakes (there was a grooms cake too) with the table cloth. 

It started to pour.  Huge, hard pelting drops where you can't even see.  It became clear that the table cloth was not going to be enough.  The rain was already dripping through and the wind was causing the rain to hit the back of the cake.  Except for Trevor, my other niece's boyfriend, I didn't know any of the four or five guys trying to brainstorm a solution.  Let me just say here, the cake could not and would not have been saved if these tall, able-bodied young men were not willing to get drenched along with me.  Also, let me note that Trevor and I have officially bonded if we hadn't before!

There was discussion of picking up the cake and putting it under a table.  A chorus of "I'm not touching it!" went up like a cheer for a Jaguars 1st down.  Okay, fair enough.  The next idea was to take a tall round table and place it on top of the cake table so the cakes were underneath.  Great idea, but I didn't have the strength or height to pull that off.  Keep in mind, I am having this discussion while under a drenched tablecloth with rain running down my back like a waterfall. 

I don't know why or when I went over to the table, I remember trying to grab all the little centerpiece vases (there were 5 or 6) in one swoop and missing one that was holding a tea light.  Whether that happened the first time I went over to grab the table cloth or if I went back to do that as the were going to carry the whole table to the cake table I don't know.

So the tall round table was brought behind me and I ducked as they lifted it over me and my tablecloth.   It was a great idea and it worked but the rain was still coming in sideways.  We took the table cloth I was using and draped it over one side and then someone else brought a second table cloth and we put it over the other side so the cakes were completely surrounded.

The wind continued to blow so the table clothes had to be held down.  I think Trevor came up with the ingenious idea of putting a case of water on top and luckily there was a guy tall enough to do just that.  (Read: Trevor is not a tall guy- Sorry Trev) It worked.

It was about this time that the second "band" came through.  This was no rain for the faint of heart, no rain for a romantic walk by the park, this was a hard core, in your face,  Ozzy Osborne biting the head off a small animal, kind of rain.  As I was under the tall table holding the sides of the table cloths closed, I found myself sharing an intimate moment alone with the cake. 

"Listen here, cake!" I possibly said out loud while glaring at the two tiny foxes innocently smiling back at me.  "There is nothing I can do about the fact that I wasn't around when Kate planned and that I couldn't be here this afternoon to set up and I certainly couldn't help it from raining.  I need Kate to know how much I love her, so I will be damned if I am going to let anything, ANYTHING, happen to you.  You just suck up those droplets of green and hold yourself together.  This is the only thing I can do and do well, so don't screw this up for me!"

And as quickly as it started, it stopped.  We waited a few extra minutes to be sure.  Again this legion of tall male angels appeared and slowly lifted the table off of the cake and me.  Someone brought an umbrella and I tasked Josie and Lyra to take turns holding it over the cake.  I called for napkins and someone amazingly found a package that had not yet been opened so they were dry.  I mopped up the green water around the bands and gently patted the cake to get most of the green drippage off the sides.

It was about then I felt my heel throbbing and realized that when they lifted the tall table, the remaining vase that I missed had slipped off the top and shattered behind me.  I had a sliver of glass in my foot that remained there until last night when I finally had the time and tools to dig it out.

As a battalion of women armed with paper towels, rags and napkins swooped in to start drying tables and chairs, a few people said to me, "It's stopped completely and the tree is not dripping much, you can probably put the umbrella down."

Evil darts were shot from my eyeballs strait to their hearts as I said sweetly, "The cake will be under the umbrella until Kate gets here and sees it."

It was.

And they lived happily ever after. 

The End Beginning!

Syria, the Dime, and the Southland - Part 2

So I type the original post with this title the other night and was pretty proud that I've been writing more.  As silly as it seems, writing is the key to my sanity.  (Well, that and a daily dose of lemonade from a guy named Mike)  I mentioned this "therapy" to someone and they said, "Oooohhh, what do you write?  Do you journal or keep track of the kids progress or list your daily accomplishments?"

"Uh, no.  I write what I need to get out of my head.  Mostly smart ass observations about life.  The other day I wrote a letter to Sawyer's ear tube."

"Oh."

I can't even remember who it was I was talking to because the conversation ended right there.

Regardless, I truly feel that my mental state is improving because I am blowing off more and more daily chores in order to sit and type on my blog.

I wrote the first post about Syria and was congratulating myself on getting such a random, scattered conversation out of the kids.  As exasperating as they are, I always remind myself that they will be funnier later.  I sent the link to my Dad who has yet to figure out how to get on my blog.  I got tired of waiting to hear what he thought of it so I called him.

"Did you read the article I sent yet?"

"No, I haven't had a chance.  It's about Syria?"

"Nah, that's just the title.  It's actually about General Scales."

"Bob Scales?"

"Yeah, about the time I sliced my foot open and he drove me to the hospital."

"That wasn't General Scales."

"Yes it was.  General Scales, he's on Fox News all the time!"

"I know which General Scales you're talking about.  It wasn't him.  He was the commander at Carlisle Barracks much later than that.  He was a good guy though, I really liked him."

Okay, at this point, I'm sitting my butt on the cold hard floor as the rug has just been swept out from under me.

"Mary, are you there?"

I was able to get out an audible whisper, "It wasn't General Scales?"

"No, it was General ______." 

"It wasn't General Scales?"


Let's pause while I reflect:
There have been a few times in my life that I have found things out long after the fact.  Things I wasn't told because, "we didn't want to upset you."

One was that the "cargo" in the aisle of the plane in which we flew "Space A" home from a vacation in Germany, where my siblings and I sat in bucket seats along the walls of the plane, was not in fact a pile of suitcases.   It was a casket!  Some poor family had lost their daughter while living in Germany and they were on the plane to take the body back to the States.  Here we were throwing things back and forth to each other over this child's body and no one bothered to tell me.  I found out about 10 years later.

Another time was when I was watching a documentary on Pan Am Flight 103 that went down over Lockerbie.  A women whose husband had died in the crash was talking about him.  The name of the guy was the same name of my cousins' first husband.  Hmmmmm, you can put the pieces together yourself for that one.  I knew this guy as a kid.  You would think someone MIGHT have mentioned it along the way.

So there it was: Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Leprechauns....and now General Scales.



My Dad laughs. "Mary, are you there? I'm sorry."

"I've told people that story for a hundred years.  Well, since General Scales has been on Fox News."

"Well, you've been telling them the wrong name."

I made a sound....a whimper I think.  I was crushed.


Fast forward about two hours and I'm up in Tali's room discussing her homework.  She needed to write four journal entries from a fictitious person who was alive during the Continental Congress about the direction he thought the country was heading.  Let's just make it clear, I didn't know what was going on the FIRST time I had this stuff in school.

I get a text from an family friend making fun of his sister.  It's a long story, but basically, she uses bleach to wash her vegetables and it totally creeps him out.  I think the back and forth is hilarious so I tend to egg on discussions between them regarding the subject. 

He sent her a note (and copied me) saying to keep her bleach for her husbands' "tightie whities."

I was laughing and suggested they both send me their bleach as I need them for Baby Charlie's "tidy whities."  Then, in a bold, authoritative, idiotic move, I said, "Yes, I just corrected your spelling of 'tidy!'"

He then said, "Really?  I might have misspelled 'tighty,' but I'm cracking up that you thought it was 'tidy' whities."  He then proceeds to include the link to Webster's Dictionary definition of "tighty-whities."

OH MY GOD!

How have I lived on this Earth for 45 years and not known that it was "tighty" not "tidy?"  I knew what they were.  I got the meaning of non-loosely fitted underwear, but how in the world did I not know it wasn't the word for a clean and neat space.  I mean, the oxymoron itself is beyond belief!

So there it is.  Twice in one night, a truth from my childhood was crushed like an ant under my great-niece's shoe!  (She likes to crush bugs.   Her sister likes to get down on the side walk and try to kiss their boo-boos.  No lie!)

And in the space of two hours I am caused to start questioning every reality in my life!

Syria, the Dime, and the Southland

Amazingly, both boys were bathed tonight. I was starting to worry that I would be getting a note home from school asking why they smell so bad. One hundred degree weather in Kansas in September can result in many many negative residual issues.


Regardless, they were both in my bed yet they were clean so it was definitely a decent night. About the time that Charlie remembered that he had homework, I remembered that the President was speaking about Syria tonight. Oooops all the way around.

I turned on Fox News and there was a panel of people talking about the speech. One of those on the panel was Major General Robert (Bob) Scales. I was trying to pay attention to what was being said while ignoring the raucous wrestling match taking place next to me on the Tempurpedic. In an attempt to get them to settle down and shut their traps I started a conversation that went something like this:

Mary: See that guy?

Sawyer, Charlie & Lyra: Yes.

M: When I was Josie’s age, I was playing in the creek behind his house. I cut my foot and my friends brought me to his back door. He drove me to the hospital in his Volvo and I got blood all over his car and I had to get stitches. It was the only time I got stitches.

Kids: Silence for a beat or two

L: Really? Was he mad?

M: No, he was super nice. But later Nana asked if I had made a mess and his wife said they were still trying to get the blood stain out of the white carpet.

L: NO WAY!

M: WAY!

Lyra leaves the room to inform her sisters that I ruined a famous person’s rug.

C: Did Nana and BobBob know him?

M: Yes.

C: Because you were so bad?

M: NO! (Where does he get these ideas?)  They knew him because BobBob worked with him.

Charlie started working on his homework. Meanwhile, Sawyer had been quietly absorbing the conversation. Then he was ready for more information.

S: He is the President?

M: No, he’s a General.

S: He is the President who is on the dime?

M: No, he was a General.

C: What are you before you are a General?

M: A Colonel.

S: He looks like (the President on the dime). Was he ever the President?

M: No.

C: Did Dad used to be a Colonel?

M: No, he’s a Lieutenant Colonel.

C: But did he USED to be a Colonel?

M: No. First you’re a Lieutenant Colonel, then a Colonel.

S: Is there only one President?

M: Well, yes, one at a time. But some of the men who used to be President are still alive.

C: So what comes before Lieutenant Colonel?

M: Do your homework!

Surprised by Sawyer's questions, I decided to see exactly how much he knew.

M: Do you know who the President is?

S: Yes. Alabama.

M:  What?

S (Not quite as sure): Bama?

M: Um, Obama.

S (unphased): That wasn’t the only time you got stitches.

M: ?

S: When the doctors got the babies out of your belly you got stitches.

M: You are absolutely right Sauce.

Sawyer gives a smile. He has been successful in frying my brain!

Epiloge:  It frightens me to think that rockin’ out to Lynard Skynard may now conjure up the image of BHO!

Eviction Notice

Dear Ear Tube,

In March of 2010, you were inserted into Sawyer's left ear as a temporary hire.  Placed there to do a job that the eardrum itself could not do.  The agreement was that you would do the job, allowing air or liquids to flow through the drum so the pressure did not cause yet another ear infection.  There have been tubes before you, but they were smaller, younger tubes, not the hard core tube that you have proven yourself to be.  You have gone above and beyond your call of duty!  For that I applaud you and Sawyer is grateful (although he will never tell you that).

I realize that you did not move yourself into your current home. You were chosen, by no fault of your own.  I am more than certain that your life inside Sawyer's ear has been interesting to say the least.  Good money would most likely be paid to get that up close and personal with Sawyer's amazing brain.  Loud annoying noises are stopped as soon as possible by me, Sawyer leaving the situation or by his new VERY EXPENSIVE noise cancelling headphones. Do I even need to mention the new iPod filled with the music of the Sponge Bob show, Rush, and Weird Al Yankovic?  Who wouldn't be thrilled to listen to that every day on the bus to and from school?  In addition, I'm sure Sawyer's own yelling is muffled by the wax that surrounds you.  You stay warm and relatively dry most of the time.  I get it.  You're cozy.  Much like a baby in the womb, I could see where the outside world would pose a scary situation that you are not looking forward to.

However, the time has come for you to move on.  The Doctor told me today that ear tubes are meant to stay in the ear for a maximum of three years.  This means that you are coming up on the end of your lease and you will need to vacate the residence at the pre-determined time.  Perhaps you have already made arrangements for moving on, but this letter serves as a legal and binding statement, that should you refuse to leave the premises on your own accord, you will be forcibly removed.

Honestly, I have very little problem with sending in a professional to rip you from your homestead.  I feel no guilt.  Nor am I concerned with the expense of having to pay someone to do that.  (Lucky for us both, the Army will take care of it)  Also, I am not one of those parents who are overly concerned with the surgical aspect of the procedure.  They are welcome to put my kid out, I trust them.  In fact, he’s cuter when he’s asleep (mostly because he isn’t talking, crying, or screaming).  Should the opportunity present itself, I may indeed try to sneak out with a tank of that stuff…the whole family could be enjoying a good night’s sleep!  But I digress.

Make no mistake; I do NOT want Sawyer to go through another surgery.  When the Doc mentioned it today, what sent me to the window to see if it was high enough to make it worth jumping were not the dollar signs, nor the picture of Sawyer in a hospital gown with traces of dried blood on his earlobe.  What caused the high blood pressure, the craving of a bottle of rum, and need for a cigarette was the vision of the alarm clock going off at 4 AM so we could arrive at the hospital at 5AM.  Do you hear me?  They always want us there at 5AM!!!  Those who are new to surgery may think, "Wonderful, they'll take me back around 5:30 and I'll be done by 7!"  This is a bold faced LIE!

 

At 7AM anyone who is not having the procedure will be through the first torn up, coverless outdated People magazine, out of their first caffeinated drink of the day and not happy that the waiting room is blaring Matlock on the TV that bears a sign reading: UNDER PENALTY OF DEATH- DO NOT TOUCH TV OR CHANGE CHANNEL!

Meanwhile, the patient, fully awake, has thought through every possible bad scenario.  They have decided that perhaps they should just hope to die on the table compared with all the complications they may face due to a botched surgery.  In the case of a child, especially one like Sawyer, they will be angry that they have been woken up, angry that they can't eat, angry that they have nothing to watch on TV, angry that there is no wi-fi and furious that their kindle battery is dying!

By the time the surgery rolls around, the patient, who is a nervous wreck and hasn't consumed even water in the last 14 hours is beginning to vomit bile.  The accompanying parent, friend, relative is starting to think perhaps they are now in need of medical care as well.  Do you get where I'm going with this?

So here's the deal.  Get the hell out of Dodge before we both are forced into a situation we don't want to face.  If you roll out on your own, you could stay comfortably hidden in the folds of his bed for a good 6 months or so.  Only a bloody nose or an accident can get me up on that bunk bed to change those sheets.  If you are ripped from his auditory orifice, you will end up in the trash with other medical waste.  Do we need to even explore that option? 

In addition to the notification that Sawyer may need surgery to have you forcibly removed, I also got the amazing and wonderful news that it looks like Josie may have a tonsillectomy in her future!  Now there is a fun surgery for a kid of a currently single mom with five kids who already feels like she is on the receiving end of all bad karma!  I can't even fathom telling her about it, much less going through with it while Dad is gone. 

Bottom Line- I have no time or energy to spend on a 1 mm rubber donut.  Get the hell out...and take some extra wax with you!

Sincerely,

Sawyer's Tired Mother

2ND Monday

Someone wise once said, "It's not the first day of school that's a problem.  It's not even the first Monday after the first day of school.  It's actually the second Monday after the first day of school that totally sucks!"

Oh yeah, that was me. 

Another school year started 18 days ago.  It started on a Thursday which remains a mystery to me.  Why do they tease me with the promise of school starting and then give them back to me a mere two days later?  I've had them all summer for God's sake, and you have "ease into the school year?"

The first Monday that they have to wake up and go can be painful, but there is still a bit of excitement in the air.  The kids are anxious to ensure their new agendas are signed, the first page of the crisp clean notebooks have a very neat homework assignment done, and even the boys are somewhat concerned with what they wear.  Heck, they allow me to comb their hair.

However, the second Monday is where it all goes downhill!  For example:

Child #1 who always gets up at 5:30 with no help from me or anyone else, overslept.  It was not until 6:15, when Child # 2 came in to tell me she needed a clean PE shirt, that it was mentioned she had yet to see Child #1. The silent kitchen radio being a dead giveaway.  Up to the third floor to make her rise.

Child #3 who had asked Child #2 to wake her up at 6:30 was now negotiating a 6:50 wake up time with me as Child #2 said that was too close to her bus time to be responsible for her younger sister.

#'s 4 & 5 remained in my bed, which is where children whose father is gone for the year and whose mother is too tired to send them back to bed when they not so stealthily migrate in during the night get to sleep.  6:55 and I am using all my strength to try to rouse #4 because nothing I seem to do phases him.  I catch my breath as I realize that, despite the high wattage light bulb over their heads and my high school cheerleader voice, child #5 has not even furrowed his brow.  (This is the look which usually precedes "I'm not going!")  I reach over to make sure he is breathing.  Yes, movement of the ribs...we are in business.  There is a groan from #4 and I think, "Cool, five for five- we have all survived to see another day!"

I am carrying #5 down the stairs to get him dressed as sometimes the sound of Sponge Bob on the TV is the only thing that will get him to open his eyes, when I notice #1 on her way into the bathroom in a towel.  Wait, what?  Her bus is coming in 15 minutes!!! 

"What are you doing?"

"Taking a shower, why?"  Okay, we are so past that obvious answer I almost roll #5 down the stairs to wake him up so I can lift my hands in an 'are you kidding me?' gesture.

"The bus comes in 15 minutes."

"I thought you said you'd drive me in."

Um, no, apparently I said that IN YOUR DREAM that you were enjoying until 1/2 hour ago.  And, what have you been doing for the last THIRTY MINUTES?  I can shower and be out in less than 15 if I need to be.

Sigh. Fine. It'll make me get dressed. I'll just put on clothes for the gym and will be forced to go by my own outfit.  The shame of being dressed for the gym without actually having gone to the gym is more guilt than this Catholic can handle.

Go down to tell #2 that #1 is getting a ride to school.  Right on cue comes the "That's not fair!" followed by, "Can you go out and look for the bus, because #1 always tells me when it's coming and do you have any tape so I can put this birthday sign on so and so's locker?"   Out to the porch I go after unearthing a roll of scotch tape that has not seen the light of day in 37 months. 

#2 comes out the door just as the bus is headed up the street.  Off with a quick kiss and back in to find that #3 is ready.  Grouchy, but ready.  It is best to just not make eye contact with that one in the morning.  #5 has a shirt on, but nothing else and is yelling at the computer because Club Penguin will not let him play any games.  I get him off the chair, which causes #3 to announce that she will never sit there again, and get him dressed while he continues to argue with the monitor.  #4, who requested to be "left alone to get dressed in private," because everyone seems to be so respecting of MY privacy around here, has emerged.

My phone buzzes with a text from anxiety ridden #2.  "The stuff I did for science homework yesterday was the wrong thing."  I shoot off a text assuring her that it will be okay.  Back and forth it goes until she is clear that a) I will email the teacher, b) the teacher will not be angry with her, and c) there is no reason to be scared!

#5 has finally agreed to eat a muffin top. We are all about the healthy breakfast around here.  Note that #5's behavior therapist is usually here by now to offer an extra set of hands, but he can't come today because of car trouble.

I turn to #4.

"Your oatmeal is on the table."

"What kind is this?"

"The kind you eat."

"No really."

"I don't remember. Maple and Brown Sugar I think."

"Where's the Dinosaur Oatmeal?"

"Apparently still at the commissary because no one wrote it on the list."

"Grunt!"

Surprisingly, at 8:33 #'s 3 and 4 were out the door having brushed their teeth even.  (That's a stellar day for #4)  #5 begrudgingly came along (after brushing his teeth too!) until he found a 7 foot branch that he drug to the bus stop.  Thankfully, the bus turned down the street before he took anyone's eyes out, but every girl gave him a wide girth as they obviously could see how easy the thing would've gotten tangled in their newly combed ponytails.

Bus closer, #5 puts on his noise reduction headphones and turns on his ipod.  The regular bus driver is back after a few sick days last week.  Alleluia!  Change does not bode well for #5.

They climb the steps as I yell a cheery "Have a great day!" to #5, a stern "Pay attention and don't talk too much!" to number #4 and a cautious "See you later!" to #3.

I chat with the other moms for a second and turn to the house to get dressed.  #1 is on the porch. 

"I'm ready."

"Okay, I need to get dressed and I'll be down in a minute."

"But Mooooooommmmmmm, the first bell just rang, can't you take me now?"

"Sure, but you better pray we aren't in an accident or get stopped by the MPs."

"Well, you're the one dressed like that!"

Breathe..................my hooded grey fuzzy bathrobe over an old flannel pajama top and non matching pj pants will have to do.  Do I need to mention the pants are navy blue with yellow ducks on them?  I know- so fun!  I also have on slides with my fuzzy fuchsia socks.  Pretty!

Off we go and are only one street over when I see a group of Moms chatting after their kids got on the bus.  Every one of them is dressed.  What a bunch of overachieving show-offs!  Thankful again that our new neighbors are not only normal, but not those "put together" type of moms that force me to hate them!

Continuing on to school I see the guys going to work.  A ton of them are riding bikes this year!  Looooonnnngggg wait while they cross by the golf course.  There are women out running, jogging, power walking, some with strollers or dogs or both.  Again I am forced to be annoyed by anyone who can conceivably be productive before 8am.

As I drive back to the house thanking the Lord that they are all tucked away for the next 7 hours, 'Margaritaville' comes on the radio.  This congers up a smile and memories of summers between college years spent with friends lounging by a pool or in a bar with nothing more to worry about besides how can we scrape together $5 to get one more pitcher!

I realize the guy in the car next to me has realized I'm in my bathrobe and I think. "Fine, laugh all you want in your cubicle asshole, because there was a time I was much cooler than you could ever hope to be!"