The Year Without a Leprechaun

It started out as a fairly calm evening.  Pick up boys from school, take Lyra to soccer practice, make dinner, fight with boys about homework, make sure Tali didn't need a ride home from Minithon and that Josie had a ride to cheer.  Pick up Lyra from soccer, eat, feed Lyra and boys and race to CCD.  We are late...as usual.

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."

  

Thoughts on a New Year

I think my Facebook post on December 31 last year was something to the effect of, "Goodbye 2014, don't let the door hit you on the way out."  I was bitter.

I still am at times, but as they do, circumstances change.  I have changed.  Last year, I was in survival mode.  Only a few close friends knew my marriage was ending.  I was unable to tell my parents because I did not want them worrying about me.  I was unable to tell my kids because I did not want to disrupt their lives prematurely.  I was unable to tell myself that I was going to survive.

So while 2014 was about making decisions and coming to the realization that I could not stay in my marriage, all the while trying to hold it together so my terror was not visable from the outside, 2015 was different.

2015 was about putting it out there.  The good, but mostly the bad and the ugly.  

It was about inviting my Dad to lunch and chugging a Mikes in the Panera parking lot at 11 am to work up the courage to tell him. (Hey, I suggested several establishments that served alcohol, he was stuck on Panera- desperate times and all that)

It was about deciding to wait until school got out for the summer before telling the kids, yet telling every one of their teachers, counselors, coaches, and mentors in case they found something out unexpectedly and needed those adults in their lives to be ready to give them immediate support.

It was about crumbling into a ball at the top of the stairs when Tali looked at me one day and said, "Mom, are you okay?  Do you need to talk?"  And bless her heart, she sat silently with me and when I finally pulled it together gave me a hug saying, "It's gonna be okay" even when she had absolutely no idea why her mother was a mess.

It was about losing it while talking to the cheer coach because something had happened and I didn't have the strength to deal with Josie's anxiety when I was drowning in my own.

It was about dragging myself out of bed at 5 am and going to the gym with Lyra even though I had cried or been awake all night and promising myself that someday, SOMEDAY, she would realize what a sacrifice it was.

It was about trying to ensure Charlie had a good year at school even though he was not thriving.  Trying to have time and energy for a boy who was trying to figure out how to transition from cute little kid to awkward pre-adolescent, while I was trying to figure out how to make the transition from Army wife to single Mom.  

It was about falling apart at IEP meetings because I felt so inadequate when the school personnel told me it would be better to have him arrive early for school instead of 5 minutes late everyday.  (Timeliness  has never been my forte.  Being depressed does not help.)

It was about bursting into tears at the craziest of places because of the stupidest things.

And it was about growing.

It was about realizing that I had love and support from more people than I could imagine.

It was about learning that I am stronger than I realize.  

It was about learning that falling apart doesn't always mean you are weak.  Sometimes, something just has to give.

It was about seeing the compassion in people when I started to say my reality out loud and finding out that the world was still turning regardless of my marital status.

It was about sucking it up and going on vacation "as a family" to show the kids that we can all still get along. (Yes, Rodney King, we can)

It was about spending my first holiday alone and realizing a day on the calendar isn't what makes time with family special.

It was about forgiving myself for not turning in the paperwork on time, for forgetting someone had practice, for being late to yet another meeting, appointment, therapy session.

It was about figuring out that yes, the Mike's dulled the pain in the evening, but it also dulled the ability to function the next day.  (And weighing the cost-benefit analysis of that particular problem)

And it was about loving myself.

It was about accepting that I may be desirable.

It was about learning to take a compliment.

It was about laughing with friends.

It was about getting out of the house!  (Who knew a world of lunches, happy hour, and dancing with the girls still existed?)

It was about allowing the kids to see me as more than just a Mom and understand that I deserve to have a life too. (This second part is still a work in progress)

It was about seeing myself as Mary again, and trying to remember who she was and wanting to find out who she will be.

It was about having the openness to love again.

It was about taking the chance to trust again.

It was about finding out that when someone lets you down, you have a choice to lay there or to pick yourself up and keep going.   

It was about being stubborn enough to push through the pain, not give in to the demons (or mean people), and know that Mary is worthy of good things.

It was about completely forgetting the statement I just typed above and learning it again.  And again. And again.  And yes, again.

It was about still believing in the fairy tale, no matter how many times you see it slip through your hands.

It was about the reality check of reeling it all back in and reevaluating my priorities.

Yes, I am still bitter.  Check back in an hour and you'll be amazed at my hostility regarding marriage, single parenthood, special needs, anxiety, aging parents, the unfairness of the world on any and every level.  BUT, I am trying to find the happy.  Or maybe even just the contentment in this life o' mine.

2016 is going to be a good year!  I'm excited to see what it brings.  

This year will mean a house for the kids and I to make into our home.  A HOME!  Not a rental, not post housing, no white walls- the possibilities are endless!  

This year will mean more independence, more responsibility, more growing up for myself as well as the kids. And we will succeed and fail together.

This year will mean so many things.  

Scary? Yes.

Exciting?  Most definitely!

So 2015, I would be lying if I said I wasn't glad to see you end, but I am thankful for what you gave me.  Insight, growth, strength, love, and hope.  You may not be remembered fondly, but you shall be remembered.

The Results Are In!

The first day of school is always one for a bit of angst. Kids are growing, sometimes changing interests and friends, maybe moving on to the local middle or high school. Parents are watching their kids grow up, getting closer to leaving home. Some parents have a problem with this part. Me? Not so much. 



Regardless, the first day of school for military kids is tougher than most kids could imagine. I won't go into it all, because there are 1000 blogs out there that will tell you what it means to be a Military Brat. They can explain to you how hard it is to register your child in a new school district who has different history courses different years, how requirements are different for taking honors classes, how it's hard to get into student council if you missed last springs elections, not to mention the difficulty of being the new kid AGAIN!



I am just here to tell you how my kids did today. Sadly, I was a basket case yesterday and much of today. It's not that I don't have faith in my kids, it's just that they have fragile hearts. (Some more fragile than others) and I just want them to be happy and to like themselves for who they are. It's a lesson I'm still working on at 46. I sure hope they manage to learn faster than me.





From the bottom up, here's how it went:


Sawyer, who is repeating second grade due to his early August birthday and the challenges he has with autism, had a decent day. His teacher and a member of the special ed team (I think) came out to tell me what a great day he had. He took a few breaks. Lunch went well, PE was a challenge, but all in all, pretty good. He did not say it was "bad" which has been his go-to answer for the question "How was school today?" the last three years running, so I figure that is fantastic! Also, he has not yet refused to go back tomorrow. "WINNING!"





Charlie, who is repeating fourth grade due to his late September birthday and the challenges he has with maturity, had a fun day. He met a friend, they ran together at PE class and listened to the directions which were to not stop running. The boys who ran really fast and stopped after one lap were out because they didn't do it right. Therefore, when one of them stated that they should not have been called out of the game, Charlie jumped right into say how wrong they were. Nothing like pissing off the kids who can run faster than you on the first day of school! Perhaps I should add "muzzle" to next years' school supply list. Geez, kid. I can tell him til I'm blue in the face not to get into it with people when it's not important, but he will never learn. The best part of his new class is that there is a boy in his class who just moved to the US from....wait for it.....keeping in mind one of his best friends last year....you guessed it.....AUSTRALIA!!! AND his name is Charlie! And he is from the town of....drumroll please.....CARLTON! Too funny!



Charlie's best quotes of the day:



Talking about his new friend Charlie, "Hey, wouldn't it be funny if he had to write the sentence, 'Charlie is from Carlton' and he forgot to write the words 'is' and 'from' so he would just write my name. I mean, that would just be so crazy!"


"I think the other Charlie's last name is Stuart.  Hmmm, Stew....ahhrt (sounding it out ridiculously).  Yep, sounds Australian!  Must be it."



Also, this morning, he told me what 27 items he packed for lunch and then said, "Oh, and a mint! This is a good idea because it is sort of like a desert, but will make my breath smell minty after lunch!" Sigh.



Lyra had a day that would have been totally awesome if "totally awesome" was a phrase used by cool, unphased kids, who work hard to act like they don't care. She smiled her trademark 'I will not show my teeth in a smile until I get into and out of braces' smirk. "It was good!" She said. She talked about her science teacher (funny), art teacher (strict), lunch (stuck at a table with a bunch of boys, but with her cousin thank goodness). She talked more, but it have to admit that during that time I was trying to calculate exactly how long I could wait to see if the other girls got home before I had to leave to pick up the boys. But it was good. She came home happy and talked to me at length which is always a good sign for her. Sadly, I missed a lot of it, but I got the high points...there is a beach party next week and a lot of girls wore spaghetti straps today probably because they aren't really enforcing the dress code yet, so she will be wearing a sleeveless shirt tomorrow. (NOTE TO SELF: Throw an extra shirt in the car so when I get a call from school that Lyra is not dressed properly, I can drop that off after dropping off the boys and save an extra trip across town!)


Josie, sweet Josie. I don't know which of us was more worried about her day. I was able to wait until I saw the bus up the street before I went to pick up the boys. I drove up the connecting street and stopped. I rolled down the window and Josie was like a moth to a flame. When asked how it was, she smiled her 'I don't want to admit that it was good, because maybe I'm remembering it wrong' smile and said, "Okay, I guess." I said, "Was it absolutely horrible?" "No." "Did you cry?" (Her goal for the day was to not cry) "No!" "Well, look at you girlfriend! You did it!" Then I got the 'I really want to believe you, but I can't quite get there, but I want to be happy' look. I asked if she wanted to ride with me to get the boys and she declined saying she needed to work on her cheers before practice. (Little did we know they had changed the time for practice and she was in the midst of missing the first hour). Talking with her later was a mix of "things went okay" and "they are expecting too much" and "I'll never be able to keep up" and "I had someone to sit with at lunch" (I said a silent prayer of thanks) and finally, "I just don't like high school, I'm not ready."


Meanwhile after stopping them on the street and asking if Josie wanted to ride with me, Tigger, I mean Tali bounced across the road and said, "I'll come!" I wasn't sure what to expect. The next 15 minutes were incredibly funny and exhausting and heart melting all at once. She opened her mouth and this is what came out: "Oh my gosh, it was SO fun, I mean I can't wait to go back, really, I'd go back right now, but that would be silly, but really it was that fun so I can't wait til tomorrow, but I know in a few months I won't feel this way, but really, all days of school should be the first day of school, so here's what happened first, we have assigned seats on the bus and they didn't have our names on the list and Josie was worried but I didn't care and Gabbys not on our bus but I sat with so and so and we went to homeroom and the teacher was all "don't bother me and he put his head on the desk, he may have gone to sleep..."


"Like Mr, Schneebly?" I asked.


"Oh my gosh that's so funny! EXACTLY like that and then I had to go to history and so I walked with Josie part way and I think that's when we saw Sarah and I have history with so and so and so and so and it's gonna be a great class and the teacher is cool and said we can bring coffee and breakfast to class and I totally wish there was a Starbucks near school..."


"Because you are in such desperate need of caffeine? I know, I'm worried that you may have low blood pressure."


"No LISTEN, I totally knew where I was and everyone liked my outfit and safety ed is a joke, I mean, I think I'm the only half motivated person in there and I'm gonna be really smart in Spanish but that may be just cuz I knew what she was saying because it was written on a poster in the back of the room and there is a special needs boy that sits next to me so I hope the other kids don't think they'll mess with him because I will totally be his protector, I didn't even have to ask anyone how to get anywhere and then I had to go back to the other building and I was in all my classes on time and was never late and I didn't even have to run and lunch is SO short, I mean how do they expect me to eat anything in like two minutes..."


"Um, was the lunch period 2 minutes or is that how long you were somehow able to stop talking in order to attempt to consume some nutrition?"


"Mooooommmmm, so then in chemistry, there was this boy....."


Apparently, Tali has already aced the "like yourself" lesson....eh, good for her! Maybe I taught one of them right!

Free Birth Control? I'll give you Free Birth Control.

If you don't have children yet or don't have children of talking age yet, here is a sneak peak of what you are in for!  The following is a conversation between my two boys yesterday as I was trying to sit down to write my poor husband an email.  I ended up just typing as they spoke so my husband (who is unaccompanied for the year) could see what I am forced to deal with on a daily basis.  I was looking for sympathy.  Sadly, it made him miss them more...

What follows is the actual email I sent to Charlie.

I just sat down to write to you and the boys came in and now I can't think!

Do you miss them? This is what's happening:

C: You play baseball like a girl!

S: You play baseball like a lady!  (Laaaaadddddyyyyy is long and drawn out and said in a very prissy tone)

C: You play baseball like a baby, BABY! (The second use of the word "baby" rolls off his tongue with such revulsion and disdain, even I shiver.)

S: Charlie, you are a BEEP! (Really, he said the word beep!)

C: Moooommmmm, he called me a beep!

M: Um, yeah, not really much I can do.

S: You play baseball like Yoda!

C: Thank you, Yoda plays baseball very well.

M: He has the Force!  (I laugh. No one else does.  Thank goodness I can appreciate how funny I am!)

S: He just attacked me. (There has been little to no movement in my peripheral vision)

C: No I didn't!

S: Excuse me, he is a liar!

C: You don't know how to spell liar.

S: YOU don't know how to liar.

C: L-I-A-R

S: Mom is that right?

M: Yes

S: Snort/Growl noise emits from his direction.

C: Hahahahaha

S: Well, you don't know how to spell "I."

C: There's two.  I and E-Y-E.

S: There another I. It's called, I called you a baby baby baby baby...

Should I go on?

Miss you!!!

Love you more~

M

Reading this 26 times in a row at 3am might just cause you to rethink that plan of having several children close together. If this has no effect, dump a pile of Lego's on the floor and then walk over them while rereading.  In fact, if you would rather, I'd be happy to record the kids having the same or a very similar conversation and you could download it. 

The most effective way to use this data is to blast it full volume while you try to do your taxes or while reading Shades of Gray.  It will certainly help you concentrate while trying to replug all wires correctly back into the computer after your system has crashed.  Ask two friends to mimic the conversation and simultaneously throw golf balls at you while you try to contort your body to fit behind and under your work station.

Another idea is to play it on your iPod while taking a nap. I would start with a very low volume and as you learn to sleep through it, increase it a bit each time.  A seasoned mother sleeps right through that crap and will even be able to supplement with an occasional "knock it off" without missing a second of REM.

Want to have a bit of fun?  Take the recording into the bathroom with you while you are having morning sickness.  Turned up loud enough, the echo from the fight will overpower the echo of your retching.  Have Friend 1 call your cell while Friend 2 is standing just outside the door (preferably banging and whining loud enough to be heard over the recording).  Hopefully they have the sense to change your ring tone to Black Sabbath or some other dreadfully Heavy Metal band.  Let the phone ring continuously at length and when finally answered.  Have Friend 2 yell into the phone and through the bathroom door: "My Mom is doing spit 'em ups right now.  Do you want to talk to her?"  Have Friend 2 hold the phone so the background fight is coming clearly through the phone.  Have Friend 2 tell you that it really isn't Friend 1, it's actually your Mother-In-Law, the older kids Principal, the President of the Junior League or any other figure that will make the insides of your stomach rush to the back of your throat.

Perhaps then, you may begin to feel just a touch of the pain you will be subjecting yourself to for the next 18+ years.

That is all.

++Dedicated to my sweet niece who is due with twin boys in August. Hahahahahahahahahahahaha++

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.

 

 

 

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