My children have reached the age - finally - where they no longer follow me from room to room all day long. Instead, they have passed that torch on to the dogs. Now I'm followed from the moment I wake up in the morning by the click click of little nails on the floor as we walk about the house.
Are you going to the potty, Mama? Not by yourself, surely? Do you want me to keep you company?
As I shut the door in the sad puppy's face, I have a moment of guilt before I'm flood with a sense of freedom. It only lasts until I open the door again to be faced with not only the one rebuffed dog, but the rest of his tribe as well. Three pairs of eyes stare reproachfully at me. How dare I do my business without them? Such selfishness.
Are you going to sit on this couch, Mama? I call shotgun!
No, I called shotgun first!
No, me!
Nuh uh! Stupid! I'll bite your face off, you rat-face!
Weiner dog!
Maybe I should have just kept have kids? It's really not any different.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
My Day
I'm going to tell you alllll about my day. You can thank me later.
First, some insights: I don't like this packing business. Nope, not at all. And I've come to the conclusion that we have too much STUFF. Mostly Peter has too much stuff. My stuff is cool. He called me a book whore earlier today, but after packing four boxes of HIS books, let the record show I think the pot is calling the kettle black.
I maybe over=scheduled my day just a bit. I was a little high on my Supermom skills and forgot to figure in stupid drivers. I had a dr's appt for Scotlyn in Covington, followed by a cross country meet in Hammond for Pierson at the exact same time that I was supposed to drop Ainsley off for dance in Franklinton, which is 40 miles away. Then we had Awanas, also in Franklinton. I was rescued by my friend Lori, who kept Ainsley for the afternoon (vacay from Ainie!!!) and took her to dance, so that freed me for everything else.
After the dr appt in which I was told there is no cure for having a teenager, we headed to Hammond on I12. I12 is a bad bad place, in case you ain't from these here parts. It has Louisiana drivers on it. We passed a wreck that had already happened. It was cleared off the road, and traffic was flowing through. We were completely clear of it by several hundred yards, when the idgit two cars in front must have gotten a wild hair to rubber neck around and take a lookie-loo. He/she/it came to a full and complete stop from 60 mph. Car two missed them by inches, and I (car three) missed car two by a foot. I didn't realize how bad it could have been until I saw cars four and five slide past me - sideways - in the median. Looking in the rearview mirror, I saw three more cars skidded at various angles behind me. I've been hankering for a new VW Jetta, but this is not the way I want to get it. And this crazy person in the blue car number one was still sitting there, completely stopped. If only I'd had a gun...
At the cross country meet, Pierson's coach heard me saying that he'd fun a 28 minute 5k. I'm not sure how she overheard me, except maybe how I told everyone. She gave him the hairy eyeball and then a little peptalk about how if he can run three miles in 28 minutes, he can run his one mile quicker than 8 minutes. For crying out loud, he lopes through the race like a giraffe out for a Sunday stroll. When it came time for his race, he was told to run the first 1/2 mile at normal pace, then really give it his all in the second half. She actually expected him to break into a sweat today.
Well, my boy beat his own personal record by 47 seconds and won a medal. And then he came *this close* to puking himself. Now he knows what it means to leave it all on the field, and I don't think he's impressed. *singing* My boy has a medal, my boy has a medal....
Left the race and headed to church. Construction. Dead stand still on the interstate. My life bites. Finally it started moving again and my life quit biting as much. I made it to church, dragged myself up the stairs, yelled at kids to say their verses on patience and fruits of the spirit, picked Ainie up from dance, got milk, came home.
Good night.
First, some insights: I don't like this packing business. Nope, not at all. And I've come to the conclusion that we have too much STUFF. Mostly Peter has too much stuff. My stuff is cool. He called me a book whore earlier today, but after packing four boxes of HIS books, let the record show I think the pot is calling the kettle black.
I maybe over=scheduled my day just a bit. I was a little high on my Supermom skills and forgot to figure in stupid drivers. I had a dr's appt for Scotlyn in Covington, followed by a cross country meet in Hammond for Pierson at the exact same time that I was supposed to drop Ainsley off for dance in Franklinton, which is 40 miles away. Then we had Awanas, also in Franklinton. I was rescued by my friend Lori, who kept Ainsley for the afternoon (vacay from Ainie!!!) and took her to dance, so that freed me for everything else.
After the dr appt in which I was told there is no cure for having a teenager, we headed to Hammond on I12. I12 is a bad bad place, in case you ain't from these here parts. It has Louisiana drivers on it. We passed a wreck that had already happened. It was cleared off the road, and traffic was flowing through. We were completely clear of it by several hundred yards, when the idgit two cars in front must have gotten a wild hair to rubber neck around and take a lookie-loo. He/she/it came to a full and complete stop from 60 mph. Car two missed them by inches, and I (car three) missed car two by a foot. I didn't realize how bad it could have been until I saw cars four and five slide past me - sideways - in the median. Looking in the rearview mirror, I saw three more cars skidded at various angles behind me. I've been hankering for a new VW Jetta, but this is not the way I want to get it. And this crazy person in the blue car number one was still sitting there, completely stopped. If only I'd had a gun...
At the cross country meet, Pierson's coach heard me saying that he'd fun a 28 minute 5k. I'm not sure how she overheard me, except maybe how I told everyone. She gave him the hairy eyeball and then a little peptalk about how if he can run three miles in 28 minutes, he can run his one mile quicker than 8 minutes. For crying out loud, he lopes through the race like a giraffe out for a Sunday stroll. When it came time for his race, he was told to run the first 1/2 mile at normal pace, then really give it his all in the second half. She actually expected him to break into a sweat today.
Well, my boy beat his own personal record by 47 seconds and won a medal. And then he came *this close* to puking himself. Now he knows what it means to leave it all on the field, and I don't think he's impressed. *singing* My boy has a medal, my boy has a medal....
Left the race and headed to church. Construction. Dead stand still on the interstate. My life bites. Finally it started moving again and my life quit biting as much. I made it to church, dragged myself up the stairs, yelled at kids to say their verses on patience and fruits of the spirit, picked Ainie up from dance, got milk, came home.
Good night.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Diva's Diatribe
Mama says I have to write a report on yesterday's field trip. I don't know why. I think it's STUpid. I mean, like, really, it's not like I need to learn anything. I'm pedigreed. If I wanted to know anything, I'd just make one of the grade horses look it up. They're my minions.
Mama decided that because the weather was "so lovely!" (gag) that we were going for a trail ride. She didn't even bother to ask me how I felt about it, like she didn't think my opinion counted. Rude. And, as usual, she invited some strange person to ride with us. At least this time she didn't make the strange person - in this case, Hannah - ride me. I got stuck with Evil Blonde Girl (Scotlyn). Scotti isn't all bad; she feeds me a lot, but personally, I don't think that gives her the right to just throw a saddle on me whenever she feels like it. I have rights. You know why Mama never rides me? Because she has to ride her "sweet boy" (blech, right?) Blitz. He thinks he's so perfect, and he's not even registered. Can you imagine? And Mama just thinks he's sooo wonderful. Pffft, not even!
I got last pick on the saddles too, like I'm the least important horse or something. I got stuck with Daddy's ugly, heavy, roping saddle. I hate that thing! It doesn't fit right and slides around, and it rubs my lovely high whithers. I told Mama I didn't like it when she saddled me, but she just slapped my neck and told me to suck it up buttercup. She didn't even blink when I tried to bite her. Hannah was impressed, at least. She thinks I'm mean. I laid my ears back at her just for fun, and she almost fell backwards trying to get away from me. That was fun.
When it was time to get in the trailer, Mama said Blitz got to go in first. Probably because Blitz is perfect. What am I, chopped liver? Moonshine, the village idiot, got to stand next to him in the front.
"Yay!" She whinnied. "I get to stick my head over the top and my nose go all ..." and she flappled her nostrils like a kite. Like I said, village idiot.
Blitz just stood there without a word, like the king of the horse trailer. Like he deserved to be at the front of the trailer. Like he was king of the stinking trailer.
Next Mama loaded me, right behind him. Great. Blitz does his business in the trailer, like, a lot. Always a pleasant experience. Jane always gets loaded last. Mama says it's because Jane has EDA rights. That's Equines With Disabilities Acts, in case you didn't know. She had a sarcoma on her eye, so instead of paying boatload of money trying to save the eye, Mama and Daddy decided to feed the kids and pay the mortgage instead and *pop* out came the eye. Now we call Jane "Cyclops", but only when Mama doesn't hear us. She's all about being PC.
"Diva Louisa, move your red butt over," Mama said. I didn't like her tone, so I moved my butt over all right. I moved it more to the middle. She stood right behind me (brave or dumb? - you decide) and shoved me the other way. I don't put up with that, fer sure. I lifted my foot and cocked it to let her know she better behave herself or else. "Put your donkey foot down, afore I shove it somewhere unpleasant," she said, giving me another shove.
Oh no she didn't! Did she just call me a donkey?! She did, didn't she? I'm a registered Half Arabian/Half Saddlebred! I am no donkey, I tell you what! I am a National Show Horse, worth like a gajillion dollars. I was so mad at her that I stomped my foot and bit Blitz on the butt. That'll show her. Blitz woke up from his slumber and passed gas right up my nose, and all mama did was shove me again. She didn't even apologize. I will not put up with this treatment. You just wait, she'll get hers.
Once we got out on the trail, things went okay for a while. I like getting away from the house so much that it's worth putting up with people, at least once in a while. And Scotlyn was riding me, and she ain't near as uhhh, hefty...as Mama. That woman nearly makes me swaybacked.
I had to admit it was a pretty day. It would have been perfect, if not for Ainsley sobbing hysterically behind us that she wanted to go back and Mama yelling even louder that nothing was going to happen so shut up already. At least Mama talks to everyone like that, and it's not just me. Except Blitz - she never talks to Blitz like that. He can do no wrong in her eyes. I hate him.
We'd been riding about half an hour when Ainsley's wounded-moose wails took on a shrill quality of the breaking glass type. We all turned to look and saw Jane flop to the ground with Ainsley still on her back, mind you.
"Just step out of the stirrups, Ainie," Mama said. "No sense making a big fuss." She turned to Jane, who was desparately trying to rid herself of the saddle by rolling from side to side and said, "This is really getting old. You're a horse, for crying out loud. A beast of burden. Get up and walk."
"Carry me," Jane whined. "I'm can't go any further. My legs hurt. My back hurts. I have a headache."
And they call me a drama queen?
So Ainsley refused to get back on Jane (go figure) and rode double with Mama on Blitz, while Mama sang his praises about what a good horse he was all the way back to the trailer. Like he was the first horse in the history of the world to ever be ridden double, seriously? Ugh.
This is what I have to put up with. I should be living in an air conditioned stable, attended to by grooms and stable hands, fed a special brand of mash, and have my mane braided daily. Instead, I'm thrown in the pasture with prehistoric horses of limited intelligence and we all have to share one stall, which Blitz gets dibs on. Our feed buckets hang on a fence and we get a scoop of Stock and Stable 12 thrown in it. If I maybe happen to spill it, I'm expected to eat it off the ground. The ground! But ...I get kisses on the nose and scratches behind my ears. Mama usually calls me "pretty girl" when no one is looking.
I guess it's all good.
Mama decided that because the weather was "so lovely!" (gag) that we were going for a trail ride. She didn't even bother to ask me how I felt about it, like she didn't think my opinion counted. Rude. And, as usual, she invited some strange person to ride with us. At least this time she didn't make the strange person - in this case, Hannah - ride me. I got stuck with Evil Blonde Girl (Scotlyn). Scotti isn't all bad; she feeds me a lot, but personally, I don't think that gives her the right to just throw a saddle on me whenever she feels like it. I have rights. You know why Mama never rides me? Because she has to ride her "sweet boy" (blech, right?) Blitz. He thinks he's so perfect, and he's not even registered. Can you imagine? And Mama just thinks he's sooo wonderful. Pffft, not even!
I got last pick on the saddles too, like I'm the least important horse or something. I got stuck with Daddy's ugly, heavy, roping saddle. I hate that thing! It doesn't fit right and slides around, and it rubs my lovely high whithers. I told Mama I didn't like it when she saddled me, but she just slapped my neck and told me to suck it up buttercup. She didn't even blink when I tried to bite her. Hannah was impressed, at least. She thinks I'm mean. I laid my ears back at her just for fun, and she almost fell backwards trying to get away from me. That was fun.
When it was time to get in the trailer, Mama said Blitz got to go in first. Probably because Blitz is perfect. What am I, chopped liver? Moonshine, the village idiot, got to stand next to him in the front.
"Yay!" She whinnied. "I get to stick my head over the top and my nose go all ..." and she flappled her nostrils like a kite. Like I said, village idiot.
Blitz just stood there without a word, like the king of the horse trailer. Like he deserved to be at the front of the trailer. Like he was king of the stinking trailer.
Next Mama loaded me, right behind him. Great. Blitz does his business in the trailer, like, a lot. Always a pleasant experience. Jane always gets loaded last. Mama says it's because Jane has EDA rights. That's Equines With Disabilities Acts, in case you didn't know. She had a sarcoma on her eye, so instead of paying boatload of money trying to save the eye, Mama and Daddy decided to feed the kids and pay the mortgage instead and *pop* out came the eye. Now we call Jane "Cyclops", but only when Mama doesn't hear us. She's all about being PC.
"Diva Louisa, move your red butt over," Mama said. I didn't like her tone, so I moved my butt over all right. I moved it more to the middle. She stood right behind me (brave or dumb? - you decide) and shoved me the other way. I don't put up with that, fer sure. I lifted my foot and cocked it to let her know she better behave herself or else. "Put your donkey foot down, afore I shove it somewhere unpleasant," she said, giving me another shove.
Oh no she didn't! Did she just call me a donkey?! She did, didn't she? I'm a registered Half Arabian/Half Saddlebred! I am no donkey, I tell you what! I am a National Show Horse, worth like a gajillion dollars. I was so mad at her that I stomped my foot and bit Blitz on the butt. That'll show her. Blitz woke up from his slumber and passed gas right up my nose, and all mama did was shove me again. She didn't even apologize. I will not put up with this treatment. You just wait, she'll get hers.
Once we got out on the trail, things went okay for a while. I like getting away from the house so much that it's worth putting up with people, at least once in a while. And Scotlyn was riding me, and she ain't near as uhhh, hefty...as Mama. That woman nearly makes me swaybacked.
I had to admit it was a pretty day. It would have been perfect, if not for Ainsley sobbing hysterically behind us that she wanted to go back and Mama yelling even louder that nothing was going to happen so shut up already. At least Mama talks to everyone like that, and it's not just me. Except Blitz - she never talks to Blitz like that. He can do no wrong in her eyes. I hate him.
We'd been riding about half an hour when Ainsley's wounded-moose wails took on a shrill quality of the breaking glass type. We all turned to look and saw Jane flop to the ground with Ainsley still on her back, mind you.
"Just step out of the stirrups, Ainie," Mama said. "No sense making a big fuss." She turned to Jane, who was desparately trying to rid herself of the saddle by rolling from side to side and said, "This is really getting old. You're a horse, for crying out loud. A beast of burden. Get up and walk."
"Carry me," Jane whined. "I'm can't go any further. My legs hurt. My back hurts. I have a headache."
And they call me a drama queen?
So Ainsley refused to get back on Jane (go figure) and rode double with Mama on Blitz, while Mama sang his praises about what a good horse he was all the way back to the trailer. Like he was the first horse in the history of the world to ever be ridden double, seriously? Ugh.
This is what I have to put up with. I should be living in an air conditioned stable, attended to by grooms and stable hands, fed a special brand of mash, and have my mane braided daily. Instead, I'm thrown in the pasture with prehistoric horses of limited intelligence and we all have to share one stall, which Blitz gets dibs on. Our feed buckets hang on a fence and we get a scoop of Stock and Stable 12 thrown in it. If I maybe happen to spill it, I'm expected to eat it off the ground. The ground! But ...I get kisses on the nose and scratches behind my ears. Mama usually calls me "pretty girl" when no one is looking.
I guess it's all good.
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