Our tenant who is in our house in New Orleans has not had everything about the neighborhood disclosed to her. She actually went out the other day and happened to meet our elderly neighbor from across the street. When she called later, a little disgusted, I had to recount for her the following story so that she might understand....
It all began on a sunny New Orleans morning.....
was sneaking out
of my house to go for a run since the monsters, er, children were still
unconscious. Across the side street from our home lives an older family
and the man's elderly father. It has been his tradition in the past to
go out early in the morning, walk around, and feed the birds. I had not
seen him recently but I had only started running the previous week and
when attempting to lasso Drew with duct tape, I don't frequently look
away from my goal and out of the window. This particular morning, I
nodded politely to him and started my lap. When I encountered him again
after the second lap, he began gesticulating for me to come closer. Had
the hand he was so eagerly waving not held a roll of undetermined
denomination (cause let's face it - had it been hundreds, this might be a
slightly different story - No! No! JUST KIDDING!! Mental vomiting!) I might have approached him but the generally
creepy vibe and the handful of cash encouraged me to run faster AWAY and
wrap up my run a little early.
The next day………
On another sunny morning……
I went out again. This time, he didn't wait for me to begin my run but
began waving me over. As the disturbing vibe continued, I not only
ignored him, I deviated from my usual lap and disappeared into the
neighborhood, weaving a few blocks away from his house. As my run wound
down and I got closer to the house, I could see him peering up the
street intently and in fact, he had crossed the street into the
neighborhood I had Houdini-ed into. This semi-stalker behavior induced
me to rapidly enter our house and describe all of this to my
unsympathetic husband who claims I exaggerate and have an overabundance
of imagination. (Such lies.)
Two days later…..
On another sunny morning……
(Okay, I overslept the next day!! Sheesh!)
I started for the door, contemplating if I should bring along my pink
taser as a precautionary measure, when there was a knock. My friend from
up the street, Stacey, was there with another woman I'd never seen
before. This woman had actually stopped to speak to Captain Creepy and
he had, through his broken English, explained that he wanted to give her
forty dollars to have sex with him. Well, at first it was thirty but
she drives a hard bargain and he pulled another ten out of his wallet
when she pointed out the discrepancy. She then announced that she was
calling the police to report him (She has a teenage daughter. He should
really screen his potential "friends" and avoid these kinds of
conflicts.) He then scurried as fast as a little old man with a cane can
scurry, into the house thus proving he KNOWS #1 - That what he is doing
is wrong and #2 - That the NOPD has thrown a few smack downs before and
he doesn't want to be included in that number.
After calling 911,
this woman (whose name I still do not know) ran into Stacey and for some
reason, she brought her to me. Brandon was, of course, unconscious and
obviously going to be extremely useful at this point in time. I had to
talk to both of them, ruining my run (which left me more disgruntled
than the possible propositions) and then talk to the officer who rolled
up since they were both gone by then. He knew the man in question and
said he would talk to the woman and then talk to the man. (He was a
little sensitive about the elderly gentleman, making Alzheimer
references and speaking sweet, emphatic words. I sensed he would not
really be putting the fear of God into him.)
After I reported it to
Brandon who of course was convinced that I was making the whole thing up
(since I have nothing better to do between the twins and Drew) I was
ordered to stay out of it, at which point I laughed but I thought it
might be prudent to wait one more day...
The next day……
Still sunny….
Still New Orleans…..
(In case you thought we'd gone somewhere else...)
Obviously, there was no fear since I saw him the very next morning,
accosting my neighbor who had gotten up to clean out her garage since
they are moving next week. I could see her brush him off and as I was
running by, she waved at me and asked if I could come over when I was
done. (Another run cut short by Creepy McCreepy. So annoying.) I made
one more quick lap (Okay, not really quick since I run REALLY slowly)
and went to her garage. The following conversation could not be made
up...
Her, "Did he just??"
Me, "Yeah.."
Her, "Really? Are you sure?"
Me, "Yeah..."
Her, "Oooooooooooh."
I explained the situation and right then received a text message from
Stacey telling me that she had heard from a couple of neighbors that he
had propositioned them as well. (I'm either not special or run too fast
for him evidently.) She mentioned filing a report. I suggested she wait
until the evening when he actually had supervision of some kind in the
form of other adults. Granted they might be pimps or drug traffickers
but I think they would drive a better car then.
I went home and when
my industrious husband FINALLY got up to get ready for work, I had to
call Stacey and place her on speaker phone to receive verification of my
story. (You would think I do things to him like plant snakes above
fridge doors and strategically place clowns around the house. Where's
the trust?) After that, he called in the big guns and arranged for a
couple of detectives to go by that evening with a "Come to Jesus" talk
on the agenda. Of course, nary a responsible adult was there but after
their brief conversation with Rico Suave, he stayed inside all of
yesterday.
Of course, we saw him out the following night. No leash or anything. No money either. I bet they cut off his allowance which might prevent future business proposals.
However, as he approached April, too, (over a year later!!) his funding must have been reinstated and now April gets to enjoy the sweet disturbia of next door. She's kind of scary, though, and seems extremely comfortable with her arsenal of firearms so maybe he won't make that mistake again.
Hopefully...
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Sunday, July 8, 2012
The Silver Lining Has a Cloud?!
Living in uber-combustible land does has its occasional downfalls. For example, there were no pretty firework shows that I might attempt to wrangle the girls through. I was also prevented (via the burning bans) from keeping Drew from poking himself in the face with a sparkler when it appeared to be out but actually was not. However, we did have a lovely morning at the Lincoln Park pool and then the park adjacent to our house followed by a splendorous nap. This lovely morning was enlightening since Drew appears to need a touch more physical activity than he currently has been getting. I realized this as Drew complained and moaned the ENTIRE TEN MINUTE walk over to the park because his legs were SOOOOOOOOOOOO TIRED.
"MOM! Why can't we take the car?! My legs are soooooo tired!"
"Drew! It's just a little walk. It will be nice."
Keep in mind that here, even when the temperatures crawl into the nineties, if you move into some shade, the weather feels lovely since there is no humidity to make you feel like you've been dipped into an unpleasantly warm bath.
So we ended up by the duck pond (the one that the girls have claimed for themselves - I caught Savannah with the implements for a flag) in the shade.
So our fourth was fairly tame but I chalk that up to not really knowing anyone yet and having unrealistic expectations per the Ludwig family tradition at Grandma and Grandpa's house. What?! Grand Junction is NOT having an air show just for us?! The nerve!
Later that night, Drew began the process of wheedling Daddy into letting Drew start his night with him. This can be a long, strenous process with multiple arguments being laid out along with a healthy dose of whining and emotional manipulation.
Exhibit A
"Dad! But I waaaannnnnnnttttt to lay with yyyyoooooooouuuuuuu!"
"No, Drew. You need to sleep in your own bed."
(Repeat previous whiny sentence with extra syllables.)
Exhibit B
"Dad! But I get scared! Why can't I lay with you?"
"Drew! You have your Dream Lite (Obviously, that commercial was a complete fraud and I will be writing an email! Mostly to ask what medication the spokeswoman was on but....) and you need to sleep in your own bed."
"But I get sssscccccaaaaaaarrrrrreeeeddddddd."
Exhibit C (I call this one the clincher.)
"Dad! I need to lay with you!"
"Drew! GO TO BED!!!"
"But Dad! I just want to be with you. I missed you soooooo much."
After Exhibit C, Husband Numero Uno caves and Drew carries his two lovies, four blankets, and heart-shaped pillow to our bed. Of course, he's on MY SIDE so I'll get to carry his long-legged self to bed later, but this wasn't my battle. Drew is warned about talking since they are supposed to be going to sleep, and I only hear two verbal skirmishes from the living room.
Finally.
Quiet.
This is the part of the day that I have some time to myself without fear of clogged toilets, banged foreheads, and bloodied lips. (All of which have occurred in the past two weeks.) I stretch out, crack the book I've been lusting after all day and BANG!!
For the record, I did not fall off the couch.
Drew comes slouching out, paraphernalia in hand, an expression reminincent of Oscar the Grouch on his face, and says, "Daddy snores too loud and I can't sleep! I'm going to my bed!" He would have stomped away but I sensed he was weighed down by the snugglies in hand.
Finally.
Quiet.
Of course, I fell asleep on the couch. I didn't have any chocolate or children to keep me awake.
"MOM! Why can't we take the car?! My legs are soooooo tired!"
"Drew! It's just a little walk. It will be nice."
Keep in mind that here, even when the temperatures crawl into the nineties, if you move into some shade, the weather feels lovely since there is no humidity to make you feel like you've been dipped into an unpleasantly warm bath.
So we ended up by the duck pond (the one that the girls have claimed for themselves - I caught Savannah with the implements for a flag) in the shade.
 |
| You can see Abby giving the little encroacher a stern warning |
 |
| The ducks are perplexed by their new mistresses but as long as they continue to bring goldfish, I foresee a long, peaceful reign. |
 |
| Savannah takes cleaning up litter very seriously... |
So our fourth was fairly tame but I chalk that up to not really knowing anyone yet and having unrealistic expectations per the Ludwig family tradition at Grandma and Grandpa's house. What?! Grand Junction is NOT having an air show just for us?! The nerve!
Later that night, Drew began the process of wheedling Daddy into letting Drew start his night with him. This can be a long, strenous process with multiple arguments being laid out along with a healthy dose of whining and emotional manipulation.
Exhibit A
"Dad! But I waaaannnnnnnttttt to lay with yyyyoooooooouuuuuuu!"
"No, Drew. You need to sleep in your own bed."
(Repeat previous whiny sentence with extra syllables.)
Exhibit B
"Dad! But I get scared! Why can't I lay with you?"
"Drew! You have your Dream Lite (Obviously, that commercial was a complete fraud and I will be writing an email! Mostly to ask what medication the spokeswoman was on but....) and you need to sleep in your own bed."
"But I get sssscccccaaaaaaarrrrrreeeeddddddd."
Exhibit C (I call this one the clincher.)
"Dad! I need to lay with you!"
"Drew! GO TO BED!!!"
"But Dad! I just want to be with you. I missed you soooooo much."
After Exhibit C, Husband Numero Uno caves and Drew carries his two lovies, four blankets, and heart-shaped pillow to our bed. Of course, he's on MY SIDE so I'll get to carry his long-legged self to bed later, but this wasn't my battle. Drew is warned about talking since they are supposed to be going to sleep, and I only hear two verbal skirmishes from the living room.
Finally.
Quiet.
This is the part of the day that I have some time to myself without fear of clogged toilets, banged foreheads, and bloodied lips. (All of which have occurred in the past two weeks.) I stretch out, crack the book I've been lusting after all day and BANG!!
For the record, I did not fall off the couch.
Drew comes slouching out, paraphernalia in hand, an expression reminincent of Oscar the Grouch on his face, and says, "Daddy snores too loud and I can't sleep! I'm going to my bed!" He would have stomped away but I sensed he was weighed down by the snugglies in hand.
Finally.
Quiet.
Of course, I fell asleep on the couch. I didn't have any chocolate or children to keep me awake.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
The Horrors of the Front Pew
I have waited over three days to talk about this since it has taken that long to stop waking in a cold sweat in the middle of the night in memory of it.
Sunday.
Sunday should be a beautiful day of rest and worship and peace, right? However, for me, regardless of preparedness level, there is a point in Sunday that leaves me anxious and wishing for that elusive black hole - Sacrament meeting. Since having the girls (heck, since having Drew) Sacrament meeting is a time of whispered bargains, bribery, and scrambling to keep each little body ensconced within our pew. In our old branch, I knew enough people that should one escape, I knew that she would be shipped back to me forthwith unless it was a softhearted grandma who let her play with the contents of her purse or carried her own grandma bag whose toys would be inevitably cooler than the ones I had in my church bag.
Our new ward is ginormous and the chapel is literally packed with people and should you arrive on time (not early but ON TIME) you will find nary an empty pew to be seen EXCEPT the front central pew. You know the one. The one where the speaker can look directly at you as they are discussing reverence in the church and how it directly connects to the spiritual feeling in the meetings and you squirm almost as much as the twin toddlers do in their efforts to escape.
Sunday.
Up early. Breakfast is prepped the night before and even if it weren't, meetings start at 11 so we have an extra two hours. I should be early, right? RIGHT?!?
You forget about the master procraster. (I'm putting that on a shirt for his Christmas stocking present)
10:55 (Church is only five minutes away)
Everyone is loaded up. Church bags are ready and packed with new coloring books and stickers. Everyone has on shoes, Drew finally finished his breakfast, and I actually have my hair done.
Screeching into the parking lot, I see a front row spot. Score!! I unload everyone and we make a mad dash for the chapel door. Instant deflatement. Filled. Wall to wall. Except....
The front center pew. (Ominous music plays in my head.)
Chin up and in we go. The music is still playing so we didn't miss announcements or opening prayer. At this point, Drew turns to me.
"Mom?"
"Yes, Drew?"
"I'm huuuuuunnnnnnnnnggggggggrrrrrryyyyyyy." (There are really not enough letters to emphasize the whine that came out of his mouth)
"Drew?"
"Yes, Mom?"
"After sacrament, you can have a snack. Not until they pass out the bread and water." (Did I mention it's Fast Sunday?)
"But, Moooooooommmmmmm, I'm sooooooo huuunnnnggggrrrryyyy."
"Drew! Not now!" (I hiss this in an effort to be quiet and to emphasize how close he is coming to permanent 3DS loss as Savannah is climbing across me, chanting, "UP the mountain! DOWN the mountain!" during the announcements.)
This argument is repeated for the next five minutes during which the sacrament song is sung and Drew is only saved by the beginning of the sacrament prayer which forces him to shut the heck up.
Mind you, during this, I had broken out the new toys in the church bag for the girls - stickers. Lots and lots of Sesame Street stickers and little books to stick them in. We had engrossment for the moment.
Since we were on the front, we were among the first to get the sacrament. The bread comes with nary a peep out of anyone, except Abby who refuses to take the bread even if her grubby little hand took it from the tray. She just shakes her head at me and says, "Nuh-uh!" I then give it to Savannah who shoves it in her mouth like she didn't eat a bowl of strawberries and a whole pancake less than an hour before we came.
Water comes. Savannah is flagging on the stickers and has moved from adhering them to the book to carefully decorating her legs in a long line from ankle to hip, straight up the shin. I see the many faces of Sesame Street staring up at me, a long preschool tattoo. The water tray wafts in front of her and in her loud little voice that carries over the four surrounding pews, she says, "HI! Dat's water! I wike water!" I can see the man choking back his laughter and amazingly, the tray doesn't shake at all. I snatch up what we need and he moves on. Abby drinks hers, Savannah rejects hers, and Abby cleans up after Savannah.
Sacrament wraps up and the bishop opens Fast and Testimony meeting. At this point, Savannah is done. She has enough stickers, thank you very much and would like to leave now. No, she does not want any goldfish (also known as toddler crack) and she definitely does not want to sit in my lap. She gets up. I make a desperate grab but Abby is sitting on my lap at this point and she is most unwilling to readjust. She plays a tantalizing game of keep away by coming back and then darting just out of reach until she reaches the stairway to the stand. She ducks around the corner and I rise, ready to go and grab her but she pops back around, close enough to grab. A moment's peace is achieved until Drew distracts me and she's out again, smirking at me from around the corner. This time, she does not come back but mounts the steps until she is on the stand, her little blonde head surveying all the ward, her imagined kingdom. I'm rising when she looks at me with that evil little smile and DASHES across the stand, giggling all the while.
Now, had someone been bearing their testimony, it might have been less noticeable BUT there was a dearth of people willing to begin this morning and nary a soul had come up following the bishop's testimony. So there was NO distraction from my little malevolent child streaking acorss the stand, slipping by the bishop's outstretched hands, and followed closely by me.
What's next?
You guessed it. I grabbed her right in front of the microphone and then had to bear my testimony, all the while holding Savannah with her inordinately long arms away from the microphone. I swear she had the arms of an NBA player for those three minutes. I slink away at the conclusion, scooped 'em both up since Abby was hot on my trail at this point, and went out into the foyer, praying that my abrupt testimony and dual stinkerbottoms will not be held against me.
Towards the end of Sacrament meeting, a lovely woman came up as I was trying to sit back down with all of my brood (Savannah was having none of this sit down bullarky) and took Abby, sitting by Drew so I could reprimand my warrior princess in the hallway. She wanted to run. I made her stay in my arms. I walked up and down a hallway with lovely pictures depicting scenes from the scriptures and the pioneers. I would point out various things - cows, trees, snow, babies.
"Do you see the cow, Savannah?"
"No."
"Look at the pretty snow."
"No."
"See the baby?"
"No."
"Look at that mountain."
"No."
The pattern was evident to all that went by and more than one person tried to repress their snickers at the orneriness of my child.
The closing prayer. I went in. The lovely woman introduced herself and in a moment of insanity, invited us to sit with her family next week. I would have said no, but she has teenager daughters and you all know what that means.
BABYSITTERS!!
In that moment, my faith was reaffirmed.
At least until next Sunday...
Sunday.
Sunday should be a beautiful day of rest and worship and peace, right? However, for me, regardless of preparedness level, there is a point in Sunday that leaves me anxious and wishing for that elusive black hole - Sacrament meeting. Since having the girls (heck, since having Drew) Sacrament meeting is a time of whispered bargains, bribery, and scrambling to keep each little body ensconced within our pew. In our old branch, I knew enough people that should one escape, I knew that she would be shipped back to me forthwith unless it was a softhearted grandma who let her play with the contents of her purse or carried her own grandma bag whose toys would be inevitably cooler than the ones I had in my church bag.
Our new ward is ginormous and the chapel is literally packed with people and should you arrive on time (not early but ON TIME) you will find nary an empty pew to be seen EXCEPT the front central pew. You know the one. The one where the speaker can look directly at you as they are discussing reverence in the church and how it directly connects to the spiritual feeling in the meetings and you squirm almost as much as the twin toddlers do in their efforts to escape.
Sunday.
Up early. Breakfast is prepped the night before and even if it weren't, meetings start at 11 so we have an extra two hours. I should be early, right? RIGHT?!?
You forget about the master procraster. (I'm putting that on a shirt for his Christmas stocking present)
10:55 (Church is only five minutes away)
Everyone is loaded up. Church bags are ready and packed with new coloring books and stickers. Everyone has on shoes, Drew finally finished his breakfast, and I actually have my hair done.
Screeching into the parking lot, I see a front row spot. Score!! I unload everyone and we make a mad dash for the chapel door. Instant deflatement. Filled. Wall to wall. Except....
The front center pew. (Ominous music plays in my head.)
Chin up and in we go. The music is still playing so we didn't miss announcements or opening prayer. At this point, Drew turns to me.
"Mom?"
"Yes, Drew?"
"I'm huuuuuunnnnnnnnnggggggggrrrrrryyyyyyy." (There are really not enough letters to emphasize the whine that came out of his mouth)
"Drew?"
"Yes, Mom?"
"After sacrament, you can have a snack. Not until they pass out the bread and water." (Did I mention it's Fast Sunday?)
"But, Moooooooommmmmmm, I'm sooooooo huuunnnnggggrrrryyyy."
"Drew! Not now!" (I hiss this in an effort to be quiet and to emphasize how close he is coming to permanent 3DS loss as Savannah is climbing across me, chanting, "UP the mountain! DOWN the mountain!" during the announcements.)
This argument is repeated for the next five minutes during which the sacrament song is sung and Drew is only saved by the beginning of the sacrament prayer which forces him to shut the heck up.
Mind you, during this, I had broken out the new toys in the church bag for the girls - stickers. Lots and lots of Sesame Street stickers and little books to stick them in. We had engrossment for the moment.
Since we were on the front, we were among the first to get the sacrament. The bread comes with nary a peep out of anyone, except Abby who refuses to take the bread even if her grubby little hand took it from the tray. She just shakes her head at me and says, "Nuh-uh!" I then give it to Savannah who shoves it in her mouth like she didn't eat a bowl of strawberries and a whole pancake less than an hour before we came.
Water comes. Savannah is flagging on the stickers and has moved from adhering them to the book to carefully decorating her legs in a long line from ankle to hip, straight up the shin. I see the many faces of Sesame Street staring up at me, a long preschool tattoo. The water tray wafts in front of her and in her loud little voice that carries over the four surrounding pews, she says, "HI! Dat's water! I wike water!" I can see the man choking back his laughter and amazingly, the tray doesn't shake at all. I snatch up what we need and he moves on. Abby drinks hers, Savannah rejects hers, and Abby cleans up after Savannah.
Sacrament wraps up and the bishop opens Fast and Testimony meeting. At this point, Savannah is done. She has enough stickers, thank you very much and would like to leave now. No, she does not want any goldfish (also known as toddler crack) and she definitely does not want to sit in my lap. She gets up. I make a desperate grab but Abby is sitting on my lap at this point and she is most unwilling to readjust. She plays a tantalizing game of keep away by coming back and then darting just out of reach until she reaches the stairway to the stand. She ducks around the corner and I rise, ready to go and grab her but she pops back around, close enough to grab. A moment's peace is achieved until Drew distracts me and she's out again, smirking at me from around the corner. This time, she does not come back but mounts the steps until she is on the stand, her little blonde head surveying all the ward, her imagined kingdom. I'm rising when she looks at me with that evil little smile and DASHES across the stand, giggling all the while.
Now, had someone been bearing their testimony, it might have been less noticeable BUT there was a dearth of people willing to begin this morning and nary a soul had come up following the bishop's testimony. So there was NO distraction from my little malevolent child streaking acorss the stand, slipping by the bishop's outstretched hands, and followed closely by me.
What's next?
You guessed it. I grabbed her right in front of the microphone and then had to bear my testimony, all the while holding Savannah with her inordinately long arms away from the microphone. I swear she had the arms of an NBA player for those three minutes. I slink away at the conclusion, scooped 'em both up since Abby was hot on my trail at this point, and went out into the foyer, praying that my abrupt testimony and dual stinkerbottoms will not be held against me.
Towards the end of Sacrament meeting, a lovely woman came up as I was trying to sit back down with all of my brood (Savannah was having none of this sit down bullarky) and took Abby, sitting by Drew so I could reprimand my warrior princess in the hallway. She wanted to run. I made her stay in my arms. I walked up and down a hallway with lovely pictures depicting scenes from the scriptures and the pioneers. I would point out various things - cows, trees, snow, babies.
"Do you see the cow, Savannah?"
"No."
"Look at the pretty snow."
"No."
"See the baby?"
"No."
"Look at that mountain."
"No."
The pattern was evident to all that went by and more than one person tried to repress their snickers at the orneriness of my child.
The closing prayer. I went in. The lovely woman introduced herself and in a moment of insanity, invited us to sit with her family next week. I would have said no, but she has teenager daughters and you all know what that means.
BABYSITTERS!!
In that moment, my faith was reaffirmed.
At least until next Sunday...
The Daily Departure Challenge
We seem to be finally falling into a rhythm here and for that, I am eternally grateful. In the morning, Brandon (whoops! I mean Husband Numero Uno) arises at the unseemly hour of 4am in order to go through his routine before leaving for work at 5:30. I attempt to remain unconscious throughout this process since I have most likely gone to bed late after packing multiple lunches and cleaning up the rubble and household debris left by the incredible twinsome. Between six and seven, someone will wake me through three possible ways:
One - Drew will come and stand extremely close to my face and stage whisper, "Mom! Mom! MOM! I want to watch TV." I will shriek a little and attempt to NOT fall out of bed or wet myself. I will also wonder why I don't lock my door...
Two - One of my twincesses will wake up crying and shriek through the monitor, thus demanding my presence.
Three - Savannah will wake up and begin to call both myself and Abby as loudly as possible. Savannah is of the belief that should she be awake, we all should be awake. This principle has existed for the last year at least and luckily, Abby, has managed to tune out Savannah's bellows of "ABBBBBBYYYYY" and "MOM" when she is tired. It's almost hypnotic with her alternating the two chants - one long and drawn out and the other short and chirped.
After one of these events occurs, I will stagger out of bed and begin breakfast if Savannah is not already attempting to climb the kitchen counter, demanding 'nanas'. I then begin the process of trying to get Drew out the door for camp. You would think this a simple ordeal. Breakfast, teeth, clothes, backpack and in the car we go. Nevertheless, this process takes a MINIMUM of an hour and a half. For example, the other day, I sat a bowl of cereal in front of him at 7am. At 8:30, he finally finished it.
Why?" you say.
Well, my son is a master of procrastination. My feeble attempts in college have nothing on his skills at age seven. He will need to get up and find this toy, look at his sister's breakfasts, go to the bathroom four times (NO, there is nothing wrong with his system. He's in there playing with bubbles and washing off some coins he filched from his sisters since he's convinced they took them from him.), stare gap-mouthed at a Dora episode he derided previously when Sonic the Hedgehog was vetoed by Mommy so that she could inhale her own cold bowl of oatmeal, and reprimand his sisters multiple times despite being reminded over and over that he is NOT the daddy!!!
Finally, after multiple freshening and reheating and complaints, he eats seven bites and gets up to "brush his teeth since he is full." The teeth brushing and acquiring clothing will take another thirty minutes until I have Abby and Savannah loaded in the car and announce that I am leaving him at home and going to play at his camp with his sisters. At this point, there will be a scream of agony and rage and he will dash out, sliding on his shirt and accuse me of "trying to ruin his life and his sisters cannot go to his camp. They are too little." At this point, he is in the car, putting on his shoes.
"Drew?"
"Yeah" (still sulky that I would HURRY him)
"Where's your backpack?" (trying not to snicker)
He looks around. "UGGGHHHHH. You MADE me forget it!!!"
"Drew?"
"What?!"
"Put on your seat belt."
I get back out of the car and get his backpack, both the blankies for the girls, the new baby-dolls that they will inevitably want two miles down the road, the sippy cup Savannah dropped on the ground in her excitement to escape to the garage, and my water bottle.
At this point, I do a double check to ensure everyone is buckled in (Thank you Dad for that neurosis!), open the garage door, and back the car out.
Thirty seconds later, turning down the main road...
"Mom?"
"Yeah, Drew?"
"I'm hungry. Do you have any candy?"
I'd give him some but I don't have any and make no assumptions about the chocolate already on my face...
One - Drew will come and stand extremely close to my face and stage whisper, "Mom! Mom! MOM! I want to watch TV." I will shriek a little and attempt to NOT fall out of bed or wet myself. I will also wonder why I don't lock my door...
Two - One of my twincesses will wake up crying and shriek through the monitor, thus demanding my presence.
Three - Savannah will wake up and begin to call both myself and Abby as loudly as possible. Savannah is of the belief that should she be awake, we all should be awake. This principle has existed for the last year at least and luckily, Abby, has managed to tune out Savannah's bellows of "ABBBBBBYYYYY" and "MOM" when she is tired. It's almost hypnotic with her alternating the two chants - one long and drawn out and the other short and chirped.
After one of these events occurs, I will stagger out of bed and begin breakfast if Savannah is not already attempting to climb the kitchen counter, demanding 'nanas'. I then begin the process of trying to get Drew out the door for camp. You would think this a simple ordeal. Breakfast, teeth, clothes, backpack and in the car we go. Nevertheless, this process takes a MINIMUM of an hour and a half. For example, the other day, I sat a bowl of cereal in front of him at 7am. At 8:30, he finally finished it.
Why?" you say.
Well, my son is a master of procrastination. My feeble attempts in college have nothing on his skills at age seven. He will need to get up and find this toy, look at his sister's breakfasts, go to the bathroom four times (NO, there is nothing wrong with his system. He's in there playing with bubbles and washing off some coins he filched from his sisters since he's convinced they took them from him.), stare gap-mouthed at a Dora episode he derided previously when Sonic the Hedgehog was vetoed by Mommy so that she could inhale her own cold bowl of oatmeal, and reprimand his sisters multiple times despite being reminded over and over that he is NOT the daddy!!!
Finally, after multiple freshening and reheating and complaints, he eats seven bites and gets up to "brush his teeth since he is full." The teeth brushing and acquiring clothing will take another thirty minutes until I have Abby and Savannah loaded in the car and announce that I am leaving him at home and going to play at his camp with his sisters. At this point, there will be a scream of agony and rage and he will dash out, sliding on his shirt and accuse me of "trying to ruin his life and his sisters cannot go to his camp. They are too little." At this point, he is in the car, putting on his shoes.
"Drew?"
"Yeah" (still sulky that I would HURRY him)
"Where's your backpack?" (trying not to snicker)
He looks around. "UGGGHHHHH. You MADE me forget it!!!"
"Drew?"
"What?!"
"Put on your seat belt."
I get back out of the car and get his backpack, both the blankies for the girls, the new baby-dolls that they will inevitably want two miles down the road, the sippy cup Savannah dropped on the ground in her excitement to escape to the garage, and my water bottle.
At this point, I do a double check to ensure everyone is buckled in (Thank you Dad for that neurosis!), open the garage door, and back the car out.
Thirty seconds later, turning down the main road...
"Mom?"
"Yeah, Drew?"
"I'm hungry. Do you have any candy?"
I'd give him some but I don't have any and make no assumptions about the chocolate already on my face...
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