Thursday, May 28, 2009

Summer Lovin

Alright, I’m done with Summer vacation. It’s been, what, 31 hours now, and I’m ready to send ‘em back.
Part of it I blame on the woodpeckers. They had the 10 year old up at 5:30 this morning. And because she was mad, she woke me up. Like I’m some magical woodpecker fairy who can make the beasts leave our composite siding alone. I think she really blames me. She thinks that every night, I climb up the extension ladder and spread Woodpecker Love Juice all over the wall outside her room. For what purpose? Because it’s fun spending time with a 10 year old girl who doesn’t get enough sleep. It’s enjoyable to watch her unleash her snottiness all over me before I’ve had my morning cup o’ coffee. Hey, maybe that’s the problem. I don’t actually drink coffee. Maybe if I did, I could handle the drama better. And maybe if the coffee had a little happy something or other in it, I wouldn’t remember the drama anyway.
Then, the 6 year old decides to slap the 3 year old across the face. “I didn’t know her lip would bleed,” is the apology she gave when I threatened, with my best mothering skills, to slap her and let her know what it felt like. How long have you lived with me, 6 year old? How can you so drastically misjudge the reason for my anger? You think it’s because the lip was bleeding? Like it had nothing to do with the fact that you, twice her size and at least 10 times as mean, have just smacked her. And why did you smack her? Because she had your pillow. Yup, that’s a good reason for violence. Almost as good as a mother who offers to “let you know how it felt.” Chalk one up for her future therapy bill.
And the 3 year old spent every waking moment either crying or threatening to cry or just finishing up from crying. By the time I shuttled her off to bed, I had no more comfort left to give. I had Tabasco sauce, which I seriously considered threatening them all with, but I held off. We’ve still got 3 months of Summer left. I don’t want to use my big guns now.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009


My daughters have been working with spit bubbles lately. In a weak moment when I felt a bit manic and juvenile, I showed them my only talent: blowing spit bubbles. If the wind is right, they can go pretty far. So, I’ve created 3 monsters who spend all their time making various sizes and shapes and trying to get them to leave their mouths. Which means they spit all over the floor, all over my face, all over the dinner table… I swaney, you’d think I’d learn.
When I was a kid, and later as a teenager because it bothered my mom, I’d let spit dribble out of my mouth and then suck it back up. If I worked up the right consistency, I could get the strand down to my belly button. Longer than that and it would just drop to the floor, which also had its good points. So far, I haven’t shown my kids that trick.
I have shown them the trick of how to put their shoes in their rooms, not in front of the door, which they haven’t picked up on. I’ve also shown them the trick of putting clothes in the drawer not on the floor, another difficult maneuver they have yet to master. But one spit trick and BAM! they’re little sponges. I’ve got to figure out how to make cleaning a taboo and then we’ll see if my house is more livable.