Friday, May 14, 2010

Miss Hop-A-Long

I haven't been feeling well since Monday, and I went to the doctor yesterday.  Diagnosis: No freaking idea.  Nice, right?  Come back if it gets worse.  Awesome use of my $20.  At any rate, after I picked the girls up from school I told Miss Proper that I needed to go take a little nap, and would she please wake me up at 5:15 because my right sinus felt like it might explode out of the front of my face.  Miss Proper has batting practice at 5:30. 

Being the compliant child she is, Miss Proper came in and woke me up all dressed in her softballpants and cleats.  I asked her to tell her sister and brother to get their shoes on and get in the car.  When I got downstairs just a few moments later, Bonus sat at the computer making light sabers, and there were no shoes in sight.  I told him, "We have to get Sissy to batting practice, so you have to get off the computer now.  You can have another turn tomorrow."  He continues constructing the light saber, and tells me, " I can't get off the 'repluter' because I have to make light sabers." Uh-huh.  Fortunately, he meant he had to finish that one double-ended red light saber (please pray that this child does not turn to the Dark Side).  As he left clicks the components together, he gleefully shouts, "Mommy, I did it!  I did it!  I made that!"  He hops down from the 'repluter' and runs out to the car.

Everyone buckled, I back out the driveway and head for the ballpark.  Miss Proper grabs her equipment bag and her helmut, hops out of the van, and runs off toward the batting cages.  RNR, Bonus and I wait in the van because Miss Proper's slot is thirty minutes.  By the time you drive home, it's time to go back, so we sit.  Bonus has brought the LeapPad and 49 cartridges to occupy himself.  RNR has brought her homework and a little diary with a feathery pen to jot down her thoughts.  I'm texting.  Everyone is good.  For five seconds.

The next thing I know they are both in the passenger seat hanging from the sun visor.  Ummm, yeah... How does this stuff happen so quickly?  I'm constantly amazed at the stealthy speed with which these two Troublemakers can brew up a plan.  And not just any plan, but a plan to push their mother from the brink of insanity into the very middle of the hot, bubbly lava that is temporary insanity.  So, now no longer clinging to any semblance of sanity,  I growl at them that they must return to their seats while keeping their arms and heads inside the vehicle at all times.  About this time, RNR decides she is going to die if she doesn't go to the bathroom.  The sky looks a little ominous, and the restrooms are a 10 minute hike from the car. 

Babygirl, you are going to have to hold it. 

I can't. I'll die.

We will miss you greatly.

Whine. Moan.  I catch small snippets of "worst" and "meanest" but no mention of "mommy," so I decide to assume she is talking about her father (kidding!).

Your sister will be finished any moment.

And like magic, Miss Proper comes walking toward the van.  Bonus actually says, "How did you know that Mommy?"  Aside from the fact that it was 6:02 and batting practice is over at 6:00, I have magical mommy powers, don't you know!  I take full credit for them at this moment and drive out of the lot toward the Chinese restaurant where hot and sour soup, one of the magic elixirs for throbbing sinuses, awaits.  This restaurant is in the opposite direction from our house, and being the brilliant child that she is, RNR Princess takes notice.

You are going to enjoy the conversation that followed.  Trust me.

Mommy, why are we going this way?

Because Mommy isn't feeling well. I'm going to get some hot and sour soup for me and dinner for you guys.

I guess I can hop in the restaurant.

I'm no genius here, but that's a pretty big tip off for me.  I cringe as I follow up on her statement about her method of ambulation.

And you need to hop why?

Because I have a sore from that blister between my toes.  The one from my new flip flops.

And you have to hop because it hurts?

No, Mommy. (frustration building) I have to hop BECAUSE I ONLY HAVE ONE SHOE.

I shake my head because I am absolutely, positively certain that I have misheard what she has said.

You mean you only have one shoe on right now?

No, Mommy.  I only brought one shoe.

What? What? What? What? What?

Really? You only have one shoe in the car.  Why would you even bother with bringing the one shoe?  That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard in my entire life.  Do you have one foot or two feet?  Don't you know shoes come in pairs?

At this point I'm going to edit myself.  Not because I said anything profane, but because my shoe rant went on for several traffic signals.  I just could not get over the fact that she had brought ONE SHOE.  Who does that?  Apparently, the answer to that rhetorical question is my kid does that.  Sigh.  I also got repetitious in my rant.  I was just completely stupified that someone with two feet could leave the house with "A" SHOE.  I also am amazed that I will have to perform shoe checks on my seven year old everytime she gets in the van. 

I'm also disgusted at this point because I recall that this is the same child who muttered "worst" and "meanest" because I wouldn't take her to the restroom at the ballpark.  If you have been to the restrooms at said ballpark, you know that the floor is ALWAYS covered with puddles and wet toliet paper.  SHE WAS GOING TO GO INTO THAT WITH ONE SHOE.  Vomitous.  I'm getting the willies just thinking about the idea of going into that restroom, let alone with one or no shoes.  Blech.

And just how were you going to go into the restroom at the ballpark with one shoe?

I could have hopped.

I had to ask, didn't I?

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Be Reckless

"Listen carefully: Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground, dead to the world, it is never any more than a grain of wheat. But if it is buried, it sprouts and reproduces itself many times over. In the same way, anyone who holds on to life just as it is destroys that life. But if you let it go, reckless in your love, you'll have it forever, real and eternal." --John 12:24-25 (The Message)

I stumbled upon (er... I suppose I should say I was led to) this version of this verse last night.  That's my aim...  reckless in my love. 

If I didn't know it was all about Him, I'd be certain this verse was written just for me.  I gotta figure out the best place to post it on the ole' blog.  What kind of good gadget do you bloggers suggest?  Let me hear from you.  That's all I got.  Peace out.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Krogert Adventures

On Monday, I had to run to the "Krogert" after the kids were home.  I'll admit that my first mistake was thinking that I could run in and out of the grocery store with three children.  It rarely ends well when they are all with me.  I know this, and, apparently, I would have been an A+ flagellant if I had lived during the Middle Ages.  I know it's going to be beating, and yet, I still do it. 

So, we got through the store with the usual bickering about how boring it is to have to go to the store and "Can we have... ?"  And, I replied with my normal responses,  "You are responsible for your own fun." and "Absolutely not."  RNR Princess and Bonus are secretly thinking I'm the wicked witch of the west with which I am perfectly fine.  

The checkout line got the the mama hackles on the back of my neck raised in the defensive position though.  People (read: my two younger kids) won't stand where they are supposed to stand, and there is profuse whining.  Like all parents, I loathe whining.  I know it happens, but we have specific parameters for whining at our home.  You can whine all you like.  In your own room.  With the door closed.  Mr. Incredible (there's his name... he approves) and I think that is beyond fair.  We don't speak Whinese, and we refuse to learn.  Call us stubborn.  Fine, whatev...

This is where the breakdown occurs.  Bonus feels the need to play the "claw" game that is nothing but a trash can for my money.  I have never let him play, but he thinks he should be able to.  I silently curse the person who decided to punish moms by inventing this machine as i hand my small stack of coupons over to the cashier.

All paid. Normal children would be delighted that it was time to leave the store and would willingly follow their mama out the door to the car.  Have I mentioned that we are not normal at our home?  Actually, we are not normal anywhere we go.  We don't even know what normalcy looks like or smells like.  We can't even pretend we are normal; it would be such a severe stretch that we might physically be injured pretending to be normal.  Bonus, who kept repeating that he "was bored" and "when could we get out of this place", now wants to stay even longer because there are balls.  He grabs one and throws it, knocking over a candy display.  Clean up on Aisle Seven...  I know at this point that all communication between Bonus and me has ceased.  Knowing I am going to have to swoop him up and carry him out of the store kicking and screaming, I tell Miss Proper that she is going to have to push the cart and hold her sister's hand in the parking lot.  She obliges.  I move in for the tackle, dodge the swings and kicks, successfully place my son in a football hold, and begin running for the goal line.  This is where it gets really interesting.  Mr. Incredible's son (because I would never have a kid who would act this way) starts screaming at the top of his lungs, "She's stealing me!  She's stealing me!"  And the truth is I am stealing him away from the moment he is fully engaged in at the ball display.  Of course, the whole scene draws looks from shoppers and cashiers alike.  It should.  Fortunately, I frequent the "Krogert" far more than I should and am known by face to employees Kim, Micaiah, Kyle, Toby and others.  After this intial shock wore off, they were laughing.  Unfortunately, it's not the first time I have had to carry one of my children out of that store.

Today is Thursday, and I am just now beginning to be able to think about the situation without my shoulders tensing up.  This week with my son has been repeat after repeat of the scenario above.  Although I know that he will get through this stage and so will I, at the moment I feel extremely defeated, ill-equipped, and exhausted as a parent.  I'm honestly only held up by the grace that each day supplies and the fresh start that awaits in the morning.  Tomorrow has got to be a better day, right? 

I'm going to laugh my butt off when I get to tell my son's future wife about these adventures with my little warrior, right?