Einie, Mienie, Miney, ...where's Moe...

Einie...

Because we take two cars, head counts are always dicey things. Today I discovered my second son had lagged on getting dressed. I was just about to head out when he showed up dressed for mass, and thus I did a quick text message to make sure I wasn't leaving behind any non sentient beings when we headed out the door. Then I made a run through of the house to double check.

I am haunted by the story of my uncle being left at mass to walk home because his parents took two cars.

Mienie...

Yesterday, my kids helped unpack the car and it was raining. So I made several soggy trips and begged the children to get their things. Putting the baby in the high chair and beginning the process of serving snack, reminding people to put away their things and preparing for homework, I did a head count...where was cupie doll?...

I look outside. Cupie doll is busy splashing puddles. She has taken off her shoes and is wallowing in the glorious rain and mud. The doors to the car on every side are open, allowing the car to experience the same joy as she.

Miney...

My children are the masters of hide and seek on Sunday when I demand my weekly child tribute in the form of one hour of cleaning. Putting on "Enchanted's "Happy Working Song," does help though, as do props.

One daughter will happily scrub all the bathrooms if offered a pair of plastic yellow gloves. My second son willingly weilds the swifter mop. The oldest can be told to vacumn a floor and does it. What happens though, is after I've given out specific tasks,some of the kids view these as the maximum amount necessary to return to DSland or Civ IV or Pokemon or whathaveyou...no...I want my sixty minutes.

I have explained why I need this time before...with exponents and time management, with bribes of bonus allowances for the best worker, and even treats of ice cream on Sunday...and with threats of making it 2 hours if I fail to get my one...still, I was unprepared for the lengths to which one of my children went to ensure she could avoid work.

She is the quiet one. The one who in games of hide and seek can throw a cloak over herself and not be seen. She created a cave. A cave in the back basement. A cave complete with a bean bag pillow, a night light, her DS gameboy, easter chocolate and her. I admit, after combing the house three times, I failed to check behind the stairs of the back basement, though I did search the back for stragglers over at the comics stash...she must have held her breath when I returned a second and third time.

After twenty minutes of increasingly serious searching failed to find her, I felt a slight panic.., I began calling. I summoned the children and they began calling and searching, checking closets and beds and bathrooms I had checked before.

Moe

But a two year old can find anything she wishes. Cupie doll loves playing with her older quiet sister's gameboy, so she naturally went to the back basement, pulled back the covers that made the cave such a lovely hiding place and muscled in a spot on the beanbag with her sister and started poaching the foil wrapped chocolate eggs. I might add, she doesn't bother with such pesky details as unwrapping chocolate. That's a waste of time one could spend chewing chocolately goodness.

After dinner that night, I even peeled a few chocolate kisses as a reward.

Some may have noticed I've used a few older pieces and the tone has been less light as of late. There is a reason.

We are execting our ninth child, a son. This news, while joyful, has been a bit overwhelming to all of us. We also know that he will have Downs Syndrome, but what that will mean remains to be seen. The process of testing and waiting for results has cut into my energy to write and craft and maintain this blog, as has preparing for the Erma Bombeck conference this weekend. I will try to return to my normal chipper sunnier self and if you see that the chocolate for your brain is running more dark than milk, drop me a line, it helps for feedback.

Homeostasis...be it ever so Humble

Author's Note: This is an older piece that never oddly enough, found a home. I hope you enjoy it. --Sherry

We lived in a middle aged home from the time we were a family of six to our most recent child. There were at least 15 projects we could do, caulking, the hole in the kids’ room from that “it wasn’t a fight” incident and replacing the roof of 20 years would be amongst my first of the honey we need to do list. The plaid wall paper I meant to tear down the day I moved in, kept getting put off for that unknown time when we’d have more time. Faulty wiring in the kitchen ceiling made the lights flicker whenever someone upstairs jumped. The bathroom desperately needed some newer color than Colonel Mustard yellow. Given unlimited time and money, I would have worked to make our first home more hip and hospitable, but merely beginning the process often lead to unpleasant discoveries of how much more remained to be done.

We were planning to transform the garage into a master bedroom, surrendering the upstairs to the children. We had a contractor come in to look at the possibilities but discovered the garage had no foundation or footers. It was four walls held up by a roof and no small amount of faith in the seismic stability of Maryland. To do our plan, we’d have to knock down the garage, pour a foundation and add a sizable 50K to our budget.

The bathroom was also on the short list for revising when we discovered the tub was substandard and there was no actual room to use to put in a normal tub unless we wanted to surrender a toilet. The avocado green shrinky dink tub stayed.

When we got serious about repainting the upstairs, we decided to do it ourselves. For the boy’s room, we had chosen white paint with a dark blue trim. My husband and I had been working on the boys’ room for two days when our oldest, then eleven asked if he could help. We agreed and he happily went upstairs without us. Half an hour later, I heard a scream. The scream was one of pure agony from an adult at something unthinkable. Our son had reversed the colors and as such, there was a wide 6 foot large ameoba shaped blue swath across a once white wall, with no small amount of blue speckled on the floor. I took the children out to McDonald’s while my husband did damage control.

We had needed to replace the carpet anyway so this just accelerated the process.

Replacing the yellow smoke filled carpet with hard woods, I discovered that “new stuff” in an old home doesn’t seem to cope well. I never worried about spilt juice with the old carpet, or about mud or much of anything, it was so sad and old it had become useful in that one couldn’t hurt it.

Staring at the pretty white planks of freshly cut wood, I barked at the kids to remove their shoes and made them use sippy cups even if they were over the age of 4. I swept and dust mopped it every day. I was married to the new floor for as long as it screamed “I’m new!” at everything else. Normally, my children provide sufficient abuse to any object to erase that “new” smell within a week. In this case, they showed great restraint and it took over three months. Relief came finally when my two-year-old daughter who loves to draw, found the one permanent marker in the house and used it to play tic-tac-toe on the floors. It stunned me how little I cried. I put away the marker up high and put a coffee table over it, but not before showing her how to draw the line through the three X’s. I didn’t sweep that night. Now I could relax, the floor was part of the family.


As we struggled to maintain homeostasis in our old home we told ourselves, “Our next house will be new.” When we started looking for a bigger home, viewing those gleaming walls and bare rooms in the suped-up McMansions and the soaring prices made me nervous like I was a kid who had entered an antique store. The homes looked like the HOA would fine you if your blinds need dusting.

We finally settled on a gorgeous house that looked as though it had never experienced a stray crayola mark. For a pristine place to become ours it would have to accept the possibility of crayons and fingerprints everywhere. I suddenly felt at least grateful for our old broken-in home that held layers of memories in addition to all the coats of paint and do it yourself wall patches. For all its flaws, that old home could take on my family and my family was equally unafraid of taking on it. Still, we needed to move.

Our new home with it’s brass and crystal chandilliers and Tuscan colors I think sometimes winces as the toddler plays the piano with her bottom or the eight year old sends parachutes down from the second floor and floats homemade spaceships with balloons to the cathedral high ceiling. I hope as it comes to cope with the many sized hand prints that grace it’s walls, it feels more than the grime and residue of my children’s latest snacks, it feels like less of a show pony and more of a home.

Picking the Nominee for the DNC, Some Alternate Venues...

Scores of articles have been written about how letting the process go to the convention floor could cause massive fall out for the Democratic party. Here are a few modest solutions to the current problem of picking the candidate for the job.

Beauty Pageant Method

Okay, We have the candidates and Hillary won the Evening Gown competition hands down but our judges had to concede the swimsuit to Barack…so it comes to the critical personality question. If you were given the nomination, what would you do?


Hillary: “I’d be honored. So very honored. I’m sorry, I’m human. I’d cry. Yes…I’m crying even now, just thinking about it. It would be the most moving experience of my life since those little kids waited on the tarmac for me in Bosnia despite heavy sniper fire.”


Barack: “It would be a sign…a sign that the nation was ready for change. Our world would step forward into the light, and all the past sins of America, brought forth by the evil Republicans and oppressive majorities everywhere, would be righted in that moment. We would as Americans, again have the audacity to hope that people could just make ends meet on $257,000 a year via public service.”


What about Mr. Congeniality? Al Gore: “It’s a good thing they dropped the talent part of this competition…though I am known for my sparkling sense of humor. About the question, what would happen if I were given the Democratic Nomination for the 2008 election…hmmm…well, I’d have to say that the Planet would breathe easy again, knowing Oscar Winning Carbon Credit buying Putting the Salt back in the Earth type people were trying to again be in charge.”


The Iron Candidate

Place the potential presidents in a real work situation on live reality television.

Hillary, you have thirty minutes to draft a speech that will move the majority of Republicans to vote in favor of more taxes. You may use any means necessary but in addition to that, you also must cope with a major Bill First Husband Gaffe where he appeared to come on to the French President’s wife. There is no working phone and the only media outlet availble at the moment is Fox News. Go.

Barack, your proposed policy on health care just got stalled in committee in part because Hillary has lead a charge against you in the Senate, creating massive grid lock on every proposal unless you agree to appoint her Supreme Court Justice. What do you do? Also, your former pastor wants to know when he’s coming to dinner. You may not use esoteric or mystical language in your response.

Deal or No Deal

Someone needs to contact Howie Mandel and see if he’s interested in emceeing the Denver Democratic National Committee Convention. He could bring all fifty of his babettes –and that would make Bill happy, even if his wife lost the nomination.

They could put the remaining super delegate votes in the briefcases and let the two contenders duke it out answering questions and being goaded on to pick which number…do you want briefcase number six…possibly holding a super Super delegate card, allocating 500 votes to you, or the guarantee of briefcase number 42, wherein you’ll find a secure twenty.


It would at least eliminate the possibility of the convention ending in pure riots and chaos with accusations of stealing, if people could just shake their heads, “Man, she should have picked twenty-six. I knew it! The hot blonde always has the best prize!”

imagine how much damage and mischief I could manage if we only had cable...or go to http://www.humor-blogs.com/ to see what people more plugged into popular culture than me can manage...