Possumblog

Enemy at the gates.

Well, it could have been worse, you know.

Yesterday was the last day of school until sometime in January, and Oldest had been invited to a party at the house of one of her friends. Not that I would ever want to be accused of making value judgments about a fellow human being, but I was a bit leery about this party, based upon who I knew was going to be there. And the fact that other details seemed amorphous at best, and tending toward the deliberately vague.

"Where does this girl live?"

"Uh, somewhere over by Camp Coleman."

Big area. "Can you be more specific?"

"She lives over by Camp Coleman. HER MOM WILL BE THERE!"

::sigh:: Since I had a building committee meeting at church last night, it was going to be Mom's job to chauffeur. I'd let her try to drag the information out.

"Who's going to be there?"

[Actual names will not be used] "Uhmm, Girl Who Got Held Back, Girl Who Dresses Trashy, Shrill Girl, Slacker Boy, Stupid Slacker Boy, Boy Who Got Held Back, and, uhhh, some other people."

Why, such a group of boon companions I cannot imagine outside the Oak Room at the Algonquin!

Oh, but it gets better. "She wants the girls to spend the night--the guys'll leave sometime earlier, and then it'll just be the girls."

Right. When she first started talking this up, they were going to leave at 9:00.

Reba seemed to be okay with the arrangement, and because I am a kind and tenderhearted soul, I acquiesced to it as well, despite all the loud voices in my head screaming at me their disbelief. Several of them even stomped their feet and threw up their hands. One of them even said I was crazy. However, there was that one quiet voice over in the corner who said he thought it would be okay to agree, because he had a feeling this would all fall apart in the end anyway, and it would keep me from looking like a heartless schmuck.

But who listens to voices in their head!? Certainly not me.

So, Oldest got her clothes packed and impromptu gifts were quickly purchased, yesterworkday came and went, Reba left work on time so she could go drive Miss Prissy to the party, I left work and had to run home to pick up the drawings I'd left, I saw that the car was in the driveway when I got there (it was late, so I figured she'd already gone and come home), walked in, got the drawings, told the kids to let Mom know I'd been by, and ran back out to the homely Swedish iron box, cranked it up, and headed out for the church building.

Five minutes later, my cell phone rang and I saw it was coming from Miss Reba. "Hey! Did you get her delivered?"

"No, I still have her with me--that's why the car was in the driveway!" [internal monologue--"And I would have known this HOW exactly?!"]

External dialogue: "Oh! What happened?!" [building sense of relief]

"This chick gave Ashley directions and we tried to find the place and couldn't, so we came back here and got this girl on the telephone, and she's given us three different sets of directions and I have no idea what she's talking about." [barely checked glee--resist urge to tell wife 'why not just get her address and look it up on Internet']

"Hmm--that's weird!"

"Yeah, and not only that, Ashley said now that the boys are supposed to leave at 11, not 9, and she said one of the girls said they might be some stuff going on that she knows shouldn't be going on."

"So she's not going, right?" [begin mentally high-fiving all my imaginary friends]

"Well, I don't think so, let me talk to her some more about it. If she doesn't go, would you mind if Beau #4 comes over and they could watch a movie or something?" [internal monologue--"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! No stinking, conniving, hulking, sheath of hormones in my house!!"]

External dialogue: "I suppose not. Is anyone going to clean the house before he gets there?"

Having an answer in the affirmative, I hang up, go meet, become weary beyond measure at having to deal with architect, breathe sigh of relief it's not ME who's agreed to be the architect, finally wrap up around 8 o'clock, leave, head to Wal-Mart to pick up something Santa wanted to give Boy (and find a few simple stocking stuffers for Miss Reba), on the way over called back to the house to see what the status was.

"Well, did she go?"

"No--we talked about it, and I told her if she didn't want to go, Daddy said it would be okay if Beau #4 came over, so she said okay, and called him, and he'll be here in a bit, and the kids have been cleaning all the stuff off the steps and the table and the floor of the den. And you know what!?"

[dread] "UH, no, what?"

"Ashley called that girl back and apologized and told her she was just going to have to pass on coming to the party, and the girl said, 'Oh, that's okay--just bring my present with you when we get back to school in January.'"

[pick up jaw from floorboard of car] "HAH! As if!"

"Yeah, I was pretty shocked, too."

Anyway, made sure of the list of stuff I was to find, hung up, shopped, found a few things, checked out, heard something in the line behind me CRASH, looked around and saw a shopping cart turned over on its side, then saw tiny blue jean-clad legs sticking out and the heard wailing of child, concerned parents tilted cart back upright, saw that not only had it been tumped over onto an unruly child, the cart also had a baby seat on the handlebars, completely filled with a baby. Apparently no one was worse for the wear. Got in car, came home.

Walk in and am met in the garage by excited wife and three children, all anxious to let me know SOMEone is in the house. I am underwhelmed.

Manage to get inside the kitchen where I can put stuff down and get the garage door closed, because it was freezing cold outside and I'd been cold all day, walked in, see that the den lights aren't on (although the kitchen and foyer lights are) and am instructed to go meet our visitor.

He is sitting on the couch. Next to my daughter. WAY next to her. And they are holding hands. A red mist descends across my field of vision, and in a towering rage I spring upon him like a rabid jungle cat, and my flying fists, trained in the skills of obscure Asian martial arts, come raining down on him--ta-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa!

"Y'all are sitting a bit too close there, aren't you!?" Oldest, Beau #4, and Reba exchange nervous laughter, because they can't quite tell from the tone of my voice if I'm serious or not. Which is how it was intended. "I take it you're Beau #4?" I walked over and extended my hand, wondering if he would do what he was supposed to do.

"Yes, sir."

He stood up and shook my hand.

And looked me in the eye.

Well done, young man.

"Well, it's nice to finally meet you, and--" At this point, several children are hanging over the stair railing in the foyer giggling and trying to simultaneously be seen and hide. "Y'all go on away and leave them along!" I told the two on the couch not to get too lovey-dovey, and made my exit to go get the monkeys upstairs in the bed.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, and Beau #4's dad came and got him around 10:30 or so, and then it was time to fall in the bed.

It was a very long night.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at December 21, 2005 09:08 AM