After catechism, I pull up in front of the house and get a text from Josie. "I'll be home soon, xxx had to stop at the store on our way home." It hit me like a line drive to the left cheekbone- TOMORROW IS ST. PATRICK'S DAY! I mean, I knew it was, the looney lady down the street had all but spray painted her house green. Her yard was like the aftermath of a riot at Party City when everything goes 90% off. I mean, it always is, but the current menagery of decorations were of the Lucky Charm persuasion.
So here I am, 8:30 pm, it's been a long day and I have not bought the chocolate coins wrapped in gold that the Leprechaun brings every year. I call Josie and beg her to ask the girl driving to take her to CVS. I must say that having this option of kids running errands is completely new to me and how cool that I didn't have to drive to Walmart at 9 pm!
Getting cocky was probably the first mistake. It started to go downhill as soon as I thought things were under control. I went in the house and grabbed the dog and took him for "a walk." A walk around the back of the house so I could get into the basement that must be entered from large barn like doors by the small square of blacktop formally, and foolishly, known as the driveway.
Now would be a good time to tell you that I hate this house. I have lived in houses that I wasn't thrilled about during my 18 year stint as an Army wife, but this takes the cake. Just trust me when I say, as wonderful as it is to live on this post, and there is plenty to love, this drafty cardboard shoebox does not deserve the title of house. Not with 5 kids and a Mom living here...oh, let's not forget the psychotic dog with, of course, no fenced in yard.
I will tell the story of this house another day, but for reasons including, but not limited to, a poor pack out from Kansas, an impending divorce, a house that's too small and the chaos of being a single mom to 5 busy kids- the house never got fully unpacked when we moved in over a year and a half ago.
Back to the basement. It is really is more of a dungeon. I used to complain about our basement in Leavenworth, but that was Cinderella's ballroom compared to this. Not only are the walls crumbling, but what must have once been insulation, is now hanging from the beams in shreds of brown paper and fiberglass padding circa 1973. To top if off, pun intended, my beautiful and organized Rubbermaid bins are veiled in what I have deduced to be either mouse or bat poop. Most likely a mix of both. Everything not in a bin, is in a box. Many of these have been wet during one heavy rain or another and in order to get them out of standing water they have been half emptied and piled on top of each other much like you would see in a Dr. Suess book. It is horrific and only a select few have been allowed to view the insanity that is the cellar!
But I digress. The dog and I walk into the dungeon and I tie his leash up. I climb over and under and around two rooms of boxes, bins, bikes, and beach toys to get to the back room where at least most of the boxes are still taped shut and there is some semblance of...okay, there's no real order, but I can usually find stuff.
Much like the $%#¥ Elf on the Shelf on November 31, the Leprechaun who usually appears on St. Patrick's Day with gold coins and chocolates and turns the toilet water green, is not where he is supposed to be. The February and March holiday bin is clearly marked and when I open it, I find the bubble wrap which usually cushions the ceramic elfin figurine (which was once a whiskey bottle found in Nanas basement and somehow became our go-to for the big day each year), but no Leprechaun.
For those of you who follow my pathetic life, you may recall that at some point on that frustrating November night, I realized I had not put the EOTS back in his box, but in my nightstand drawer so I wouldn't have to spend 5 hours looking for it this year. I was too brilliant for my own mind. I decided that perhaps I had done something similar with the magical sprite!
I grabbed a handful of green crap out of the bin. Again, due to my mental, emotional, and physically exhausted state - I have put a large damper on all occasions in this house. Large. Damper. Decorations for holidays are minimal at best, non existent at worst. Except for the required few items at Christmas, holiday bedecking has been avoided for almost two years. I have promised the kids that the magic will return once we have a "real" house of our own! The dog and I walk around the house and up the steep hill to get to the front porch. I deposit the shamrock confetti and little green hat and a few other items on a chair to grab once the kids are asleep.
Now to find that darn Leprechaun. I start looking in cabinets and closets, in baskets and behind booze. He is about as large as the mid-size bottle of Jim Beam, so it's not like I could really hide it. But I knew it wouldn't be in plain view. Either Sawyer still believes in Santa and such characters, or he feels sorry the rest are so stupid and he doesn't want to spill the beans. It's kinda hard to tell. Last year, the Leprechan appeared on top of the kitchen cabinets among some hand painted Italian dishes that are on display. Each luncheon plate or bowl has a single tulip on it. They are bright and cheery and wayyyyy to expensive to eat off of. And truly, pretty plates require pretty food. In my house, your pizza is served on a paper plate, and if we have soup you get a hard core Pfaltzgraff bowl that you really need to throw in order to damage. Anything fancier than that means we are hittin' Panera for our midday meal.
I though the drunken brownie looked so at home among the flowers and garden decor last year that I forgot about him. Half way through the summer Sawyer sighed and grumped, "Isn't that Leprechaun EVER going home?" Amazingly, he disappeared shortly after. The Leprechaun that is, not Sawyer. I continued to walk around the first floor, which took about 9.3 seconds and deducted that I had put him in a box with other miscellaneous junk, to bring downstairs because there was no place to put it in the house.
Josie arrived home at some point and had hidden the chocolate coins in my room. I asked if she remembered seeing what was quickly becoming my nemesis and she said no. I told her I was going back to the basement to find it.
What happened next was more predictable than a Nicholas Sparks novel. I open the door and turn on the light to the front room. I am lifting and rearranging boxes and looking in bins and getting increasingly annoyed at my inability to be perfect. Maybe I hid it in the armoire in the back room. The boys would never bother to open that and it would be easy to hide and grab again. Maybe I really was as smart as I thought I might could be! I walked into the middle room and felt for the light switch that turns on the light for that and the back room.
What the....did that light just blink? Wait...again...Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod, it's a shadow! It's a shadow of something which is a bat which is flying at me! Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod!
***Let's pause for a moment shall we? This whole fight or flight instinct they talk about in Psychology 101 is BS in my book. For me anyway...there is no cerebral decision making going on...it's FLIGHT MOTHER F-er! (Excuse the language but desperate times require desperate language in my book)
Picking back up: Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod, I think I have to get out of here. I am running through the basement like a West Point Cadet on the Indoor Obstacle Course Test! It occurs to me that I am also screaming. Additionally, I realize that the rat with wings is following me. Swooping, yes swooping at me! Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod! I finally hurdle a wagon like OJ running through the airport and make it outside. I have no recollection of closing the door, I only remember the bang as the metal hitch fell and secured it shut.
Once I realized I was no longer under attack, there was a few moments of "Ohmigod" and "breathe, you're alive." I heard a noise above me and I yelped.
"Mom?"
"Josie?"
"Yeah."
"Uh, did you hear me yelling?"
"Are you okay?"
"I'll be up in a minute."
"Should I wait outside for you?"
"No, I'm good." I mean really, who wants an audience when they are trying to figure out if they've peed their pants or not?
My shaking was such that every step I took on the wooden staircase sounded like the damn woodpecker that's been driving me insane lately. I made it up to the porch behind the kitchen, took a deep breath, and went inside. Josie was sitting at the table trying to look like she was more interested in her dinner then her mother whose teeth were chattering by now.
"Was it a snake?"
"No. Good guess, but if it was the thing that looks like a stick that is not a stick, I woulda screamed much louder and the MPs would be here by now. It was a bat."
"Ewwwwwww!"
"I knowwwwwww!"
More discussion ensued but the gist was several "ohmygosh's" as Josie doesn't like the other phrase and me describing the whoosh of air I felt each time the rodent dive bombed me. She was not too impressed. As a matter of fact, she had some stories to tell me about cheer practice and now, right now, was the time she needed to tell them. Josephine has the gift of making a long story longer - I have absolutely no idea where that comes from and neither does my father! I am back to searching kitchen cabinets because it dawned on me that I still didn't have the stinking gnome wanna be. Crud! (Remember Josie is in the room.) While I am getting the blow by blow by blow by blow of cheer practice, I decide I need a drink. This is where God's grace appeared. She did not even make a face as I cracked open the Mike's. Jesus himself must have hugged her and said, "it's okay Jo, events like this are the reason We've given man alcohol."
My heartbeat was back to fat burning mode (which is a bit less then cardio mode according to the treadmill), I was catching my breath, and the shaking was calming. We discussed what I was going to do.
"Maybe he was too sick to come this year?"
"Perfect! Lyra was home two days this week and BC was home two days last week. He has a cold."
"Maybe he should have the flu."
"Nah, if it's the flu he can't get out of bed. With a cold, he could come leave the coins, turn the milk green, pee in the toilet and have to get back to his rainbow or whatever to take some medicine." Am I seriously debating the ability a non-existent fairytale character to cause chaos in my kitchen depending on his level of illness? Apparently I am.
All I wanted to do at this point was shower. Heebe-Jeebe mode had not quite worn off. I turned to leave the kitchen.
"Can I tell you one more story?"
Every ounce of remaining strength in my body rose up and defeated my urge to audibly sigh.
"Of course sweetie."
The importance of this particular story was fairly high as it involved some punk girl potentially wanting to beat up Josie. See? This would've been my first story if I were her, but I was channeling Dr. Laura who feels, correctly I might add, that all their stories are important and what matters most is that they are talking to you. Deep breath.
I yell at the boys to go to bed and stop in to see Tali and Lyra who are already half asleep.
"Did Josie tell you?"
"About the girl in the library? Yeah."
"No. I mean yes, keep your eye on your sister, but no."
"What?"
"Nevermind."
"You can't do that."
"Okay. Do you know the St. Patrick's Day Leprechaun? Do you know where it is?"
"Yes," says Lyra.
"Ohmigod! Where is it?"
"I know what you're talking about, but I don't know where it is."
"Ugh!"
"What is wrong with you? Tell us what?"
So I tell them the story. Given the 20 minute passage of time the bat now has the wing span of a teenage owl and I think it grazed my hair.
"Ewww, an animal almost touched you! Get out of my room!" (Please tell me I don't have to tell you that was Lyra)
"Mom?" Tali chimed in. My sweet Tali
"Yes Babe?"
"There's a bat in your pocket."
"Whaaaaaa?" I jump, they laugh, I call them brats and go to take a shower.
As I am trying to scrub the bat breath out of my hair, I think about the girls asking if it could get in the house. I had told them no and I don't think it could, but this house....Ohmigod! When we moved in, there was a hole in the laundry room that was big enough for a softball to fall through. You could look right into the basement. I asked them to cover it and they did. All the way. I think they covered all the way. They did. I hope.
Alfred Hitchcock has psychologically scarred thousands of children. I am one of them. During the next few minutes, my imagination played out what could only be described as a mash-up of two of the most terrifying movie scenes of all times.
Join me in a ride through my brain:
Picture the hole. Perhaps it was not covered completely. Perhaps, there is more than enough space for a bat (even one the size of a large kitten) to squeeze through. Perhaps this bat has a large extended family. Perhaps they like to hunt together. Perhaps, at this very moment they are popping from the cellar into the laundry room faster that one could count them. Perhaps they will congregate in the kitchen until they form one large black cloud. Perhaps they will then fly up the stairs, down the hall and start swooping under the bathroom door. Perhaps they will attack me in the shower like The Birds attack Tippi Hedren in the phone booth. Perhaps there will be blood flying everywhere like when Norman Bates stabs Janet Leigh in the shower scene. Perhaps.....
"Moooooooooooooom!"
"Sawyer?"
"HURRY UP!"
"Okay buddy, be right out!"
In conclusion, "Yes, Virginia, I mean Sawyer, there is a Santa Claus. However, there is no Leprechaun. Or, at least he didn't feel well enough to stay this year."
