Possumblog

Okay.

My brain is now sloshy with a 40 of chilled Diet Crack, I've been to the bank and the credit union, I've had lunch of warm greasy carbohydrates, I've talked to eleventy-nine people on the phone, and it's raining.

I figure once I get another hundred ounces or so of caffeinated cola beverage inside me, I should be about ready to launch forth with a windy, foul-tempered, vitriolic rant about just about anything. Or go pee. Probably the latter.

For now, a quick weekend recap: Cat's ears? Still full of paste, but the infection seems to have subsided, at least whatever you might be able to measure based upon the absence or presence of a fever. End result: a generally happy child, who seems quite hard of hearing. Or hard of WANTING to hear. "I SAID GO BATHE--NOW!!" "Me!?"

Saturday morning? No sleep. Awakened about dawn by cartoon show emanating from Boy's room. Stumbled to Boy's room and quietly begged for television to be muted. Got back in bed. Five minutes later, Reba got up and went to the bathroom. Sound of her brushing her hair a few moments later meant it was time to get up. ::sigh::

Saturday's main activity? Done with a minimum of fuss. Thank heavens.

Finding Oldest's Halloween costume from two years ago that was supposedly put in the costume box in the attic, in order that Oldest might wear it as a costume to a movie-themed Valentine's dinner at church on Saturday night? Unsuccessful, sparking a running verbal gunbattle that still simmers, due to the fact that a) the garment in question could not be found, b) obviously the lack of finding meaning that everyone hates her, c) the unwillingness on the part of her father to go out and purchase a pair of white pants solely to wear as part of another costume means that I wish she were dead, d) it is impossible to go to any sort of function dressed as a normal person, e) no other clothing could possibly be worn and still be considered a costume, f) going and looking in the attic for herself and being unsuccessful must mean there exists a great conspiracy by her hateful father to secretly sneak into the attic, steal the garment, hide it, and thus keep her from going anywhere.

You think I'm kidding?

That last item, f)--after the first burst of fire and petulant door-slamming brought on by a) - e), a comment was fired off to the effect that she did not believe I had actually been up to the attic (twice) that morning to look for her costume, and anyway, "YOU are the only one allowed UP THERE!"

Obviously, the only response worth giving, "Go look yourself, if you think you can find it!"

Down came the folding ladder once more, up she went (with no small amount of trepidation--and remember, all the while she is running further and further behind in her need to get ready to go to the fool party in the first place). After she was up, I followed. She started digging back through the same big plastic boxes I had already pawed through myself that morning. Then she went on to the cardboard boxes. To the wrapping paper. Everything. No costume. Of course.

She turned around, eyes glaring with the sort of hate you see in Arab flag-burners, arms akimbo. "Well?"

She just stood there and fumed. Suddenly doing the smart-ass head bob favored by the good ladies on BET, she started in again--"Well, NO, it's not UP HERE, but I put it IN that BOX and YOU are the only one who GETS UP HERE!"

::blink::

"Ashley, are you going to stand there, and imply that for some reason, I would come up here, take that costume out, and do something with it?!"

::arms akimbo::headbobbing:: "You ARE the only one who puts stuff UP HERE!"

"Ashley, that is just not rational--it would be just as stupid for ME to say YOU snuck up here and took it out, just so you could go buy a pair of white pants! I KNOW you didn't sneak up here, could you at least admit that I would have no reason to do something like that!?"

"YOU put stuff up here!"

Follows a long paragraph explaining that I have better things to do than sneak around my own house, that I put stuff in the attic when I am told to by her mother, that I don't know what's in ANY of the boxes up there, because I just put things away, and don't really care what's in them, that even if I KNEW what was in the boxes, it still wouldn't matter because there would be no reason to get up there and remove it, and in the end, it doesn't matter where the costume is, or was, she was STILL not going to go to the store just to waste money on a pair of pants for the sole purpose of playing dress-up for a party.

Wailing, gnashing of teeth, ululation, etc. upon her descent down the stairs.

After verifying with Reba that she had not entered into some sort of unholy Pant Alliance, which would have served only to provide Oldest excuse to further express her spoiled brattiness, (a confirmation which was met with the same look of puzzlement I initially gave the whole situation, along with the statement, "I'M not taking her to buy pants--she's already told me before she HATES white pants!"), Reba bravely went back into the lair of now-copiously weeping Oldest--without body armor, I might add!--and managed to find a perfectly acceptable costume, namely the one that she just HAD! TO! HAVE! TO! DRESS! UP! FOR! HAL! LO! WEEN! Amazing, huh? And after loudly declaiming there was "Not a thing to wear! NOTHING!"

Reba also had a long talk with her about her inability to think rationally, not taking out her enmity on her family (or anyone else, for that matter) and actually got her to admit that I probably didn't have very much at all to do with the other costume not being where it was supposed to be. I made the mistake of expecting an apology from Oldest, of course. It was a very long, and quiet, ride to the party.

And back again. Made even worse by the fact that when I arrived to pick her up, I asked one of the kids who was leaving if he would run back in and tell her I was outside (since I was dressed in embarrassing Dadclothes). He came back out, I thanked him, and waited. And waited. Now, the only reason I was there is because she had called thirty minutes earlier and said she was ready to go, and I got there as soon as I could to get her. So I waited some more.

Grr.

Got out, went in, asked the youth minister, who was hanging around in the sound room, if the kid had come in for Ashley, and he said, "Well, yeah, he came in and went in there, I figured he'd forgotten something," so I walked in and found them all in the auditorium watching the movie, and found her sitting there planted firmly in her seat. ::whispered:: "Ashley, time to go."

::TSSSSSIGH::

Grr. Again.

I wonder if she thought I was just going to sit in the parking lot until the movie was over--which was probably another 40 minutes or so. I did not ask, though, because I did not really want to know the answer that bad. My head was hurting enough as it was.

So, a long quiet ride home as well.

Sunday was only slightly better--although she seemed to have decided not to snipe about pants, she spent the rest of the day and evening burning down various embassies and setting off IADs (Improvised Argument Devices) against innocent bystanders.

I sure hope it's only a phase.

In more happy news, I got to watch exactly two sets of downs in the Super Bowl! The one where the Seahawks intercepted in the 3rd quarter when the Steelers were threatening to score, and the one where the Steelers scored on the long pass out of the reverse! From what I hear, that was about it as far as excitement.

Now then, off now to think happy fun pretty birdie in the sky with rainbow clown thoughts! Yay!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at February 6, 2006 02:37 PM