The Plot

Before I begin: Yes, my mother really has an antique stove on the front porch of her 1910 house. During the trip to New Mexico last week, the Honorable Mention Redneck Comment Award of the Day was given when I gave my brother directions to get to my Grandpa's house that included the line, "Turn between the big onion barn and Weeping Jesus on the Cross."

On to my tale.

We have been traveling a good bit lately. We drove in to Abilene to see my parents for a few days over Christmas, then drove to Salem, New Mexico for Grandpa's 90th birthday party. (If you know where Salem is, leave a comment. Unless you're related to me, because that doesn't really count, now does it???) Now we're back in Abilene to see a few more relatives and have a New Year's party before heading home tomorrow.

The girls, having ridden 500+ miles in the car yesterday, were cranky and reluctant to go to sleep. They also had opted to play with the many Christmas gifts they'd been cruelly parted from for entire days while we'd made the trip, and thus decided that toys were WAY cooler than supper could ever be. So they were quite upset when it came to going to sleep.

I tried having them lay on the living room floor and watch SpongeBob. When I woke up after several episodes and they were still awake, I turned it off and told them to go to bed. This was when Daddy appeared, successfully returning from shopping after only 3x the length of time he'd predicted. They begged him into telling at least three stories that I heard from the next room before he left and told them to go to bed.

Then Dixie decided that her tummy was 'hurting, hurting' and so Dowlan, assuming that a little calcium never killed anyone, gave them each a Tums, which Dixie rapidly gobbled and begged for more and Melody stared at as if it were poison. I called from the other room to remind Melody that she used to follow me around while I was pregnant with Charlie and bum them off of me. She consented to consuming it.

So, for a third time, the girls are left alone to fight, kick and scream their way to a peaceful slumber.

They begin by alternating their sobs. One screams DAAAAAAAAAA-DDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! and then hitches a breath. The other one is poised, ready to scream DAAAAAAAA-DDEEEEEE! as soon as the first lets up. Their artful timing allowed for no respite between wails and pleas.

Realizing that this is getting nowhere, I hear Dixie tell Melody, "You rest while I scream for him." I can only imagine Melody laying, draped across a pillow, wearied from her howls and Dixie warmly and lovingly patting her on the shoulder in reassurance before taking up her shift.

At this point I holler to the other room to make them aware of the fact that DAAAA-DDEEEE is downstairs and cannot hear them.

Dixie: Then I must yell LOUDER.
Melody: Yes. You must. It is the only way.
Dixie: DAAA-DDEEEE!
Melody: I AM HUNGARY.
D: YES! SHE IS HUNGARY. AND THIRSTY.
M: YES. AND THIRSTY. AND HUNGARY. HUNGARY HUNGARY.
D: DADDEEEEEE!
M: DADDEEEEEE!
D: It isn't working. He is never coming.
M: Well I am NOT going to sleep.
D: Me neither. We must continue yelling.
M: Yes, we must. Daddy will hear us and will help.
D: Yes. Mommy will never help us. She will only tell us to stop yelling and go to bed.
M: Then we must continue yelling. DAAAAAA-DEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

And, thusly, it continues for about another four minutes until they succumb to their exhaustion, and fall asleep. I go into my Mom's room, where I find my mother paralyzed with laughter. Dowlan comes up the stairs to join us in our muffled howls.



I guess it is a sign that the adoption is going well, that the girls have declared peace within the ranks and are now uniting against a common enemy: Their Parents.

I thought that wasn't supposed to happen until they turned fourteen.

Redneck Comment of the Day Award

goes to my mother, for this conversation:

Gretchen: Do you have a cookie sheet I can use?
Lora Lynn: Yes, go out on the front porch.
G: Mom, I need a COOKIE SHEET.
LL: Yes, go out to the front porch to the stove. The bottom left drawer has cookie sheets, but they may need to be washed out because of the cobwebs. You may have to move the wooden angel that is on the stake because I think it is through the drawer pulls on that side.
G: Wow. Those are very, uh, detailed directions.
LL: Yeah, I have to give them to your father all the time.


Yeah. Just, well, yeah.

Melody Says:

(on the subject of 'what Mommy would like for Christmas')

I could get you a necklace that is glow-in-the-dark and you could wear it in your bedroom at night and that way daddy could see if he had to get up in the middle of the night and then he could walk around and that way he won't step on you. Daddy could use it to see to go pee! Or if he needs to blow his nose he can see where you are and blow his nose without getting any of it on you.

And it could glow in the daytime, too, and look really pretty when you go to the gym and it can sparkle and match your leotard*.



* I never let on to the girls that I go swimming while at the gym, so they think my swimsuit is my leotard. After all, that is what they wear in gymnastics at their gym. And if I have to go into the Kids' Club to change Charlie's diaper and my leotard is wet and dripping, they tell me, "Mommy, you exercised so hard! You are allll wet and sweaty!" If they knew I was swimming, I would have a van full of very short mutineers to contend with.

Dixie says:

Mommy, your dishwasher is hard to break and i hurt my hand every time i try.


Mommy, do you wish you had a magic carpet for your cats?


Mommy, I want to eat a necklace for breakfast. Nah, just kiddin'!


But what my kid says has NOTHING on this blogger:
http://laughingleahloveslillies.blogspot.com/2007/12/see-mom-i-told-you-so.html

I am officially tired of being a grown-up

The washing machine just spewed forth gallons of water onto the kitchen floor. Parenting is fine, marriage is great, it is adulthood that I am not too fond of. Can I just quit that job?

Is it too early to introduce the term 'gender neutral?'

So I am tired of being on public display every time I change my clothes. So I have determined that it is high time I introduced a door-locking policy. It isn't going over well with the 'under 5' crowd.

Mommy: Okay, guys, I'm going to go get dressed while you guys finish your breakfast.
(I go in my room, lock the door, then go into the bathroom, and, well, go. Melody begins banging at my bedroom door and hollering.)
Melody: Mommy! Open! This! Door! Right! Now!
Mommy: I can't! I can be there in two minutes!
Melody: Now! I! Need! You! Right! Now!
Mommy: I'm coming, I'm coming! Give me just a second!
Melody: Hurry!
(Expecting catastrophe, I open the door.)
Mommy: What?
Melody: We're not boys! We're womans!
Mommy: What?
Melody: We're womans! We're! Not! Guys! You! Called! Us! Guys!
Mommy: Oh. Sorry. You Womans go eat breakfast, I am going to get dressed.
(Two minutes pass.)
Melody: MommyMommyMommyMommyMommy!
Mommy: I still need two minutes!
Melody: But hurry! Dixie stood on the table and THAT is a TROUBLE THING. She needs to go to time out RIGHT NOW but she CAN'T because time out is in your room and YOU LOCKED THE DOOR.

So I sit down to blog this the instant I am dressed, of course, because who could risk forgetting material of this caliber, right?

Melody: Mommy! Get Charlie!
Mommy: Dixie, go turn on the robot to distract Charlie.
Melody: Mommy! He is tearing down the castle I built that has a tall tower that is a smoke factory and makes smoke and steam and clouds go very up high in the sky but it won't be able to go up high if you let Charlie tear it down. We do not need a baby like that. That is not the kind of baby we need.
Dixie: She's right. That is not the baby we need for our home.
Mommy: So go turn on the robot so he'll move. (But what Mommy is thinking is 'Leave me the ($&# alone so I can write down the precious *#^#(@ memories of your magical *#&#%^#(% childhood.')
Melody: Mommy! Charlie is opening a present!

Yeah, I guess this is the point where I leave, but I must return later to tell you about the most fabulous tantrum in human history. There are no adequate adjectives.

Just in case I never actually print/mail them, Merry Christmas

Yes, they're cut off, but I can't fix it.

Melody Says:

Mommy, I need a tissue because I am all out of places on my shirt. I used them all up to wipe my nose with.

Daddy, please tell a story.

Melody: Daddy, please tell a story to us.
Daddy: When I was a boy . . .
M: No, Daddy! Tell us a story!
D: I am trying to! When I was a boy . . .
M: Stories begin. "Once upon a time" or "Once in a far away land."
D: Once in a far away Oklahoma.
M: NO!

What college do you go to for that?

Melody:

Mommy, when I grow up I want to be a Christmas Tree. So I can be sparkly and shiny. I don't want to be an elephant anymore, because elephants get shots with big needles. Is that okay? Does it make you sad that I want to be a Christmas tree and not an elephant?