The Doodlebops....Oh Yeaaah.

Last night, my toothache turned into a sinus infection. Eh. Who knew? I am not doctor. How should I know that it wasn't really my tooth that was hurting? Shortly after I figured out that it wasn't my tooth, my fever went sky high causing me to enter a state of delirium. Adding to this I took Sudafed (The good shit that you have to get from the pharmacist and sign the paper that says you won't go home and start up a meth lab with your four precious sudafed pills.). I become more delirious. The congestion clears, however.

Then the cough starts. I tried to hold off taking anything more, as I was already holding my hands in front of my face in wonder. Woooowww....I have ten fingers. Wheeeeeee. Look at them wiggle. I cough some more. I cave and take my cough medicine. Also very good shit. Prescribed by my favorite doctor of all time. The lovely, sweet doctor that was nice enough to give me codene-laced cough syrup. Within twenty minutes, I am in a complete stupor. For the record, I was the only one in the room who heard the dog talk.

I was sure the medicine would wear off by the morning. I was wrong. I ship both kids off to school, and park it on the couch. Thirty minutes later, I am still sitting on the couch, watching tv giggling at the show. The medicine begins to wear off with food and coffee. My head starts to clear. I no longer find my fingers fascinating. I blink, shake my head, and settle in on the couch to finish watching my show. Confused, I squint at the TV. No. Surely I have not been watching this the whole time? Maybe I accidently pushed the return button on the remote? I look around for the remote. It is on top of the entertainment center. Hmmm. I think back. What exactly was I watching? Then I realize I am singing to myself.

"We're the Doodlebops, the Doodlebops, Oh yeaaah."

Damn codene. I just spent thrity full minutes bopping along to the Doodlebops. Ohhhh yeeeaah.

Tricks and Treats. But Mostly Tricks.

I think she did it on purpose. Ashley is sneaky like that. She is probably sitting at home laughing her ass off. Why you ask? Because she tricked me.

"Are you going to the Halloween Carnival this weekend," Ashley asked during the girl's gymnastics class on Wednesday.

"No. Are you?"

"Well, yeah. You should come, because we are. And bring Kenny, because I am making James come."

"Alright. I'll work on that."

Sunday afternoon, I shove two kids decked out in full Halloween regalia into the car. One angel, lip stuck out, pouting that her halo is not 'haloish enough.' One devil laughing hysterically at passing cars. Posted outside of the gym is Scooby Doo formerly known as Jill's gymnastics instructor.

"Are you on the list," Scooby asks.

"What list? I didn't know there was any list. I thought we just showed up with kids and costumes, and you let us in the door."

"Well, if you have already paid, you are on the list. Otherwise, I need you to pay." Scooby's head boobles as she talks.

Pay? What the fuck. Four flyers came home this month, and not one of them mentioned pay. I pull out a ten dollar bill, assuming it would cover the cost.

"Oh, I am sorry. It is ten per child."

What the hell are you handing out in there? Crack laced candy bars? Tweny dollars?! Scooby, you are crazy. I contemplate dragging both children back into the car, but I fear the consequences. I part with my twenty dollars, open the doors of the gym, and step into hell.

Screaming children coked out on Halloween candy, cookies, and juice streak across the room. Parents run after, video camera in hand. Infants crawl across the mats while older children use them as props in leap frog. A golfer, a princess, a sunflower, and Batman similtaneously swing from the bars. Cinderella and Tinkerbell loudly argue over who was in line first for ring toss. An angel and devil take off running in different directions. In seconds, I have lost them both.

I scan the room for Ashley or James or any of her three children. Nope. None. I check the time. It is still early. Ten minutes pass. I watch the door. Nope. Twenty minutes pass. I find Emmi and Jill scarfing down cookies and juice. No Niamh, no Rosy, no Kitty. No Ashley. No James. Fifteen more minutes pass. Still no Ashley.

Kenny and I begin pleading with the kids to leave. We offer pumpkin carving, bike riding, money. Hell, at this point I would give Jill my car, if she would just leave. My ears are aching from all the screaming. I have sticky, candy slime on my leg. I want to go home.

Finally, Jill relents. Or they ran out of candy to pass out. Whatever. I claim victory. We are in sight of the door. Both kids, hand in hand, bellies full of candy and cookies, happily head out. Then....

"WHO WANTS FACE PAINTING?!" Children swarm a large penguin carrying brushes and face paint.

Jill turns. Emmi turns. "Oh no you don't. We are going home to carve pumpkins RIGHT NOW. I CAN"T TAKE IT ANYMORE." I break. Tears stream down my face. I begin to shake.

Ashley sits at home laughing. Trick or fucking treat.

Come Up for Air.

Jillian possesses the uncanny ability to talk for three hours straight WITHOUT TAKING ONE BREATH. The word assault I must endure daily would drive anyone crazy. In compensation, I have the uncanny ability to look like I am listening, respond to you, and never actually hear a word you say. My talent, however, is not as great as Jill's. Sometimes, she outdoes me. I have to run. Run far, far away. Or go to the corner, cover my ears, and cry.

Word for word, here is this morning's word vomit.
"Mommy, mommy. Watch what I am doing. Look, look see. I have my foot on here, and I am like 'whoa, whoa, WHOAAAA.' Then I take my foot down, and I play PE by running around the kitchen. Watch Mommy. Watch me run around the kitchen. Now I am doing sit-ups. One. Two. Three. Okay I am bored of sit-ups. I am going to have a party now. I am making cupcakes. Want one? Try one. They are good. They are bluebunnybubbleberry. Mmmmmm. Smell. I am going to put all the dolls in my room at the table. They are going to eat my.... Mommy what kind of cupcakes did I make? I can't remember what I said. Oh well. I can read that book right there. Want to hear? I know all of the words in there. My cousin, Vincent, is allergic to dust and pollen. Can I have a duster to clean all the dust out of my room, so Vincent can come over? Where is my Halloween costume? I want to look at it. The three main characters in High School Musical are Sharpay, Troy, and Gabriella. Want me to sing a song from the movie? Can I have a jelly bar? I am hungry. I don't think Sharpay knows how to swim. I know how to swim. I can hold my breath under water for a REALLY long time. Longer than anyone I know. Can we heat up the pool? I want to swim today. I have eight bathing suits. That is a lot. Good thing you like to shop Mommy. Do you know how horses drink water? Watch me drink like a horse. Neeeiiiigghhhh. I am a horse. Do horses smell funny? My favorite song from High School Musical is the one that Sharpay sings. Momma look, I can spins with my arms out. What time is it? Can I go outside? I like to ride my bike. It is hard to ride a bike in a skirt. I don't like to wear jeans. They hurt my bottom. I like skirts. They twirl. Watch me twirl. Whhhheeee. I am going to put on a skirt, so I can twirl better. One time Emmi painted the dog blue. It was funny. She fed her treats and made her sit. Then she put blue paint on her. It wasn't all over her. My friend, Allie, is going to be a cheetah for Halloween. I am a horse again. Neeeiiiggghh. Can I have straw, so I don't have to drink like a horse? Mommy. Mommy? Are you listening to me Mommy? Should I talk LOUDER, MOMMY? Mommy? Where are you going, Mommy. No Mommy, don't run away Mommy. MOOOOOMMMMY!!!"

I is never going to CVS again.

Glitter glue. Jill needed glitter glue, "RIGHT NOW. OH MY GOD OR HER PUMPKIN WOULD NOT BE SPARKLY ENOUGH." I should have shoved another cupcake in her mouth and shut her up. Instead I went to CVS. To get glitter glue. Right now. This very minute.

CVS is in walking distance of the roughest set of apartments in the area. Now by rough, I mean suburban-I-wish-I-was-a-gansta-but-I-am-not-cause-I-am-a-white-boy-from-an-upper-middle-class-neighborhood kind of rough. Word. Ghetto G and Thug Boy (aka Cadence and Jackson or some other equally upper middle classish names) are in line behind me, and, Dawg, they is goin' to a fly Halloween party.

"Hey Homegirl. I got to ax you, which mask you think is scarier." Okay, so he didn't really call me homegirl, but shiiiiitttt he might as well have.

"Uhhh. The one you have one."

"Hahaha. You is funny." He has no mask on.

"Yes. I IS funny. I IS real funny. Sure IS." I turn back around. To most people this would signal the end of the conversation.

"Whatcho doin tonight baby?" Ghetto G purrs with a nod of his head.

"Look. Seriously? It is not cool to be ghetto. Pull up your damn pants. Talk like the white boy you are. Get a fucking clue. You in no way impress me. I don't want to be your babymama. I don't want to 'roll' with you."

Thug Boy collapses in hysterics. "Shit foo', she told you, you is stupid."

"ARE. ARE. ARE. ARRRRRREEEEE."

Thug Boy and Ghetto G exchange looks of extreme confusion. They now think I am a pirate.

"I don't get it," Thug Boy says.

"Look, I don't think you is stupid," I say with a smirk. Ghetto G looks relieved momentarily. "I think you ARE stupid." Ghetto G's face falls. Thug Boy doubles over laughing again.

"What the hell are you laughing at? You IS stupid too," I say then grab my glitter glue and stomp out.

Dontcha

Kenny promised the girls donuts if they let us sleep in a little this morning. Teaching Jill time was an excellent idea. At precisely 8am, I hear them running full steam down the stairs. Uggghh donut time. By 8:05 we are in the car. Between large gulps of coffee, I turn on the radio, only to find three stations of morning show repeats and one playing "Dontcha."

Immediately Jill begins to giggle.

"What is so funny back there," I demand, sure that she has tied up her sister or something equally as naughty.

"Hey Mommy. Remember this song?"

Uhhh, yes. The question is why the hell does my six-year-old remember this song?

"Remember the man in the coffee shop."

Oh hell.

Rewind two and a half years. Little blonde with goldilocks curls, big blue eyes, sweet little smile, big blue Cinderella dress with matching Cinderella shoes hanging from my legs in the coffee shop comands the attention of the man in line behind us. He smiles, she laughs. He waves, she waves. He says, "Hello," she sings......

"Dontcha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?!"

Man runs out of the coffee shop, horrified, probably on his way to call CPS to report me.

Wut I lurned at the licker stor.

Kenny wanted a cigar. Seeing as how there are probably not a whole lot of high class cigar shops in Bastrop, the small town my parents moved to a few months ago, we found a liqour store. Now I should have known when there are three pickups in the parking lot, none of them from this century or with all matching parts, that this was going to be interesting.

This is what transpires.

Four college students who were on the way home from some event also happened to stop in the same liqour store. Being that they are broke college students, they spend twenty minutes at the counter deciding who can pay for what. Boy #1, pays for the Yager. No ID checked. Girls #1 and #2 split cigarettes and beer. Again, no ID. Boy #2 puts the Red Bull on the counter.

LouAnn, who obviously has been smoking since she was two and only has three teeth is currently dipping. Between spits she demands, "Can I see your ID?"

"Ma'am, Red Bull doesn't have any alcohol in it."

"Son, you is in a licker stor. You got to be 21. ID." She holds out her hand.

"But ma'am. There is NO ALCOHOL in Red Bull."

"ID," she snarls.

Reluctantly, the boy hands over his ID. He is three days shy of 21. LouAnn snatches the Red Bull, and stashes it under the counter. All four college students make a run for it. Apparently, none are 21. Oh well. They already got their Yager and beer. Way to go LouAnn. Way to get that Red Bull from them!

Kenny puts his cigar on the counter. "Do you have any cigar cutters? I didn't bring mine with me." LouAnn wanders off to find a cutter.

In walks Darrell. He yells across the store to the guy behind the counter. "Hey ya Clint."

"Hey Darrell."

"Hey Clint, I hurd you gots married last week. You stuck for good now."

"Yup," says Clint with a slow nod of his head.

"So Clint, you hear my old girl is knocked up again. Yep, baby number two." Darrell holds up three fingers.

"Shooot that's nuthing. You shuld see how big my girl gettin'? Man she gonna pop any day now. Din't know if she was gonna make it down the isle she so big."

"Well hell. Whatch you guys doin' tonight?" Darrell says as he drags his two 18 packs of Natty Light to the counter. "Why dunt y'all stop by and have sum beers when you get off work?"

"Hell man. That sounds like fun. Let me see if ole girl feels like gettin' out."

Excellent the two pregant girls are gonna go get drunk on Natty Light and pop out little Darrell in Clint clones anyday now.

Finally, LouAnns returns without finding a cigar cutter.

"We ain't got no cutters left."

Oh hell. Well, shooot.

Bus Stop Strip Tease

Almost every morning Jill argues about her clothing. I have screamed. I have yelled. I have let her go school in her pajama top. I have changed her socks twelve times in one morning. I have refused to help her get dressed. I have grounded her from friends. I have locked her in a cage and headed out to the bar at 8am.....oh, wait, no. That part was just a glorious fantasy. In any case, every morning without fail, she finds something wrong with her clothes.

We struck a deal last week. Don't tell me. I don't want to know. Just fix whatever is the problem. I will not make her change. I will not worry if she goes to school looking like Orphan Annie on crack. I will cringe, pop a happy pill, and smile as if nothing is wrong.

This morning thirty minutes before the bus, Jill is dressed in a green polo, white jean skirt (complete with white shorts underneath to hide her panties), white tennis shoes, hair up in white bow. Perfect. No complaints. I think we might make it one day without an argument. I am delusional. Clearly.

At precisely 7:30, we head to the bus stop.

"These shorts under my skirt are itching me."

"Lalalalalalaaaa. I don't want to hear it." I plug my fingers in my ears.

"Mommy. Really. They are itchy. I want to take them off."

"Jill they are cotton with no tags. They can't possibly be itchy. And I don't care. Don't tell me. You should have solved this problem earlier."

She closes her mouth, and walks to the bus stop. Victory? Did that really just work? Maybe my lesson in solving her own problems is finally sinking in! Maybe she has realized that she should have solved this earlier herself. Maybe for once she is not going to argue with me. I join the mommies with a proud, goofy grin on my face. I am the best mommy around. I should win some award.

Then the snickering starts. First one mommy, then all of the mommies. I turn around, slowly. Jill shimmies out of her shorts, without managing to hike up her skirt. She kicks the shorts off her left leg, catching the shorts mid flight. Spinning in a circle, and twirling the shorts over her head, she expertly flings the shorts at me.

"Solved it," she says with a smirk on her face.

Damn Democrats.

I sent my mother an important email. An hour later I still have not heard back from her. Odd. In fact, I haven't talked to her all day. Even more strange. I call my parents' house.

"Hey Dad, can I talk to Mom?"

"Uhhh she's not here."

"Okay...where's she at?"

"Uhhh Austin, I think."

"Oh Okay, so she went to Laura's house?"

"Nooo...I think she is with your Aunt."

"Oh yeah, what are they doing?"

"Uhhh going to a show, I think."

A show? He thinks? This conversation is going nowhere fast.

"Well, Dad, does she have her cell phone on her?"

"Uhhh I don't know."

He sounds confused. Or like he is lying. I get concerned. He has either buried my mother in the backyard and is buying time or has gone bonkers. I call my sister.

"Hey Laura, you talk to Mom today?"

"Yep, she is with Aunt Susan going to see Al Gore present An Inconvenient Truth. It started at 7 or 7:30, so she should be there for awhile longer. Dad didn't want to go because, well, it's Al Gore."

Ding, ding, ding. Now I get it. He wasn't confused. He didn't bury my mother in the backyard. In fact, he knew EXACTLY where she was. He just couldn't bring himself to say the words, "Al Gore." He is probably at this moment stalking through the house counting out on his fingers the reasons he hates democrats and muttering under his breath.

Forget my "I love Kinky" and "Kinky for Gov" shirts, I am showing up there tomorrow with "Al Gore Rocks."