The Estrogen Avenger
Here I sit, blogging a day early. Ahead of schedule? How is that even possible, you ask? Well it's not. I'm doing this now as a means of escape since I have piles of laundry waiting and packing that needs to be completed. Plus it has the added bonus of putting me in the same room as the munchkins, who as a result of the lunar cycle (or lack of sleep or change in routine or some other random crap) run extreme risk of needing hospitalization due to rough play this evening. And being a fantastic multitasker I am able to referee and type simultaneously. If only I could add in the laundry I'd be one happy chick.
Laundry and packing. Every mom's dream come true. And the only real benefit of laundry and packing? That's right, travel. This Momma is out of here on Monday, gone for a week of gang training in southern California. And my own testosterone gang? Left to their own devices. But no, not really, I'm not that cruel. I have tagged in the grandparents and Auntie for daycare since as another fluke of piss poor planetary alignment our daycare is ALSO closed next week. A normal mom would panic. Not this one. Sure, my ulcer is flaring up to levels which may actually result in me belching flames, but since that would actually confirm the little storyI told my boys about being part dragon and capable of smelling fears and lies and eating innocent damsels in distress I could make that work too.
Next weeks blog should be a real doozy, being as the grandparents had the boys for a day and a half this week which resulted in my five year old sitting in bed, wide eyed in horror describing the shark movie Grandpa let him watch where people's arms and heads got bitten right off! And as I reflected on exactly how I was going to get even, I was able to also reflect on a long list of pranks which needed avenging. And since my five year old has started referring to me as the Black Widow since the cop took him to see the actual Avenger movie, I'm feeling up to the task.
It's no secret that my seriously deranged sense of humor comes from my father. Although sometimes the man lacks filters, to say the least. There was a time when I was about six and he let me go to a bathroom at a gas station alone, then moved the car around the corner to watch when I came out and thought they forgot me. There was the time when I was eight and he let me watch Psycho, then hid under my bed with nylons pulled over his head and jumped out as I nodded off. There was the roommate he cost me in college by convincing her via telephone that she had been exposed to a dangerous chemical reaction and would need to be evacuated (she was laying in bed with a wet handkerchief on her face waiting for rescue for a while...and then decided we might not be the best fit...) And this, folks, is a seriously condensed list.
But revenge, it's been relatively easy since my dad seems to be pretty easily mortified for such a long term prankster. My Irish dad helped raise four girls under the tutelage of his English wife, who was able maintain a relatively calm household which may have been overrun by estrogen but rarely, if ever resulted in her having to yell any of my daily mantras like "Get OFF the wall!!!!" or "He's NOT food, so stop biting him!!!" or "It's NOT a firehose, and that hole is plenty big, and if you miss I know it's because you're screwing around in there and you can clean it yourself next time!!!" Plus, my dad was from a generation which believed it was perfectly acceptable for a man to play his part in conception then disappear, virtually entirely, to the work force with the exception of discipline, holidays, vacations and times when he would scar his children's psyches for a lifetime. But times have changed, and now that he is retired it is considerably more difficult for Grandpa to disappear on days my parents help out with daycare. He is getting lots of little shocks, like the fact that simply telling a three year old that a bathroom stall is occupied will not prevent said three year old from sticking his head under the stall to make conversation with the occupant about how much longer he will be. Poor old Grandpa, he spends a lot of time shaking his head in apparent dismay, and needs even more naps then the boys to recover with their time together.
Next week, out of reverence for Auntie and Grandma, I will not suggest my husband start the boys off with morning coffee. However, I will most likely tell them something like "Grandpa has a tail, but don't actually ask about it because it'll hurt his feelings" and see how long it takes them to bust in on him in the bathroom to check. Or else "Grandpa has one toe made of candy, but you can only tell which one by biting them." I will snigger quietly when I field the calls about how the boys have no respect for privacy or why the hell are the boys biting his toes? And for every one I will check one childhood slight off the list to be avenged. Really and truly, being a product of his creation with two highly inquisitive pre-school boys, I feel like I may come out ahead in the race before the kids even hit junior high.
But just to be safe, maybe ONE morning should start with coffee.
Laundry and packing. Every mom's dream come true. And the only real benefit of laundry and packing? That's right, travel. This Momma is out of here on Monday, gone for a week of gang training in southern California. And my own testosterone gang? Left to their own devices. But no, not really, I'm not that cruel. I have tagged in the grandparents and Auntie for daycare since as another fluke of piss poor planetary alignment our daycare is ALSO closed next week. A normal mom would panic. Not this one. Sure, my ulcer is flaring up to levels which may actually result in me belching flames, but since that would actually confirm the little storyI told my boys about being part dragon and capable of smelling fears and lies and eating innocent damsels in distress I could make that work too.
Next weeks blog should be a real doozy, being as the grandparents had the boys for a day and a half this week which resulted in my five year old sitting in bed, wide eyed in horror describing the shark movie Grandpa let him watch where people's arms and heads got bitten right off! And as I reflected on exactly how I was going to get even, I was able to also reflect on a long list of pranks which needed avenging. And since my five year old has started referring to me as the Black Widow since the cop took him to see the actual Avenger movie, I'm feeling up to the task.
It's no secret that my seriously deranged sense of humor comes from my father. Although sometimes the man lacks filters, to say the least. There was a time when I was about six and he let me go to a bathroom at a gas station alone, then moved the car around the corner to watch when I came out and thought they forgot me. There was the time when I was eight and he let me watch Psycho, then hid under my bed with nylons pulled over his head and jumped out as I nodded off. There was the roommate he cost me in college by convincing her via telephone that she had been exposed to a dangerous chemical reaction and would need to be evacuated (she was laying in bed with a wet handkerchief on her face waiting for rescue for a while...and then decided we might not be the best fit...) And this, folks, is a seriously condensed list.
But revenge, it's been relatively easy since my dad seems to be pretty easily mortified for such a long term prankster. My Irish dad helped raise four girls under the tutelage of his English wife, who was able maintain a relatively calm household which may have been overrun by estrogen but rarely, if ever resulted in her having to yell any of my daily mantras like "Get OFF the wall!!!!" or "He's NOT food, so stop biting him!!!" or "It's NOT a firehose, and that hole is plenty big, and if you miss I know it's because you're screwing around in there and you can clean it yourself next time!!!" Plus, my dad was from a generation which believed it was perfectly acceptable for a man to play his part in conception then disappear, virtually entirely, to the work force with the exception of discipline, holidays, vacations and times when he would scar his children's psyches for a lifetime. But times have changed, and now that he is retired it is considerably more difficult for Grandpa to disappear on days my parents help out with daycare. He is getting lots of little shocks, like the fact that simply telling a three year old that a bathroom stall is occupied will not prevent said three year old from sticking his head under the stall to make conversation with the occupant about how much longer he will be. Poor old Grandpa, he spends a lot of time shaking his head in apparent dismay, and needs even more naps then the boys to recover with their time together.
Next week, out of reverence for Auntie and Grandma, I will not suggest my husband start the boys off with morning coffee. However, I will most likely tell them something like "Grandpa has a tail, but don't actually ask about it because it'll hurt his feelings" and see how long it takes them to bust in on him in the bathroom to check. Or else "Grandpa has one toe made of candy, but you can only tell which one by biting them." I will snigger quietly when I field the calls about how the boys have no respect for privacy or why the hell are the boys biting his toes? And for every one I will check one childhood slight off the list to be avenged. Really and truly, being a product of his creation with two highly inquisitive pre-school boys, I feel like I may come out ahead in the race before the kids even hit junior high.
But just to be safe, maybe ONE morning should start with coffee.
"A practical joker deserves applause for his wit according to its quality. Bastinado is about right. For exceptional wit one might grant keelhauling. But staking out on an anthill should be reserved for the very wittiest." --Robert A. Heinlein
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