Daily Diatribes

I awoke this morning with an insanely itchy spot on my lower, left buttock. I immediately began scratching and, upon further investigation, discovered what seemed to be a large welt forming there. I rushed downstairs to get a second opinion.

I went into the kitchen and stopped to scratch furiously. My husband strolled in, tried to hug me, looked in my eyes and said sweetly “Happy Anniversary. I bought donuts to celebrate!”

I looked into his eyes, then turned around and dropped my drawers. “What the hell is on my butt?” We’ve been married for 17 years; romance is dead. Although it’s very sweet that he tried!!

He looked at the offended spot and said “looks like something bit you. Take some Benadryl.”

For a moment, my world went fuzzy. “Something bit you” means that it was an insect of some sort. Which means that deep in the night, while I was slumbering innocently in my bed, a horrible demon insect launched a stealth mission. It crawled up the leg of my pajama pants, infiltrated the elastic band of my panties and took a chomp out of my buttock. I had been violated. And not in a good way.

I pulled myself together and continued to scratch as I searched for the topical Benadryl. Then I went into the bathroom to get a mirror and take a look myself. Sure enough, a large, red welt radiated out from a central bump. I had been well and truly chomped.

The sheets are coming off the bed today. The floors are being vacuumed. Large cans of Raid are being procured. I am going to sit up tonight and meet my cowardly foe face to face. No devil bug is going to take me by surprise tonight!! I am going to spray the little sucker right out of existence!! And Tuesday, the bug man is going to get a nasty phone call from me. If bugs are able to bite me on the butt in the night, they are not being controlled by the pansy ass chemicals he is using. “Bring out the Agent Orange,” I say. “Environment be damned!! This is WAR!!”

My neighbor fell down the stairs and broke her ankle. Shattered it is a more apt description and she has a significant amount of hardware holding it together. She is not allowed to put any weight on it at all for eight weeks. I would feel sorry for her, but the perks of this little accident are amazing.

I live on a street full of do-gooders. My neighbors are lovely, Christian people, intent on loving their neighbors to the utmost. And showing up the rest of us in the process. I love my neighbor (hey Barbara!!!). I love her a lot. But I can’t love her nearly as well as the damn boy scouts on the rest of the street can.

Honestly, it’s turned into a battle of goodwill and Barbara is most certainly the winner. We are talking stealth missions to deliver casseroles and pitched battles to see who can render the most service. Me, I offered to buy some M&M’s for her. It’s the little things that count!!

First, the new neighbors rushed over with a loaf of homemade bread and some homemade jam. Right away, that knocks the rest of us out of competition for a couple of weeks. Who can top homemade jam made with handpicked strawberries? And this from the high powered career couple with three children! Here I am, stay at home mom, slogging through the daily grind of Mob Wars and Pogo and I have nothing to bring. Me and the Little Drummer Boy are two peas in a pod. Maybe I can go over and bang a bongo for her.

The next day, Nancy rushed over to pull the garbage can down only to find Eric (new neighbor) had already done it. “How early did he get up?” she wondered in chagrin, she herself having rushed over at 6:30 to accomplish the same task. She called me that afternoon to see if the garbage had run b/c she wanted to beat Eric to the punch and pull the can back up the hill. I thought it had and told her so and she was beside herself. She rushed over only to discover I was mistaken. She was dismayed, worried Eric would get there before her. Actually, I sent the blonde goddess over to do it, just to really irritate Nancy.

Today, I called Nancy to see if she wanted to go to lunch and she’s at Barbara’s and has already mowed the lawn and moved on to cleaning the house. Hey Nancy, why don’t you go ahead and paint the house and re-shingle it too!! I still haven’t even bought the freakin’ M&Ms!!

I am going right now to drink a gallon of vodka and then I am going to fall down the stairs and break my ankle. Then I will have the neighbors fighting over me too!! I can probably get my carpets cleaned and my walls painted without ever lifting a finger. Of course, with my luck, I’ll probably land on my head and become a terminal vegetable and never get to fully enjoy the fruits of their labors!!

It rained all day Saturday. We were supposed to drive to Mobile for a soccer game that day, despite the hurricane approaching the coast. The powers-that-be finally recognized late Friday afternoon that the hurricane was in fact, not going to do a 360 and head in another direction, so they canceled the game. Leaving me with an open day. Masochist that I am, I offered to take the blonde goddess to the movies. I was going to take MA, but she threw a temper tantrum of such epic proportion, it’s a wonder she’s still alive.

The goddess had been begging to see “WALL E” all summer, but with one thing and another, we had not made it. This was the perfect day to go. We invited her friend to go with us. The friend had a tonsillectomy on Tuesday and was about to tear down the walls of her house, so I thought it would be nice to get her out for a bit.

We arrived at the movies, got our tickets and then stood in an insanely long line to get popcorn. The line was so long that we entered the theater fifteen minutes after the start time. For once, though, management actually understood the problem and the movie hadn’t started. It didn’t start for another ten minutes, but when it did, there were no previews and no ads. Thank you Carmike!!

The movie was cute, but the company….hmmm….the company. It’s allergy season here in the Deep South (when is it NOT allergy season here???) and both girls were sniffling. I turned to ask the friend if she wanted a tissue and caught her in the act. Yes, I was at the movies with a Nose Muncher.

I have an extremely strong stomach. I almost became a nurse and I have cleaned up just about every human by-product you can name. I fearlessly handle vomiting children and dirty diapers. There’s not much that gets to me. Except mucous. I have a deep, abiding horror of snot. It’s too disgusting for words. And it’s why I could never teach kindergarten. Stick me in a classroom full of nose munchers and I’ll stick a pin right in my eye.

Of course, once I became aware of her ’snacking’ I couldn’t block it out of my mind. I tried shielding my eyes and hunching toward the left, but I could do nothing to block the image out of my mind. She was nose munching. Three feet from me. It was horrific.

And then, to top it all off, the toddler behind me started wailing. Here’s how I feel about toddlers at movies: they do not belong there at all. Any child under the age of three is not capable of sitting still long enough to watch an entire movie, so leave it at home. This one was somewhere between 18 months and two which is entirely too young to be at the theater.

Well, he starts wailing and his mother starts negotiating with him. “Hush right now,” she warned him, “or we’ll leave. I mean it.” Ok, I thought, what are you waiting for??? Go now!!! Who tries to reason with a screaming toddler in a crowded theater?? There’s no reasoning at all. Pick him up and get out so the rest of us can get our $7.00 worth. It’s terrible that you wasted your money, but that’s what you get for going out in public with a toddler. Live and learn!!

She sat there for five minutes, trying to get the kid to shut up and I was starting to develop a twitch. The kind of twitch that requires every muscle in your body to resist. The kind of twitch that makes you want to stand up in a crowded movie theater and scream “TAKE YOUR DAMN KID AND GET OUT BEFORE I MAIM YOU WITH MY STRAW”!!! Not only is it not illegal to scream this in a crowded theater, it actually gets you some sort of civic award. I’m sure of it.

Finally, she got up, gathered the rest of her party and left. And this is what made it really hilarious to me. If you haven’t seen the movie “WALL E”, it’s a satiric look at where our society is headed if we don’t get our act together. The earth has been trashed and everyone has been shipped up to outer space to live until earth is cleaned up. And everyone in space is morbidly obese and they zoom around in little hover craft thingys. The lady that got up to leave (with her screamer!!) was on the heavier side of chunky, as was the rest of her family. Out they filed with their super size cokes and popcorns clutched in their fat little fists. One wonders if they caught the irony!!

Once they left, the rest of the movie flew by. I was able to keep my eyes averted from the snacking beside me and did not vomit in my popcorn bucket. And I am done with G-rated movies for now!! Anyone else want to come and take the goddess to see “Beverly Hills Chihuahua”?

I am thinking about pursuing a job with my local sanitation crew. I feel I will get more respect and appreciation picking up the garbage of strangers than I do picking up my own family’s crap. There is no glory to being a stay at home mom. The salary sucks. The perks are few. The bonus structure is non-existent. Not once has upper management approached me and said “we’re really impressed with how you’ve been handling the toilet bowl stains lately; we’d like to offer you a raise and here’s a hefty cash bonus just to say thank you for what you do.” As vivid as my imagination is, I am unable to picture that ever happening.

This week I have done endless loads of laundry. I have folded said laundry and put it away. I have piled and re-piled the same shoes over and over again. I have cooked breakfast, fixed lunches and cooked dinner every night this week. And I am feeling strangely unappreciated.

Yesterday, MA wanted me to fix her biscuits for breakfast. She asked me the night before and then reminded me in the morning. Unfortunately, she reminded me as I was purchasing another grenade launcher for my mob and her reminder did not penetrate my gray matter. Subsequently, fifteen minutes later, while I was sitting on the sewer having my morning, post-bus chat with Nancy, MA opened her bedroom window and hollered “YOU DIDN’T FIX MY BISCUITS!! THANKS A LOT MOM!!!” Nancy gave me a look that implied I was somewhat less than the perfect mother. Nancy would NEVER forget to fix the biscuits!! However, this morning she forgot to pack her daughter’s water bottle and was subjected to the same scathing disdain from her daughter. Our daughters’ not only share a name, they share an ATTITUDE!!!

I went into the house, feeling a bit badly about the lack of biscuits, since she had actually asked me to make them a couple of times. I tried to fix them before she left for school. Unfortunately, they did not get done in time and she nearly missed the bus and still didn’t get a biscuit. I had two though and they were delicious. There’s always a silver lining!!

Meanwhile, Napoleon was sitting at the table trying to get homework done. I was sitting with him, reading the paper and eating my delicious biscuits. At one point, he looked up at the clock and muttered the time and then went back to his work. I wasn’t paying attention. Suddenly Hugo screeched “YOUR BUS IS HERE!!!”

Napoleon looked at the clock in disbelief and said “It can’t be here; it’s too early!!”

The shouting jolted me from the comics and I looked up and said “Oh, that clock is slow.”

“OH THANKS MOM,” he screamed at me. “I’M GONNA BE LATE!!!!” Again, my fault. I am the maker of the biscuits. I am the finder of lost things. I am the keeper of the time. And I am responsible for the misfortune of every child in this house. It’s all me. I admit it.

He almost missed the bus, but God was smiling upon me and the driver waited. I then savored the quiet of the house all day, reveling in the absence of blame but aware on some level that all those people would return and the blame game would start again. They always come back. Always.

Because I am a good sort of wife and mother, I try to cook when I can. That afternoon, I investigated the pantry and freezer and finally I decided to make a nice pan of chicken and rice for dinner. Did I say I was a good cook? Because I’m not a good cook. And I am particularly bad at cooking chicken!! I assembled the casserole and popped it in the oven. When it was done, I called the family for dinner. And the complaints began.

“What is that???” the goddess whined.
“It’s rice,” I said. “You like rice. Shut up and eat it.”
“I don’t like this kind of rice,” she moaned. “What’s in it??”
“Dog hair. Now eat it before I shove it down your throat!”
“Why do I have to eat it?? I don’t like it??”
I am ashamed of this, but it came out of my mouth before I could stop it. “THERE ARE PLENTY OF LITTLE CHILDREN IN THE WORLD WHO AREN’T GETTING DINNER TONIGHT AND THEY WOULD LOVE YOUR RICE. SO EAT IT!!!!!” Oh how far the mighty have fallen!! A spiritualist probably would have been very sensitive to the ghost of my dead mother, hovering in the room and speaking through me. I’m sure that’s what it was!!

However, the goddess subsided and began eating the corn and picking at the rice. Then she took a bite of the chicken, looked at me contemptuously and said “This is tough.”

Well THANK YOU Julia Frickin’ Child!!! Those were the exact words that came out of her mouth, as if she were in training to be someone’s mother-in-law. See if I cook her a turkey this Thanksgiving; I’m sure the Butterball will not be perfect enough for my little domestic goddess!!

On Sunday, I am going to scour the want ads. Surely I can find a job where I will be appreciated for my many talents and I will be well compensated. Then I can hire a maid, a cook, a chauffeur and a butler to replace me at the house. It would take a whole team of highly skilled, well paid people to provide the services to my family that I currently provide for free!!!

Napoleon is quite the busy high school sophomore these days. He is in the symphonic band and also the show choir. Most nights, he is not home before 6:30 and two nights a week, it’s 9:00. With MA playing soccer, I have to say I am ready for another driver in the house. Fortunately, one of Napoleon’s good friends is willing to drive him home after choir practice.

Donald is a sweet kid who reminds me of a great big chocolate lab puppy. He throws his arms around me enthusiastically whenever he sees me, hugging me like I am his long lost best friend. Then he wants to be fed. Thankfully, he doesn’t shed in the house and I haven’t caught him lifting his leg to spray.

Oh, and Donald is black. I am only mentioning this because of the conversation that occurred in my kitchen tonight. Yesterday, five hispanic men were discovered dead in an apartment, with their throats slit. It has been on everyone’s minds. Napoleon and Donald were talking about it in my kitchen tonight when the conversation took a slightly surreal turn.

Napoleon was fretting about getting his throat cut and Donald said “There are Mexican gangs but no one knows about them,” somewhat ominously.
“You’re not going to get your throat cut,” I said in exasperation. “At least not by a Mexican gang,” I muttered to myself.

“Tell you what,” Donald said to Napoleon, “a Mexican shows up in your room tonight, just call me and I’ll translate for you.” He thumped his chest proudly. “I’m taking Spanish 2!” Oh there you go, that ought to stop those killers cold!

I managed to restrain myself from pointing out that, as Donald lives several miles away, the phone call would likely not reach him in time for him to translate whatever the switchblade wielding Mexican was saying. I held my silence.

Napoleon chirped up and said “No, I know what I’ll say: ‘la megra la megra’”!!

I was sitting right next to him, so I heard him clearly, but Donald was standing across the room and didn’t quite hear what he said. I saw him stiffen and his posture changed a bit like he was offended.

“Oh yeah, yell out “THE NEGRO”, he said, puzzlement mixing with the beginnings of anger on his face.

I started laughing because he looked so pissed off. Napoleon gave him a bewildered look and said “Not THE NEGRO….LA MEGRA….you know, BORDER PATROL!!!!”

Donald’s face cleared up and he agreed enthusiastically that yelling Border Patrol might be a more effective means of preventing throat cutting. I just shook my head. My racist son has a gift for digging ditches that are deep and wide. I need to send him to the border so he can dig to his heart’s content!!

Yesterday we had to drive MA downstate so she could play in a soccer game. Just one game. Not quite three hours in the car to play the one game. It was a LONG day!

It was a long day made even longer by my family’s abominable music choices. If I am in the car alone, I either listen to Flight 26, which is an alt rock station or Laugh USA which is nothing but snippets of stand up comedy routines. I can listen to Laugh USA for hours, belly laughing all the way.

My husband, however, prefers easy listening. He got in the car yesterday and turned the dial to XM 23, The Heart. This is the satellite radio equivalent of A.M. Gold. Within minutes, I felt myself slipping perilously close to a diabetic coma.

We started out with that classic by Lionel Richie “Penny Lover”. Just what IS a penny lover?? Could it be the theme song of the Numismatic Society?? I just know that, next to “Dancing on the Ceiling”, it’s one of the most ridiculous songs ever penned. Walk on by Penny Lover, because this song sucks!!

We segued from there into “Cherish” by Kool and the Gang. Let me tell you, I loved that song when I was 13!! I thought it was soooooooooo romantic!!! At age 39, it’s lost some of its luster. I love the prayerful sequence ‘and if you receive your calling/before I awake/can I make it through the night??’ Obviously, Kool’s calling was NOT as a lyricist. And if he was singing that in my ear, he wouldn’t make it through the night because I would bludgeon him with the radio.

Next up was “All Out of Love” by Air Supply. Here is an embarrassing revelation: I own a cd of Air Supply’s greatest hits. I believe I bought it in the 1980’s as part of a Columbia House music promotion. Or when I was still snorting crack. Regardless, the opening line puzzles me: ‘I’m lyin’ alone/with my head on the phone/thinkin’ of you till it hurts…” Um yeah, dude, your head hurts because IT’S ON THE PHONE!!!! Get up, get a spine, get a life and MOVE ON!!! Yes, she left you for the big haired drummer from Poison. Thirty years later, he’s STILL cooler than you. Deal with it.

Then came that powerful love ballad by Klimaxx “Always”. Even as a teenager, I was deeply perturbed by the spelling of the group name. And let me assure you that ‘come with me my sweet/let’s go make a family’ is not a great pick up line. Personally, I would run SCREAMING in the other direction!! ‘Come on baby, I want to knock you up’ is not the way to a girl’s heart.

Finally, MA persuaded him to change the channel. Which was good since I was close to clawing out my eyes or gouging my ear drums with a pen. Hugo grumpily changed the station to XM 20 on 20. On this station, people call in and vote every hour for their favorite songs and the station plays them. The vast majority of the playlist is rap songs about having sex with pole dancers. The first song that came on was “Lollipop”. Even though I can’t understand the majority of the words, I GET IT!! Hmmmm, what anatomy could he possibly be referring to?? Great, let’s encourage my 13 year old daughter to become a pole dancing, oral sex crazed maniac. TURN THE HEART BACK ON!!!!

By the end of the night, I was ready for a good rousing chorus of “We All Deserve to Die”. It seemed a fitting tribute to the people in the car with me. Instead, as we coasted close to home, “Faithfully” by Journey was playing. The lyrics in my head were swirling around: “THEY SAY THAT THE ROAD AIN’T NO PLACE TO START A FAMILY BUT COME WITH ME MY SWEET LICK MY LOLLIPOP AND LET’S GO START A FAMILY AND I’M FOREVER YOURS IF I MAKE IT THROUGH THE NIGHT….” Yeah, my head is a scary place to be!!!

Yesterday we were watching Olympic Men’s Soccer. Napoleon was snuggled up with me and MA was sitting with her daddy. So peaceful. So familial. But tranquility is always in a state of flux around here. 

“I’m going for the black guys,” Napoleon announced. We had been unable to decipher the country codes at the top of the screen, so we weren’t sure who was playing. It was CIV versus AUS. We were pretty sure AUS was Australia and not Austria. I don’t think Austria is known for its soccer players!

“That’s racist,” MA snapped. “Why do you have to say that?”

Napoleon threw his hands in the air, looking wounded. ”How is that racist?” he asked in a tone of injured innocence. “They’re black. I’m just saying….”

“Shut up Napoleon,” she said.

“I’m going for the green team,” said Hugo mildly. The green team was composed of the black players. Goody two shoes.

 ”That sounds much better,” said MA approvingly. 

We watched for a few minutes. “Man, those guys are so fast!!” Napoleon said admiringly.

“You’re such a racist,” MA said angrily.

Napoleon looked at her protestingly. “WHAT?” he said. “They’re FAST! And they’re good at soccer! I mean, what else do they have to do in Africa? Try not to get malaria and play soccer, that’s about it!”

“SHUT UP!!!!!!” she screamed back.

I went outside and drained a bottle of vodka. And swore off the Olympics right then and there. The Olympic games may promote peace and harmony in other parts of the world, but in my house it promotes all out warfare! Oh, and the black guys beat the white guys, 1-0!! I guess dodging the malaria-bearing mosquitoes pays off in the end!!  And CIV means “Cote D’Ivoire”, although those players were ebony, not ivory. Damn, now I’M a racist!!!!

My son attained the rank of Eagle Scout last night and I am so proud I could burst!! It seems like only yesterday he was a Tiger Cub and we were contemplating whether to put him on Ritalin or have him institutionalized. Fortunately, we did not have to choose either option and today he is an amazing young man, well on his way to accomplishing whatever he wants to accomplish.

 Our trip to the church, where the review was held, was a bit dicey. Napoleon, the prospective Eagle Scout, chomped the goddess’s finger on the way there, causing her to vocally attain decibel levels previously not reached by any human. Then he blamed her for it. ”It was her fault mom,” he said earnestly. “She usually moves her finger before I bite it.” Well there you go. Red Riding Hood was responsible for her own rape and the goddess was responsible for her own finger amputation. I gnashed my teeth a lot and finally said “Please. Don’t. Bite. Your. Sister.” Why do I have to verbalize these things to my 15 year old????

His Board of Review, where he is interrogated by various adults regarding his Eagle project, his enthusiasm for scouting and a hundred or so other questions, went without a hitch. At dinner afterward, our friend Tom, who was on the committee, said Napoleon sat down like a 30 year old and talked to those adults like they were old friends. Wisely, during the review, he did not bring up his attempts at cannibalizing his younger sister on the way to the proceedings. Smart kid!!!

Today, I am going to the scout shop to get one of those bumper stickers that says “I’m Proud of My Eagle Scout.” Because I am!! I know I am in the home stretch of my life as his primary influence and caretaker, but I feel secure knowing he is equipped to take the world by storm. Well, if he can restrain himself from chomping off fingers!!

How lucky can one person be? My husband was off work today and my 8 year old niece has been with us all day. So much for my back to school partying!!

When my husband is home, he usually spends the day stalking around, asking me questions. We are still looking for the key to the safety deposit box. I believe it’s gone to that great keyhole in the sky, but Hugo is still hoping it will turn up miraculously. Such child-like faith is truly inspiring.

However, good news on the cash front! Remember he also lost the $50? Well, he has a very bad, nasty habit of stacking crap on available surfaces. When it towers to an unstable height, I generally go through it and get rid of 98% of it. He stacks it on the fireplace mantle, which makes me crazy because ours is very tall and I can’t see the top of it. He stacks it on the kitchen table, the dining room table and any table that is not actually designed to hold his crap. Then he wonders why his stuff goes missing. Um, because you leave it all over the place doofus??

Today, I decided to check the top of his dresser, also abnormally tall and stacked high with his boy scout paraphernalia and several inches of dust. And I had a premonition. In this vision, I saw that he had placed the money up there and then stacked crap on top of it!! Sure enough, underneath all the boy scout badges, I found the money. And being a good wife, I did what any woman would do: snatched it up and stuck it in my wallet. Hey, he’s already forgotten about it! And in this case, I say ‘finders keepers’! Don’t stack your crap up and you won’t lose your cash!! I need to embroider that on a pillow!

That made putting up with his endless questions about his missing key totally worth it. Every time he asked me, I would smirk silently and think “yup, I’m fifty dollars richer than you sucker” but would quietly say I had not seen the key recently and accept fault. While mentally spending my fifty dollars!! Hee hee!!

We took the niece to lunch and while we were there, his phone rang. By the time goober picked it up, squinted at the display and then tried to verify the number with me, the caller had disconnected. I looked at the caller ID and realized immediately it was one of the schools’ calling. This is why women care for the young. We are able to recognize things like school numbers.

I tried and tried to call back, but with no luck whatsoever. Finally I called Nancy and sure enough, MA was calling because she was sick. Nancy, being the absolute angel she is, dropped her hoe and ran in from the cotton fields to go pick MA up from school. (Ok, it wasn’t actually a cotton field, but I liked the way it sounded!!) MA had thrown up at school and had to come home. My day is only getting better!! I love you Nancy!!

On the plus side, I have joined a mob on Facebook. Gina (not her real name) invited me to join and I figured I would give it a try. And it’s strangely exhilarating. I get to mug people and rob liquor stores from the comfort of my own computer. Yesterday, Napoleon called me and wanted me to pick him up from school. “Hold on,” I told him, “I have to finish this hit. I am saving up to buy a Crown Vic so I can deal drugs.” He just sighed. What, did I ever claim to be June Cleaver????

Alright, the bus is almost here. Hope everyone has a great weekend!! I’m off to rob a convenience store!

Today has been a perilous day, a day of hair-raising escapes and terrifying brushes with death. A day so frightening I’m not sure I will ever recover my former blase attitude about life. Today, I took my teenagers to the mall. And I let my teenage son drive us there.

School starts tomorrow and I put off back to school shopping until the bitter end. I knew Napoleon needed new shoes, what with the fog of putrescence enveloping his feet everywhere he went, but I held my nose and kept putting off the task. I knew MA needed new, wispy cotton t-shirts, bargain priced at slightly less than the average mortgage, but I kept avoiding it. But today was reality day. The bus is coming tomorrow and the children MUST be on it. So off we went to the mall.

Driving with Napoleon is slightly less frightening than it used to be. He no longer hugs the curb, trying to mow down mailboxes. Now he’s too comfortable and he thinks he knows more than me. He roars up to stop signs and slams on the brakes at the last possible moment. I sit in the passenger seat trying to brake for him and not succeeding. I think a passenger side brake should come standard on every new car. Even if it’s not hooked up at least I could have the illusion of control. But we went to the mall with him in the driver’s seat and me clutching my rosary, trying not to put my foot through the floor of the car and praying fervently that we would arrive alive.

Astonishingly enough, we got there safely. Our first stop was the men’s shoe department to buy his shoes. Here’s something that amazes me about my kids. I will buy them just about anything they want, within reason. I am pretty indulgent, which tends to drive my husband insane. Because when I was their age, I really didn’t know I could ask for things, so I never had anything really cool or stylish. I was awkward that way. Actually, I still am!! So if they want it and I can afford it, I will buy it.

There we are in the shoe department and I am trying to steer him toward the nice looking athletic shoes. He immediately fixates on a pair of black New Balance tennis shoes that I had mentally termed “geezer wear.” “These are awesome,” he raved.

“What?” I asked in disbelief. “Dude, those scream ‘my social security check just arrived’”!!!!
“Well, I like them,” he said obstinately. Nothing would change his mind and ten minutes later we left, the proud owners of Grandpa Munster’s sneakers. Next on the list was a trip to Hollister for MA to spend her gift card. Which she left in the car, something we discovered after the fact. I hate Hollister. The music is always blaring at 350 decibels. It smells because they squirt their stupid perfume all over the store trying to entice you to buy it. The store is almost completely dark and you can’t see the shelves until you run into them. The average t-shirt costs $25, even though it was made in Thailand by a three year old factory worker and cost $.12 to make. And let’s not even talk about the vulgar advertising. We did manage to score a pair of jeans on sale and one tiny t-shirt. And I only spent $120 in there….woo hoo life is GOOD!!!

This whole time I was completely annoyed by the two of them. When they weren’t belittling each other, they were bothering me. They walked way too close to me and kept touching me. They were totally invading my personal space. By the time we got to the shoe store to buy shoes for MA, I was ready to snap. Thank God I didn’t have the goddess along or tonight’s headline would have read “MOTHER SNAPS AND SLAUGHTERS CHILDREN IN LOCAL SHOPPING MALL.” It wouldn’t have been so bad if they would have just given me some breathing room, but that was too much to ask.

We finally finished up and headed out to meet my mother in law for lunch. She had the goddess and her cousin and they had been out shopping as well. We went to Chipotle Grill, where I ordered the two girls each a cheese quesadilla. They were really small and the girls devoured them quickly. So I gave them a five dollar bill and told them to go order two more. I wasn’t sure if it would be enough money, so Napoleon handed over a ten dollar bill. The girls did beautifully, ordering their food and paying for it. As the goddess headed toward me, I noticed she was clutching four one dollar bills and some change. This gave me a bad feeling. “Um, where’s Napoleon’s money?” I asked.

She smiled radiantly and said “I put it in the bowl.” The bowl in question was the tip jar. She had just tipped the Chipotle staff ten bucks on a $1.39 ticket. I went up there and fished out the ten and replaced it with a one dollar bill. Yes I did. “You guys are great,” I said as I fished, “but I need this back.” They were very nice, but had they been REALLY nice, they would have stopped a seven year old from putting in a ten dollar bill in the first place!! The goddess was completely embarrassed and burst into tears and had to be comforted. I was very ready to go home.

So we got in the car to begin our journey home with Napoleon behind the wheel. I was a little nervous about guiding him through rush hour traffic but I feel like the more practice he gets, the better he will do when he finally gets his license. He started out pretty good. Until we got to the end of the parking lot. He turned left into traffic, which was fine, but he turned in front of two cars, leaving him no way to get over to the correct lane. I sighed and said “know what you’re actually doing before you commit. Go up to the light and turn right; we’ll take the interstate home.” Cue the dramatic music!!! His first time on the interstate!! And did I take pictures?? Hell no, I was too busy fearing for my life!!!

He turned on to I459 beautifully, which is not too surprising considering there is only one way to get on the ramp. And he didn’t have to merge at the end of the ramp which was great. He just stayed in the lane and I explained to him how to watch the signs so he would know in which lane to be. The problem came when he exited on to I65. It’s a very short merging lane. And no one EVER lets you merge. When they see you trying to merge, they speed up so they can beat you. Idiot drivers. And of course, that’s what happened.

He tried to merge, the guy sped past him and another car was right on the heels of it. Napoleon, instead of merging left, tried to turn right onto the shoulder. “GODDAMMIT WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?????” I screamed hysterically. Not one of my finer moments. “I can’t get over,” he screamed back. “WELL DON’T TURN ONTO THE SHOULDER!!! MERGE!!!! MERGE!!!!!!!!!”

He merged and we got onto the interstate without any loss of life. Or loss of bladder control. When my breathing returned to normal, I tried to explain what happened and what he should have done. And apologized for my use of profanity. It was all good. Until we turned down the final road toward home. This road is very hilly and has three stop signs. He roared up to the first one and slammed on the brake.

“Don’t do that,” I snarled through clenched teeth.

“Oh, I was on a hill and you have to stop like that,” he said breezily.
“No, you don’t actually,” I muttered, feeling 1000 years old and exhausted beyond belief. As we coasted down the next hill, we saw a kid running on the side of the road. By this point I had lost all reason and I screamed “slow down son, slow down and pull to the RIGHT!!” Bad idea, as the young jogger was on the RIGHT SIDE OF THE CAR!!!

“What are you trying to do mom, get me arrested for vehicular homicide?” he asked in a very serious tone. That broke through some of the tension and we managed to laugh, sailing past the jogger without mutilating him with the big ass Suburban. We pulled into our driveway and I came into the house looking for liquor. All I can say is THANK GOD SCHOOL STARTS TOMORROW!!!!!!!!