Wednesday, January 4, 2012
What? No room in the Inn?
I don’t sit around and ponder the Universe, the Seven Wonders of the World, or how it’s possible that I am able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Nope, my mind is occupied this evening with the choice made by the Middle Girl. This little piggy went to the market, this little piggy stayed home, and THIS little piggy decided to take a nap in the foyer on a rug.
There is a bedroom upstairs that has her name on the door and bunk beds inside. Now, for all of you who missed that day of school when we learned what bunk beds were, that means she has two, count them, two beds in her room. My mind wonders to the other three beds in the house and a couple of couches strewn about; two of which are just feet away from where she lays her pretty head to sleep.
So, why? At what point did she grab her pillow, walk around the house and say, there! That spot right there is just right! It’s perfect! I will sleep by the Front Door.
Maybe the cat starring at her will be able to magically speak later and share her thoughts.
The Boy. That’s about all I can say today about him. He’s stinking up my plans for his birthday party.
It is days away, and I do this every year. Christmas comes and goes, then New Years comes and goes, and we settle back into a routine for a couple of days and then it happens. I get smacked square in the face with the remembrance of the Boy’s birthday and my lack of planning for his party. God love him.
His party typically resembles a garage sale of left over decorations that look like they have exploded. The color scheme and theme are a hodge-podge of whatever I scratched-up out of a box or cabinet from a party I catered. I’m not sure but I think he had a banner once that said “Over The Hill” next to a balloon that said “It’s a Girl.”
He’ll be 12 this week. I remember one birthday I forgot to grab candles while I’m standing at the bakery having Lucy scrapped off the only cake available last minute. The only candle in the house was an 8, a used 8 from a sister’s previous party. It still burned. I tried to turn it upside down to see if I could make it look like a six, but it still said 8. Dang trick candles!
I do already have his gift for this year! But it’s wrapped in Christmas paper; no lie. The Middle Girl’s birthday is three weeks after his so I wrapped their gifts the same day. Wouldn’t you know it, I got hers wrapped and ran out of paper and had to use the Christmas paper on his. I had to get the box covered before he saw it.
I wonder if the Boy will live his whole life under this birthday hex. I considered changing it when he was 2 or so to a date that was easier for me. I realized that one day he would find his birth certificate, and the chances he would read someday were decent so, I left it alone. Kicking myself now. Anyway, I booked a venue today, thinking I had done pretty well. He said, “I don’t want to go there.” Of course he doesn’t. That would make this birthday madness easier. Hex I tell you, hex!
The Husband cooked dinner again. Spaghetti! (I got that spelled right on the first try. Kinda proud of myself)
As I stare across the kitchen, smelling this yummy goodness, I notice my glass rooster that is beakless. It had a run in with the Boy and the Husband; lost top and bottom beak at different times. Poor thing. It’s homely looking now, guess I better give up farming and throw it away.
I hear the odd stomping of what sounds like the Hunch Back of Notre Dame dragging his lead foot around. I realize it’s the Boy with the broken toe (trampoline accident over a week ago) and I wonder why the limping is sooo exaggerated tonight.
The Husband begins to tell me of the massacre his basketball game was tonight and how they lost. Ah ha! The broken toe MUST be the reason they lost! It cannot be a lack of talent. I’m not giving in to his tactics. I’m not even going to ask him!
What if all the power of his basketball skill lies wrapped inside this little piggy, a little broken piggy. I cannot handle knowing this. I would much rather believe the Boy is a natural born player who will someday make billions of dollars in the NBA and take care of his marvelous parents. But then again, Michael Jordan’s power was encompassed in shoes.
Maybe he’s not covering his shame under a broken toe after all.
The Eldest Girl. She walked in armed with two pairs of tweezers. I reshaped eyebrows like Edward Scissor Hands. I did get her to speak, “Ouch.” It’s progress.
The Middle Girl was wakened to go to church, she said, “Is Dean still here?” Dean had not been to our house all day. I’m blaming this entire front door sleeping, non-sense speaking, craziness on my husband’s side of the family. Oh well, she totally redeemed herself in her night prayer with her thoughtfulness towards her brother. “Please God, take his crankiness away forever.”