What A Month

A month ago, Ken and I had an offer in on a house. And what a house! The house that we were never going to leave.

In the 30 days that followed, we cancelled the contract on our dream house because Ford was transferring us. Yes, that's right. Transfer. To, of all places, Kansas. Can you imagine?
So while we waited for Ford to get their ducks in a row, a cosmic "pause" button was clicked on our life. The house here was let go, we drifted around in a sort of limbo, unable to make any future plans in Memphis, but nowhere else to make them either.

Then Harvey, who we'd had longer than our kids, went and got old. The nerves in his hindquarters gave out, and he was no longer able to stand or hold his bowels consistently or for any length of time. We put him down, and walked around with a Harvey-sized hole in our paused life for a little while.

Then, just because crazy is as crazy does, we went and got a puppy. Which is kind of like having another baby, only imagine a baby that doesn't wear diapers, is born with needle sharp teeth, and is really, really mobile. I know. Scariest baby ever.

Finally today, Ford tells us that we're *not* moving, after all, so sorry. Which is a good thing, except for how angry and disappointed Ken is, so it's not like I can run around waving a big fat "Hurray, we get to stay in Memphis" flag.

So, for those keeping score at home:
minus one dream house
minus one dog
minus one transfer
plus one puppy
equals a pretty ugly month, as entire months go. But that puppy really is darn cute.

Diesel and the Donaldson Kids

So the kids are in love with the dog. Well, mostly. Gabriel alternates between wanting to crawl around on the floor with the puppy and then running away in abject terror when the dog jumps on him. Gabriel prefers a dog-tired puppy.



Lotus is reveling in the opportunity to have yet another creature to boss around. Here she is reading up on Labs, so she can become "the house puppy expert and tell everyone what to do." Since determining that I've only been around one other puppy, she's already discounted any experience I may have raising dogs (which is probably not much to begin with, since the last puppy I had was when I was 5).



Joaquin is mostly neutral about the puppy. He's a big, big fan of the dogs-that-play-fetch-endlessly, and so the potential playmate he has in Diesel is far enough in the future as to render the dog a short-lived novelty.



And Jude? Well, the addition of Diesel has been the single biggest motivating factor for Jude to finally start walking full time. I would too, if I had a dog sniffing my butt all the time.

The Funniest Thing I've Read All Day

The following is the Facebook status update from one of my favorite students, who is now the proud mother of one year old twin boys:


"Once upon a time there were these two boys named Derick and Joseph. They did everything together including moving their potties to the edge of the bathtub to make it easier to climb in and play with their toys and poop behind a curtain. The end."

Honestly, folks, that's better than anything I've got.

Lotus, Pizza Girl

Executive decision this evening called for pizza and family-minus-one movie night (Ken's at work). Since energy levels were at an all time low today, as many as 3 out of 5 of us were still in pajamas at 4:50 pm. Clearly, take-out was in order.
On the way to Little Caesar's, I told Lotus she could go in and order the pizza, pay for the pizza, and get the pizza by herself. She was extremely excited by this idea, though Joaquin was uncertain.
"Mamaaaaaaaa?"
"Yes, Joaquin?"
"I think you should go in with Gagie to get the pizza."
"Really? Well, let's ask Gagie what she wants. Lotus, are you comfortable with going in by yourself?"
"Yeah!"
"Would you like me to come with you, but let you do all the talking?"
"No!"
"You're comfortable with the whole thing?"
"Sure am!"
"Well, Joaquin, there you have it. Lotus is fine going along, though it is very considerate of you to be looking out for her."
"Yeah. Mamaaaaaa?"
"Yes, Joaquin?"
"Can I go in to?"
"No, baby. You have to be seven to go in."
"Oh."

So Lotus and I role play her way through this rite of passage. We pull up to the store, where we find a parking space right in front of Little Caesar's, so I'll be able to watch her the whole time.
She goes in. And here's where the fun starts, folks.
The first thing she does is realize that her pants are not snapped up. So she lifts her shirt halfway up to try and get at the snap, which she is unable to work. The two $5 bills I've given her are getting her her way, so she attempts to hold them under her chin while trying to get the snap shut. It doesn't work. Finally, she gives up, puts her shirt back down, and sort of hangs out by the back of the store. I am trying my best to stay in the car until she indicates she needs my help. The boys are in the back seat, commenting on how long it takes Lotus to get pizza.

Finally, Lotus turns around to look at me, making confused hand gestures. I wave her to the car. She runs out, and I help her snap up her pants.
"Ok, pointer number one. Don't go out in public with your pants unsnapped. It sends weird signals." Lotus nods.
"Mommy, I don't know what to do. Where do I go? What do I do? Where's my pizza?"
"Baby, you have to go up to the counter. They're not going to come to you- you have to go up to them."
"Oh!" She says, suddenly understanding. She runs back in, and goes up to the counter. The teenager working the cash registers walks over to Lotus, and through my daughter's very large arm gestures, I can tell the order is being placed. But what's this? Instead of pulling the food, the worker is getting out the yellow order pad! They're running behind on the pizzas! Lotus will have to place an actual order.

The increasingly frantic nature of Lotus' arm gestures shows that she's entirely unsure of what to do next. This particular scenario was not practiced in the van on the way over. I see Lotus half turn toward me, point, nod, and put the $10 on the counter. She then runs out the door.

"Baby, you can't leave the money sitting there. Go back and wait for your change."
"My what? The what? The pizza's not ready."
"I know that, baby. But you need to go in and get your change."
She turns around, walks up to the bemused teenager, who gives Lotus her change. Lotus then runs back to the car, breathless.
"It's not ready. They have to cook it. It'll just be a few minutes."
"Ok. You did great, baby. The only thing you could improve for next time is to make sure you don't walk off until you get your change."
"Right."
"Why did you point at me when you were placing your order?"
"Oh. The girl wanted to know what my name was. I tried to give her your name, but I couldn't spell it. Plus, I couldn't spell our last name. So I just gave her my first name, but she didn't know how to spell it, so I had to do it for her." Lotus is full of twitchy energy, and she sits on the arm rest of the passenger seat in a manner that suggests she's going to jump out of her own skin.
At this point, I have to move the van, since the person next to me is having car troubles, and the army of helpers she's brought in are having troubles getting between my car and hers. We circle the parking lot to find a new space, this one not in a sight line of the Little Caesar's.
The moment the car is parked, Lotus springs up, insisting that she has to go back into the store so she can be there the instant the pizza is pulled from the oven. Off she goes.

The boys and I wait. And wait. And wait for a long enough time that I decide it won't be a display of lack of confidence in Lotus' pizza-getting abilities if I go check on her. I see her sitting on a chair, waiting politely. I open the door, and she turns to look at me, a big smile crossing her face.
"Is everything ok?" I ask. She nods.
"Yup. Just waiting. I knew you were going to come check on me." She smiles.
"Do you want me to stay with you, or are you ok finishing up by yourself?"
"I'm ok." So I go to the van, and have to explain to the boys that yes, pizza will arrive eventually. Jude is unconvinced and begins to wail.

At this point, I see the door to the store open, and out comes Lotus, carrying two boxes of pizza and wearing a big I'm-the-cat's-pajamas grin. She hands me the pizzas, gets in the car, and declares, "That was so awesome! You never have to go get the pizza ever again, Mommy. I will do it for you every time!"

Her glowing report of the whole thing sets her brothers to spending the remainder of the car ride home calculating how many years they have until they get to experience the awesomeness of Little Caesar's on their own.

When Very Long Cartrips Happen to Small Children, OR, Getting There Is Half the Fun

Whenever I'm talking to another mom, and the subject of cars with DVD players come up, I always walk away from the conversation feeling uneasy. It usually goes like this:

Other Mom: Well, we got a DVD player for the car, but we only use it on long trips.
Me: Yeah?
Other Mom: Yes, there's no way our kids could sit through the monster road trips we take. It would just be cruel.
Me: Really?
Other Mom: Yeah. My (fill in relative here) lives in (fill in city here), so it's been a total life saver.
Me: Oh.

And then there's a weird silence where I suspect I'm now supposed to reveal that we, too, have a DVD player in the car, and credit it for saving the family's sanity on any number of road trips.

But the thing is, we don't have one. Ken is all for it. He is like the unpaid cheerleader for the entire car entertainment system industry. But I'm unconvinced.

Take, for example, this past trip. A 10-11 hour trip to Texas. Which took place during the day, so we couldn't count on children sleeping for the majority of the trip. Four children, two adults, and luggage, all packed neatly into a glorious 2000 Ford Windstar. A 2000 Ford Windstar without a DVD player.

Did the kids wail? Did they gnash their teeth? Beat their breasts and pull out their hair? The hair of their siblings? No on all counts except, understandably, the baby, who did wail, and did gnash his teeth, and did beat his breast. But you know what? We all survived. We listened to books on tape (even the truly dreadful "Magic Treehouse" book. Twice.), we listened to Twilight Zone radio dramas. We played alphabet memory games. The little kids napped, the older kids built a fort in the back seat, and Ken and I listened to our first "Top 40" countdown in well over a decade (it was repugnant).

We got cranky with one another at times. The van is in shocking need of detailing. But, far from somehow damaging the kids by expecting them to make the best use of a long swath of (TV-free) time in a confined space, we made the trip there part of the vacation, part of the adventure, rather than something that slipped by while "The Little Mermaid" played for the 3rd time.

What the What?

It seems I can't post movie clips on blogger anymore?  What the what?  So, until I figure out how to fix this stupid thing, the video clips from the graduation ceremony will be on Facebook.  This is very weird. 

Grrragphghteshgghhhhh

The blog is temporarily closed due to my current inablilty to say, write, or think anything that isn't:
1. shrewish
2. bitter
3. akin to the shriekings of a confirmed lunatic
4. jibber-jabber

As soon as normal levels of good humor spiced with sarcasm, droll wit, and bon mots return, I will resume blogging.  Until then, I will be in the living room, surrounded by children who insist I keep a steady stream of New Agey Native American flute music playing, because it inexplicably soothes the savage beast.