The Home Team

This guy puts up with a lot of crap. Coming off of what could be describe as "the week that would not die", there he was to take me to dinner. I got one of those drinks with the champagne floating on top.  Vodka and champagne go together like peas and carrots.
The week that would not die, is still not dead and it's already another week. I hereby put a fork in last week. It's done now and time for an afternoon drink with some champagne on top so I can forget about the week that I just ceremoniously killed with a fork.

For Halloween I'd like to be a shrubbery

It occurred to me today that once, A&P really only cared about cookies.  I found this picture of them from preschool. Interestingly, Andrew is on the left. I guess the preschool teacher obeyed my commands. If you don't count me dressing up as a shrub and standing really close to the playground, I never was much of a stalker and more of a dictator.

I remember putting A&P on the bus for their first day of preschool- they were in the "special program" because they didn't speak much of anything that anyone could understand. The people that gave them the assessment just looked at me like I'd totally screwed them up and they were only 3. A&P knew what they were saying. After a lot on unintelligible stuff, things would happen, like they'd rip the blinds off the windows. So don't tell me they're behind, you persnikety preschool assessment people.  I'll never forget hating on them. Not that I'm bitter.

Anyway, I put them on that big old bus to send them to preschool to learn to talk like everyone else (like that's important), unstrapped, just loose to fly all over the place. They had to go over two sets of railroad tracks to get to the school. Part of the way was a divided highway. Some of it was a two lane road with a ditch next to it. Dang you Wood County and your bus eating ditches. (Back before I was worried about the ditches eating the car, I was pretty convinced they could gulp down a cheese wagon.)

A&P hollered and moaned. I gasped and beat my chest like a tribal medicine woman being attacked by a python. It was horrible. I found out later that the neighbors watched the whole thing. Like we were their own personal Telemundo- all the thrashing and wailing but without the priest or the kidnapping or the subtitles.

A&P finally got on that giant bus. They were the only children on it. I ran to my car and I chased that giant bus. I wanted to make sure that if it ran into the ditch I could fish the boys out through the window. Screw the bus driver, she could save herself.  At a stop light, I actually made the mistake of pulling up next to the right side of the bus.  I peered into the bus for a glimpse and to my horror the bus driver opened the door and gave me the "roll down your window, you psycho" sign.  So I did.  "Go to work,"  she said.  And I did. After I fluffed up my shrub costume so I'd be ready for recess.

Is it a Felony if...

One of the benefits of teaching a kid to drive is the full service fill ups. On Monday, I was heading out of town and it only made sense for me to take advantage.  Lucky for me, as soon as we got in the car, a co-worker called me back. I'd been waiting all day to talk to him, so I had to do it then, and I wasn't the one driving, so no harm no foul.  All was well until the kid pulled into the gas station just as some maniac was circling the lot in a big expensive car (something I'd rather not pay for). My child was oblivious to this meandering menace and continued to approach the pump. Sensing impending doom and another deductible to pay (already 2 so far in October), I scream "BRAKE! NOW! DO IT NOW! BRAKE!"

The unsuspecting and now audibly victimized co-worker says "Hey, I can call you back...." No way, I scream. I've been waiting to talk to you all day. "I don't like how this sounds. It sounds dangerous," he says pensively. What? No way.  How could this be anything less than safe- being driven around town by a 15 year old. I do it all the time!

You're too close to the pump, I say. Do it again. Oh MY GOLLY you're going to rip off the mirror. Do it again. OK, that's better. 

The beleaugered co-worker says sheepishly "Hey I made my wife do all the driving with our kids, now I know why." Did your wife end up in rehab? Did she leave you? Do you hate her? Does she have PTSD?

To the kid I say "Take the credit card, fill up the tank." The kid looks at me like I just fell from a rotating, celestial orb and says "I don't remember how." WHAT? I holler like he's just put my clothing on a wire hanger. Just FILL UP MY TANK.  The coworker is again molested and mumbles something about the building being on fire and needing to hang up.  My Eye, it's sponteously combusting.  I continue with call only to see the kid tapping on the window waving the credit card and mouthing "What do I do with this?" He's filling the car all appears OK, but he should not be waving the card so I get out anyway.  Did you put it in the machine? "Um no. " That's a problem. I'm so distracted that we almost commited a fuel drive off while my coworker is burning up in his office.  Did you know the kid's dad is a prosecutor? I'm already on such thin ice with the fam, Jesus, the CIA, the Southern Conference of Evangelical Baptists.

We survived, the tank got filled, we made it home and I spent the week dashing about.  I'm pretty cranky about the dashing so we'll just leave it at that and say that I'm awfully happy to sleep in my own bed occasionally.  The other thing that totally blows about being gone so much is that the boys visibly grow when I'm not paying attention.  And want to drive cars. They used just want french fries. *Sigh* For anyone that knows us, Andrew is on the left.

Owls

Driving has gotten a little easier inasmuch as I don't fear for my life as much as last month. I figured out that drinking first is very helpful and takes the edge off for me as a passenger- like an Ativan before a flight. This was a technique recommended to me by my insurance agent so it's a sanctioned driving lesson strategy.*

Wahoo! Let's get on the expressway to practice lane changes...

Kid: I'm changing lanes and checked the mirror
Me: You'd better look again
Kid: I already looked. You're such a worry wart. Besides, what do you think will happen? Some Fiat will sneak in behind that truck?
Me: Yes and stop swerving when you turn your head because I'll spill this open container.

How does that happen exactly? Turn your head to the left and the car shoots to the right when you rotate the wheel in the same manner as your neck. Problematic for sure when you're speeding along next to a concrete wall. 

Me: *Screaming* You can't do that!
Kid: Do what?
Me: Try to kill us!
Kid: Stop yelling! We're fine! I can explain why I did that!
Me: Explain to me why my drink is in my lap

The other kid has similar issues, but instead of looking over his right shoulder to check before changing lanes- he brilliantly opts to look right and attempt to rotate his head 360 degrees to check the left lane. 

Me: What the hell are you doing?
Kid: You said hell
Me: There's more of that if you don't stop trying to turn your head around backwards. Are you Beetlejuice? An owl?

Me: You just did it again!
Kid: What?
Me: You are not Linda Blair

Me: Turn your head THE OTHER WAY
Kid: Seriously, why do I have to do that. I checked the mirrors
Me: I'm irrational and my drink is on my lap, turn your head
Kid: Holy cow- there's an entire truck with a boat trailer back there
Me: Ta- da!


*Don't send me links to rehab units. Although, on second thought, please do send those, I'll bookmark them for later. Just make sure they're beach front, staffed by Dr Drew and washed up celebrities so I can feel superior in my sickness.