80 Percent Fun

 I took the girls to an aquarium and the beach this past weekend. It was about 80 percent fun; I think sleeping in the same bed as a two year old who magically morphs into a giant slug that slowly pushes you off the mattress accounts for 10 percent of fun loss. The other 10 percent was lost by losing Morgan for about three minutes.

Our hotel was right on the beach so we marched right on down to the shore. The first time was great. We found shells, put our feet in the water and called it a day. The second time, Halle plopped herself in the ocean, Morgan fell in it, and we were all so sandy and dirty that I quickly remembered why we rarely visit the sea.

Near the hotel entrance, there was a hose you could use to wash yourself off with. While I washed Halle's pants and feet, Morgan hid behind a bush. Looking up and not seeing her, I panicked and started calling her. I told Halle to stay put while I started searching the area. Some people from a balcony started yelling directions to my lost daughter. It would have been helpful had they been directing me toward the correct child. As it was, it was only irritating and distracting. Morgan popped out from behind her bush a few minutes later and asked me what was wrong. "What happened, Mommy?" I told her we were not going back to the beach for a very long time.

Morgan has done this once before; while Halle is two years older and terrible at hide-and-seek ("Mommy! You're missing a little girl! I'm over here!"), Morgan is a master at it. While my mom was visiting, we went shopping in Raleigh. Both of us thought the other adult had Morgan, and thus shopped in peace until we realized our error. We started searching for her, and then I realized if Morgan was hiding, she would never reveal her location. When we found her, she was smiling and barely containing her delight. She couldn't believe how well her trick had worked. Funny, I didn't think to threaten not taking her shopping for a very long time.

The lacquer thinner is surprisingly working. It's exciting to think of living in a house where it doesn't feel like Barbie snuck in and graffittied the couch. While I was scrubbing the couch, trying not to pass out from the fumes, Halle commented on the improvement. "So you were just teasing me when you were so mad and said the couch was ruined!"

I assured her that I had not been teasing her, but that I was glad the couch wasn't ruined. I also told her that she was more important than any couch. I'm never sure if I get through. But I hope if something gets through, the more important thing does.

Besides, Willie seemed to be on board with having a pink couch. Maybe I should have just bought more pink and doused the whole thing.

Clean Harder

We are going to a superhero birthday party today. I'm kind of feeling like a villain, but we're going in spite of that. It's not like four year old boys can do anything to villains, anyway. Yesterday, I made a cape for Halle and thought I would save us 5 dollars and a trip to the store by making a bag for the gift. When I was almost finished sewing, I took a break to paint the girls' toe nails. It seemed like a nice motherly thing to do since I hadn't paid a lot of attention to them while I was working on my projects. After the toes were decorated, I went back to the sewing machine to finish up. I smelled something funny.

Jumping up from the machine, I saw that my couch had been murdered. There was bright pink fingernail polish EVERYWHERE, which of course does not come out. Furious, I sent Halle upstairs. (Morgan hadn't had time to make much of a mess, so she skirted most of the wrath.) When I had calmed down, I asked her to come downstairs. I explained that the couch was ruined, that nothing could get out the stains and that was why I was so upset. "Is there anything you would like to say?" I asked.

"Like... maybe you should clean harder?"

That was not the "something" I had wanted. Her blue eyes blinked up at me innocently. "Then maybe you should tell me what I'm supposed to say."

"Sorry. You're supposed to say you're sorry."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Mom."

I'm looking into lacquer thinner today, but it would take Superman to get this out. That's what you get for trying to save 5 bucks. Next time, I'll just buy a bag.

Apple Core, Baltimore

We didn't get a VCR until Blockbuster stopped renting them out in bags. Remember that? During that time, we rented both the VCR and an obscure chipmunk/Donald Duck movie. In it, a chipmunk would eat an apple then say to it's chipmunk buddy, "Apple Core." The other rodent would reply, "Baltimore". Chipmunk 1: "Who's your friend?" Then the second would point out an unlucky pal and the first would hurl his apple core at the "friend". My brothers and I thought this was a spectacular idea and have continued the tradition to this day.

This ritual is so ingrained in our family that sometimes we forget not only how obnoxious it is, but how obscure. I don't think anyone else saw this movie. So when my mom accidentally dropped an apple core into a birthday gift bag for her boss and he found it, she shrugged her shoulders and said, "Apple Core, Baltimore." Not surprisingly, he missed the reference.

I foolishly taught my daughter this game and now it has extended to peas. Much of the dialogue has been simplified: "Peas Porridge, who's your friend?" She doesn't even need an answer. If it wasn't for my black lab, there would be peas everywhere. Those black labs are amazing. Mine is also fat.

Finding Christmas

In six years of marriage, Willie and I have only had two Christmas trees. Every time I put up a Christmas tree, I remember that the stand my mom gave me is only for decoration: it's missing a couple screws and is probably 80 years old (actually, it doesn't have any screws). But it's been three years since we had a tree and just long enough that the stand seemed perfectly capable. We had to have a tree this year because Halle explicitly asked for one last year. The conversation went like this: "Merry Christmas, Halle!"

"No, it's not."

"What do you mean?"

"I looked for Christmas everywhere and can't find it. Can we at least have a tree next year?"

It's hard for me to justify buying Christmas decorations when they cost money and get stored the majority of the year. But, seeing my three year old's disappointment in her parents has fueled my decorating fire. We had to get a tree. And a deer head. 

So I called friends to deliver my tree. After a lot of effort, Chris explained to me that the stand was not going to work and that I would need to get a new one. "But when you get a new one, call us and we'll put it in for you. Don't try to do it yourself."

Of course, after they left I immediately sawed off several more branches and enlisted my four year old to help me in getting it back in the stand. The tree fell on me three times. 

After all that effort, the tree was still a little tilted. But it was in my house and decorated. I would have left it. But my friends called me again, knowing that I would do something stupid and try to fix the stand. They delivered a stand and installed it. The tree only fell on Karen once. Moving a tree around is way more efficient with adults.

I'm hoping that Halle is appeased this year. I know that I, for one, am all ready having a great Christmas. Not only are we celebrating Christ's birth and our rescue from sin and darkness, I have a deer mount. My brothers and husband have all shot deer. I have hunted and captured one as well. I'm sure my family will be very proud.

Hives

The first time I saw Halle break out in hives, it was all over her face and I did a classic mom-freak out. I called the doctor and actually said that I feared for my child's life. I rushed her into the doctor and by the time we sat down in the waiting room, her hives had cleared up. This prompted me to lean over and whisper into my two year old's ear, "itch your face, child. I look like an idiot."

Thus, when her face broke out in hives this week I just pulled out the Benadryl. I won't be fooled again. I still have no idea what causes these hives, but I am sure that if I take her to the doctor to find out, they'll clear right up.

These skin irritations must run in the family because Willie also has had some frightening episodes. His ear, lips, and cheeks have all spontaneously swelled up. The doctor diagnosed him with, "unexplained hives." I could have diagnosed that.

Willie's biggest foe, however, is poison ivy. When we lived in Georgia he broke out in a rash and didn't get rid of it for a YEAR. If someone talks about poison ivy, he breaks out. I, on the other hand, am immune. This greatly aggravates my husband. I like to call it my superpower. He may be cuter, more athletic, smarter, and luckier than I am, but I am immune to poison ivy.

Shushing

I got shushed this week by some old lady at the post office. She was hogging the window because she wanted to fill out some paperwork, which could have been done anywhere else. I was trying to send a large sewing machine across the country. My children were being very good, which never lasts all that long. The second you think to yourself, "I must be doing something right!" all hell breaks loose. Morgan wriggled out of my arms as I signed the credit card slip. "Don't touch anything!" I told her. She immediately went to the packaging supplies to touch all of them. Halle put her in a headlock and started dragging her toward me. Morgan let out a milk curdling scream, causing me to gasp and say, "Oh my!" I grabbed my receipt and the window hog irritably turned her head and shushed me. I would have shushed the kids, but that's just me.

I go in between thinking that I can't wait to be old so that I can be obnoxious and thinking that I hope I'm nice, even if I'm crazy. There was this old guy who used to come into the store I cashiered at during college. He suffered from narcolepsy, which made him very entertaining. He would start digging out money, and fall asleep. After a few snores he usually woke up and finished the transaction. One visit, he fell asleep three times before I could hand him the receipt. But he was very nice.

Another old lady who came into my store asked me to help her out to her car. I happily obliged, asking her which was her car. "I don't know," she said. "You mean, you don't know where you parked?" I clarified. "No," came her reply. "I don't know which is mine. I can't see them. I parked in the front row. It's a blue car," she squinted and meandered around. After settling on a Lincoln, she went on her way. I entered the store, raised my arms and made an announcement. "Nobody leave the store for at least fifteen minutes. There's a lady on the road who is considered blind and dangerous." She was nice, too.

I think I would rather be nice and crazy. That way, even if you don't have an excuse to be obnoxious, you have someone to drive you to the store while you sleep in the checkout line. Sleeping while you shop plus good company. Win/Win.