Thursday, October 20, 2005

Duck It All!

I like that photo. I took that the other day; it just struck me odd to see the duck balancing on the stick like that.

Luckily sometime over night the demonic presence that had inhabited Super Girl decided to give it up and leave. It’s a good thing; my patience for that whining shit is very short.

Super Girl got her report card today; we met with the teacher for a conference (that’s how you get the first report card at her school). She’s doing fine, needs some work on her conduct (as usual for my hardheaded talkative child)

Anyway… I think I’m boring the shit out of you aren’t I? Sorry, not much going on really, except for me being TIRED all the damn time. It’s insane. I can’t figure out why I’m so tired. Eh, whatever, I’ll get over it.

Since I have nothing new to write, I’ll tell about an incident back from when I was about 7 or 8 years old. Someone made me think of this today and it had me laughing so hard.

For a couple of years while growing up my sister and I would be sentenced to spend summers in Northern Louisiana with our great grandmother. It wasn’t all bad really, just MOSTLY SUCKED. See, our great grandmother lived in Columbia Louisiana a little town. It wasn’t being out in ‘the sticks’ but it was probably the last town before you got to ‘the sticks’ and for two little girls who lived in New Orleans, it was absolutely and positively the most rustic, rural and backwards place to have to endure a summer. Now don’t get me wrong, we LOVED our great grandmother to death. Mamaw was great and she was always so happy to see us. Anytime we arrived, day or night, the table would be set for a feast and just sagging from the sheer weight of the masses of fabulous food she had waiting for us. Most every morning we woke to the smell of hot biscuits fresh from the oven and the table was always set with more jars of jams and preserves that I could count (I was pretty bad at math so don’t be too impressed). But it still remained that she was an old lady and we were two little kids. After the newness of having us around 24/7 wore off (like the next day), D and I would spend most of the day outside playing in the yard. I know that sounds just fabulous and it might have been, except that there were NO other kids around to play with. Not in the houses directly around Mamaw and we were not allowed to roam, so it was just us. Again, not so bad, but for some jacked up reason we never had toys with us. I never remember us having more than one doll each and maybe 5 comic books. And that was all we had for the whole freaking summer. *sigh* It was dead boring, we couldn’t look for other kids, we couldn’t go in the shed (snakes), we couldn’t mess around the rose bushes or fig tree and she didn’t have any pets to play with and we could NOT come back in the house unless it was to go potty or if it was time to eat (seriously). Just the two of us. Oh yeah and mamaw didn’t let us watch television, she only watched on occasion, like the news or He Haw. It was almost a joy to have to go to bed as early as Mamaw would put us to bed (as soon as it started getting dark). As boring as it was, D and I had some of the most memorable times, usually when we were sneaking around and/or breaking the rules.

So here we were in Columbia, day in and day out it was the same damn thing (unless it rained, then we were stuck in the house with the same 5 comic books that we had read on the drive from NO to Columbia and our two dolls and told to BE QUIET as we played under the piano), except on Sundays. Mamaw was a devout Pentacostal woman and we got up at the crack of freaking dawn to get dressed in freshly ironed matching dresses and shiny shoes and drive two hours to her church. Church was boring, boring, boring and painfully so (the pews were so damn hard!). Sleeping was OUT of the question as Mamaw was quick to pinch an arm to wake a slumbering child, and be damned if we had yelled out right there in church, Mamaw herself probably would have personally willed the earth to open up and swallow us rather than be embarrassed by our misbehavior in church. Most mornings on the drive to Church, Mamaw would give us a stern lecture about how we were to sit in the pew quietly during service and we were to behave EVEN when she got up to play the piano. We knew better than to act up, Mamaw swung a mean switch.

The first time we were in church we noticed something odd happen. During a certain part of the sermon people would start waving their hands around in the air and start babbling. Sometimes people would fall over or stuff like that and the preacher would go over and touch them. When we got home after church that first time, D and I could not get changed and out into the yard fast enough. We conferred over this subject for quite a while trying to figure out exactly what was going on and decide that we would wait until next week to see if it happened again. Sure enough it happened again. We conferred again and still didn’t have a good explanation. Another Sunday and it happens again, this week D asks Mamaw what all that babbling and hand waving was about and Mamaw said something about those people being ‘touched by the spirit’. Touched by the spirit, eh? We had no freaking clue what she was talking about but it did look funny. After several meetings on the subject that week, it was decided that one or both of us would be ‘touched’ that coming Sunday during service. Luck was on our side on the Sunday as Mamaw had to play the piano during the whacky phase of church and we were alone in the pew. A front pew. After 5 or 6 people had already started the babbling and hand waving, D smirked at me then closed her eyes raised her hands and started babbling. I had to turn away while she did that, I was far to amused (we had practiced this ‘touched’ babbling in the week leading up to this, and it always made me laugh). As I turned away I was now facing our Mamaw and let me tell you if looks could kill we would have been dead right then. She never missed a note on what she was playing but I had the distinct feeling that we were done for. Knowing that, I threw caution to the wind and mimicked my sister and her babbling. About this time the pastor came over and touched us each on the head, seems he was so impressed that we were so moved by the spirit, then Mamaw joined us in the pew as her song was done and play time was over. Though she smiled sweetly to the Pastor, she shot us the dirtiest “Shut the hell up if you know what’s good for you” looks. And we shut the hell up and sat down. That service was probably one of the SHORTEST one’s ever, and I’m sure we felt that only because we were really really hoping it would last long enough for Mamaw to stop making that really angry looking grimace at us and maybe she would FORGET all this and we wouldn’t be in trouble. Not so. We knew we were done for as we walked to the church door to leave. Mamaw didn’t say a fucking word to us. The silence was scary. D had another bright idea on how to stall, once we made it up to the Pastor to shake hands and thank him for his sermon, D took his hand and shook it vigorously and started talking to him. It was comical. Mamaw didn’t see it as that, she knew what it was and told her we had to move along, it was lunch time after all. In a super bold move, D invited the Pastor to lunch with us! Before Mamaw could thunk her in the back of the head with her song book, the Pastor declined and promised it would happen some other time. Damn.. the stall didn’t work. We walked on to the car. Two criminals headed for death row. Mamaw was silent again as she opened the car door and slid behind the wheel. I slid in to ride bitch and D had the window seat. Now here’s where another really bad thing comes to light about Columbia LA, it’s nowhere, I mean NO-WHERE. So all the roads are like driving out in the boonies, not real populated. When Mamaw was about half way home and we were half way certain we would escape this incident with nary a reprimand the car pulled off the road and came to a stop. Our sweet little great grandmother pulled us both out of the car and beat the daylights out of both of us at the same time, then put us back in the car, warned us not to make a peep the rest of the way home and drove on without even a hair out of place or her nice Sunday dress being wrinkled. That day I may not have felt the spirit move me, but I sure as hell felt her hand against my ass and believe me THAT moved me!

To this day D and I still laugh about that day, we might not have been able to sit straight for the next week, but it sure was funny!

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

It’s Like In The Exorcist..

That’s what Super Girl is acting like tonight. UNBELIEVABLE. But… I just don’t feel like relating any of that right now because, well it’s not funny and *whew* I need a drink.

Cabbage Patch has come back to the land of the normal people. Her Whiny Ass Bratitis seems to have cleared up and she’s her cute self.

Our conversations:
Her : I have a Baby Cabbage!
ME: A Cabbage Patch?
Her: Yeah! I have a Cabbage Patch!

I asked her how many toes she had, so she counted them "1-2-3-4-5" on each foot then announces with glee "18 toes!"

I asked her if she was a clown and told her that she had to come over for the clown test to know for sure. She came over and I gave her nose a tweek with a ‘Honk!’ from me. She was tickled as I pronounced her a Clown. She then did the Clown Test on me. Later I told her she needed to see if daddy was a clown and she did the Clown Test on him. It was too cute.

Okay, okay, I know you are about to puke, I’ll stop already. HONK!
It’s Like In The Exorcist..

That’s what Super Girl is acting like tonight. UNBELIEVABLE. But… I just don’t feel like relating any of that right now because, well it’s not funny and *whew* I need a drink.

Cabbage Patch has come back to the land of the normal people. Her Whiny Ass Bratitis seems to have cleared up and she’s her cute self.

Our conversations:
Her : I have a Baby Cabbage!
ME: A Cabbage Patch?
Her: Yeah! I have a Cabbage Patch!

I asked her how many toes she had, so she counted them "1-2-3-4-5" on each foot then announces with glee "18 toes!"

I asked her if she was a clown and told her that she had to come over for the clown test to know for sure. She came over and I gave her nose a tweek with a ‘Honk!’ from me. She was tickled as I pronounced her a Clown. She then did the Clown Test on me. Later I told her she needed to see if daddy was a clown and she did the Clown Test on him. It was too cute.

Okay, okay, I know you are about to puke, I’ll stop already. HONK!

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

P Is For Prozac, That’s Good Enough For Me!

Tonight K said some thing that made me certain that he is less sane than I previously thought. Out of the blue he says “We could move to Kansas” (he does that every so often, I think just to see the look of incredulity on my face or just to start an insane conversation, it’s fun actually). I asked him to tell me why we would move to Kansas and he said something about them homesteading or something like that (I forget really) again which prompted me to ask him what exactly we would do if we moved to Kansas and he says FARM. Yeah, right. I am a city girl. Though I was born in the back woods bumpkinville city of Monroe, LA, my family had one smart thought and that was to get the fuck out of the sticks! I spent my early formative years in New Orleans. D and I saw ‘wild’ animals when we went to the zoo. The only farm like animals we ever had contact with was the horses that pulled the carriages in the quarter. Our only experience with herding was with our grandmother’s scores of cats (which let me tell you, it’s not as hard as people like to say, all you need is a can opener and a can of tuna). I informed K that it was an insane idea since neither of us knows JACK about farming. When he said something about that we could grow things, I pointed out to him that in the 3 years that we’ve lived here and each year I’ve planted tomatoes, that only one year has that plant grown (sprouting late at that so that by NOVEMBER I had to take the whole damn huge pot inside as it still had tiny green tomatoes on it) and despite my Herculean efforts last year I had yet to even see a sprout this year. It seems that the ONLY thing I can grow with any consistency is basil and I really didn’t think we could have a farm devoted entirely to basil. Then he made a joke about free range basil and I there was a market for free range basil. He then jokingly suggested illegal drugs and I had to once again point out my lack of growing skill. The conversation digressed until I pointed out that EVERY SINGLE trip to Kansas had been tainted in some way. The first visit was to visit a college friend of his who was graduating KSU. One night we went to the bar with him and some friends and this PSYCHO HOSE BITCH that Fred (friend) was wanting to fuck. At one point that night me, K and some of Fred’s friends sat at the table while he and she danced and we all discussed how we all wished he would just go ahead and fuck her and get it over with because none of us could fucking stand her. Oh yeah K and I both got into an argument with the bitch when we got back to Fred’s apartment. It was a night to cherish. This was also the trip that K and I got engaged. Lol. The next trip was after we were married, it was for a college reunion of K’s. That one started badly. I contracted salmonella the night before we left – I didn’t realize it though and thought it was just nerves so I kept popping Imodium and chugging Pepto (which only made things oh so much better). The morning we left, we attended the funeral of a dear friend’s husband. As soon as we got to Kansas my allergies were wrecking havoc on me so I took some Benedryl which caused me to fall asleep while at an outdoor concert and dream of the Jell-o dessert we had eaten previously in a living, moving form. The next trip we went to visit Fred and he was hooked up with yet another PSYCHO HOSE BITCH, except this one he was planning to marry. On the second day of our stay I told K we needed to go to the store to get stuff for dinner and informed him that if she was still a completely RUDE bitch, we would get a hotel room for the night. Apparently Fred was a mind reader or he had force fed her a bottle of Midol as she apologized and the rest of the visit was ALMOST pleasant. The final visit to Kansas was for Fred and Bitch’s wedding. Several things went not so good that time, from the ever so classy and tasty rehearsal dinner at the Golden Coral to the tux not fitting K to me being so tired I thought I had mono or something, to feeling as though we were TRAPPED on the Toll road for eternity. It was a horrible drive home. Though that was the day we found out I was expecting Super Girl, right after we got home I peed on the stick just to rule it out when I called the Dr. the next morning. Boy was I wrong. So yeah, Kansas holds no great attraction for me. All visits have been tainted! After my diatribe about the evils (well maybe naughtiness) of Kansas, K concedes that he has never had a desire to live in Kansas. Fucker was just jerking my chain!

Other Things….

Happily Super Girl was back to school today! Woohooooooo! Cabbage Patch on the other hand seems to have contracted a bad case of the Whiny Ass Bratitis. She must have whined 10 out of the 12 hours she was awake and when she wasn’t whining she was adorable but EVER so NEEDY. Yeah, fabulous. I didn’t get much done other than to get her to change out of her jimmies… at 3 pm! BRAT. I have been searching the internet for a place to get the Children’s Chewable Prozacs for her.

Monday, October 17, 2005

It’s All Black And White To Me

The Little People can be so funny sometimes. This weekend during Sunday School (K takes them to that cult practice, not me obviously) the question was asked of the 6 year olds as to who was the betrayer of Jesus (and not the guy who works at Taco Bell), our offspring piped up with “Judas”, and what a proud moment it was for K as Super Girl was the only one to know that. But before K could bask in the pride from that answer Super Girl added “And Judas was black.” Suddenly K is mortified by what has just come out of the offsprings mouth and is willing it to jump back in there. K explains that in ‘Jesus Christ Super Star’, one of Super Girl’s favorite musicals on DVD, that Judas is indeed black. I could have peed myself when K told me that yesterday upon returning home with The Little People. I wish I could have seen his face when it happened. I then explained to Super Girl that Judas was not necessarily really a black man, he was just a black actor in ‘Jesus Christ Super Star’ and that he may have been any color at all (if you believe that whole story to begin with).

The other kid…

Tonight while watching a Justice League Unlimited episode, Batman is singing “Am I Blue” and Cabbage Patch says “Nu-uh, he’s in black.” To which it was explained by K that when someone says they are BLUE they mean they are sad, not the color BLUE… unless they are Smurfs (that was added by me)… or cold (addition by Super Girl). I’m sure Cabbage Patch was just wondering if Batman was a Smurf or cold.

Tough Stuff…

Speaking of explaining things to kids (and ruining their precious innocents by giving the truth), today Super Girl was telling me about her trip to the farm and seeing the cows and her experience in milking a cow and seeing the piggies, etc. Something was said by her that made me realize she thought farms were basically petting zoos with BIG animals. I called her over and explained that many of the animals on the farm became FOOD. Cows that aren’t giving milk become BEEF (It’s what’s for dinner!), piggies become PORK and chickens that aren’t there to lay eggs become CHICKEN NUGGETS. I showed her various things online and much to my surprised instead of being upset or vowing to be a vegetarian, she was fine with it. And when I asked her what she would think when she saw the piggies at the farm from now on she said “Pork!” hehehe… Gotta love my kid.
Ahhhh… A Day Of Rest

As If!

First I apologize to all who rely on the inane crap written here to entertain them whilst they sit at their desk doing their 8. I have not posted today because of CHILDREN. Today, just to drive me to drink, the school district has mandated a day off. That means that Super Girl has been home all day. And it’s just been magical! And my magical I mean homicidal as in it’s come close to driving me to find a clock tower to hang out in with a high powered rifle and a bag full of ammunition. Really. Quite magical.

This is how my day has gone:

6:15 am
Awake suddenly, look at clock and start to curse K for not waking me or the offspring, THEN remember it’s Super Girl’s day off and we can all sleep in. Shove irritating cat off bed and go back to sleep.

7:03 am
Awake suddenly, shove irritating cat off bed and listen intently for sounds of offspring being awake. Snuggle Brad Pittlow and drift off to sleep.

7:45 am
Awake suddenly and listen carefully for child noises. Satisfied they are still snoozing, shove irritating cat off bed and drift off back to sleep.

8:05 am
Knock irritating cat off bed as I roll over to answer the annoying device making noise next to me, i.e. the phone. Have short discussion with D wherein I grunt the affirmation that I AM STILL sleeping, hang up phone (or drop it on the floor, I don’t remember) and drift off to sleep.

8:20 am
Awake suddenly to the sound of shrieking and someone repeating “Noooooooo! The pink one is mine! Nooooooo!” Watch cat deftly jump out of my way as I move to get out of bed (and shove her off the bed) and walk into living room which now looks like a war zone from the Great Barbie Polly Pockets War with two kids in the middle fighting over a pink bowl filled to the brim with Kix cereal. Growl intimidatingly as I kick dolls out of my way to make a path to the kitchen and mumble something to the offspring about them needing to share and how they could have woke me up so I could make their breakfast and that we’d come to a solution so calm down… or something like that, maybe it was just “Holy Gay Jesus on a pogo stick! What the hell happened with these damn dolls?? Stop your yelling, it’s just a bowl. Why didn’t you wake me? Why are there dolls everywhere? Do I need to throw them all away?? Awwww damn it! Why are there Kix all over the damn kitchen? Could you NOT just wake me up? I could have gotten them down off the top shelf with out you climbing them like a damn lemur. You WILL be picking up every damn one of these Kix AFTER you pick up all the damn Polly Pockets and Barbies and My Little Freaking Pony crap. Now here’s the other pink bowl, go sit down and eat breakfast. NOW.”

8:30 am
Threaten the Tiny Terrorist with certain unmentionable horrible things happening to Polly and company if they don’t get it in gear and pick them up NOW.

8:33 am
Curse the school board for deciding today MUST be a vacation day.

8:35 am
Curse school board for not having year round school.

8:36 am
Inform youngest progeny that if she makes that horrific whining noise again will result in liberal amounts of duct tape being applied to her gaping pie hole.

8:37 am
Hide the duct tape as the mention of my duct taping their mouths shut has stirred the Tiny Terrorist into a frenzy of glee and excitement and begging to be the first to get taped. I swear I didn’t smoke crack while pregnant.

8:40 am
Call D and curse her in three different languages for not taking the Tiny Terrorist for the day, or actually just chat for a while, but I did THINK of cursing her.

9:00 am
Referee the 100th fight that morning and repeat threat from 8:30 am.

10:00 am
After the tidal wave of Barbie/Polly Pockets has been cleaned and the vacuum has been run, the Tiny Terrorists are banished to the bath tub! I sentence thee to a BATH! Actually the love baths, I’ve more than once been tempted to let them take 3 or 4 baths a day just to keep the peace. Peace and relative quiet and two very clean children… but oh, the disaster in the bathroom.

11:00 am
The Tiny Terrorists are bathed and dressed and the living room floor is still clean. I’ve taken the very last of my ‘Happy Pills’ and am eyeing the EMERGENCY BOOZE in the fridge. I’m still in my night gown.

11:30 am
We are up to probably 300 fights between the Little People that have had to be referee’d and at least 6542 whines that I have sampled today. Someone SHOOT ME PLEASE!

Repeat the threat of 8:30 am before serving a nutricious and delicious lunch of crackers with peanut butter and Nutella and bananas with cups of milk (all served on matching plates and cups so as to not have to hear the bitching of this morning).

12:30 pm
Repeat the threat of 8:30 am.

1:00 pm
The most magical time of the day! NAP TIME! Down a fifth of Jack and pass out on the couch while the Tiny Terrorists watch their NEW Cinderella DVD for the 10th time today.

3:00 pm
Repeat lunch as snack for newly awakened offspring while mumbling chants that they be GOOD the rest of the day.

3:02 pm
Curse every thing in the world because the damn voodoo chant for ‘Good Children’ didn’t fucking work. Where is that damn duct tape.

4:00 pm
Repeat the threat of 8:30 am.

4:30 pm
Realize with glee that K is off work now and headed home therefore eventually freeing me of my current psychotic state of being.

4:35 pm
Wonder why they don’t sell kid sized kennels. I would so own a couple of those.

4:45 pm
Light candles in preparation for a Polly Pockets bonfire.

5:00 pm
Realize that I’m still in my night gown. Fuck it, the day is gone now. All I need is a 40 in a paper bag, fuzzy slippers and rollers to complete this look.

6:00 pm
Where is K?? Death to him who makes me wait!

6:15 pm
Sanity restored… sort of. K is home. The parenthood responsibilities are foisted on him like an anvil from the top of a cliff. Suck it!

6:30 pm
Damn it, the responsibilities of parenthood are back to me. Fuck that. Repeat the threat of 8:30 am.

7:00 pm
Lick the interior of the bottle of ‘Happy Pills’ and hope that’s JUST ENOUGH. Someone make the SCREAMING STOP!! It BURNS! It BURNS!

7:28 pm
Fuck the diet, I’m eating a cheeseburger for dinner.

Swallow whole a cheese burger and start surfing internet porn while counting down to 8 pm (Tiny Terrorist bed time).