She is Stupid!

The first words out of Jill's mouth when she walked in the door from school were, "Can Faith come over?" Faith is already standing in our house.

"No. You have to leave for gymnastics in ten minutes."

Jill dissolves into tears. Faith leaves. Jill screams that she hates gymnastics. Liar. She loves gymnastics. Asks everyday to go. I don't fall for it.

"Jill just put your leotard on, and grab a snack."

She stands there defiant. Then, a smile expands across her face.

"Oh yeah," she says. "I have something in my backpack that once I show you, you won't let me go to gymnastics." She happily skips over to her backpack...

and pulls out a letter from her teacher.

Apparently, my child, got sent to "time away" (Not "time out", folks, that would be mean. Time away.) for talking. All was well, until she mouthed off to her teacher. I believe it went something like this.

"You are stupid and I am not going to time away." She is on the verge of loosing their Art Party. Whatever the hell that is.

I stare her down. "What did you say to your teacher? Did you really call her stupid." I supress a smile, 'cause I kind of agree with her. The teacher is a bit stupid. And? After she told me she can handle her own class when I made some suggestions about Jill's talking, I sort of quit giving a shit what Jill's behavior was like in class. I manage to hold the giggles in. I keep staring at Jill. Giving her the evil eye.

She looks at the ground, realizing that maybe, just maybe, the note home from the teacher was not the best plan of action for missing gymnastics and having a friend over.

Quietly she puts on her leotard. She gets a snack. She gets into the car. She doesn't mention having a friend over again.

I smirk. I win.

How much did the cards cost?

Lately, Jill has been doing her homework on her own. The other day, I noticed that she was writing one word answers on the portion where she was supposed to write a paragraph. Deeming this unacceptable, I started checking her homework every night.

Exhibit A: Math problem number two on the worksheet.

Well, obviously.

Oh Come On

I have already explained that my taste in TV shows rivals that of a sixteen-year-old girl. So tonight I settled in to watch One Tree Hill (with my Sweetheart Shake...shut up, Tiff. Just shut up. I caved okay?!). All was good. I was happily enjoying the flashback to three years ago. You know, right up until Lucas busts out his iPhone in the middle of the airport. Ummm hello. Did nobody catch that? Flashback? Three years ago? iPhone? They should let me edit these shows.

And to top it off, they had on of those Above the Influence commercials on. I think it is supposed to convince teenagers not to use drugs. But this one? It was so funny that I almost wanted to buy weed (oh don't lecture, I am joking). I mean, seriously, the teenage guy wraps himself up in a cocoon of weed. Then he emerges old, fat and bald! Hahahahaha. I laughed so hard. Maybe they should rethink their commercials. Cause that just moved up in the ranks near the rewards one where they guy pretends to ride his bike. Or maybe all the sugar from that Sweetheart Shake went to my head. Whatever.

Which makes me want to sing, "Sugar Higggghhhhhhh," while dancing on the rooftop.

Two Hours and Counting

It is five a.m. I have been up for two hours, so far. I used to sleep well, you know, before I had kids. This time it is Emmi's fault. Well, not really. But I am up because of her.

She is congested again. Congestion and Emmi do not mix well. Beyond the usual discomfort, congestion causes Emmi to choke and throw up. It is a combination of the malformation of the soft palate and her low tone. She still isn't stung enough to really cough. So she never clears any of the drainage from her throat. She ends up choking and throwing up, and sometimes she doesn't wake up. There have been times that I hear a strange sound over the monitor, and I go up to find her choking. So needless to say, I am a bit paranoid when she gets congested. She started coughing at about two this morning. I checked on her three times in thirty minutes. I gave her more medicine. She went back to sleep. But I didn't.

Then I started thinking about everything I had to do today. I have work and classes to take. I want to go to the gym. Emmi has therapy and needs new tap shoes. Jill has a hair appointment this afternoon. And with all of that running through my head, there was no way I could get back to sleep. So here I am, at five a.m., working. Good news is I will now have time to go to the gym, take Emmi to therapy, get tap shoes, and go to Jill's hair appointment without having to work until ten o'clock tonight!

Trickery. Just plain trickery.

Dear Gossip Girls Maker Man,

You should not call a mishmash of old episodes, "New." It is not nice. It gets one's heart racing, then sends it crashing to the ground.

Sincerely,
Tricked. I mean, Trish.

The Little Red Light

I just walked into the living to plop in front of the TV. And. There. On the DVR. Was the magic red light. That little red light, that low and behold, means one of my favorite shows is being recorded. I didn't know anything I wanted to watch was on. So I checked the guide, and....

a new GOSSIP GIRLS. Oh hell yes. Where is my glass of wine? Show time!

PS I might be a bit obsessed with this show. Kenny? Not so much. He is grumbling. Boo. Boo on Kenny. Who incidentally is yelling, "Boo" at his computer for timing out while he was posting a Craiglist add (he is a Craigslist junkie).

Barbie and Creepy Cat Toy

Emmi spent Christmas with her dad this year. She came home with the creepiest fucking toys I have ever seen. I mean, seriously? The life size Barbie doll and the motion sensor cat could have stayed at his house. The damn Barbie is taller than she is. And the cat.

Lord, the cat. It looked real. It kind of felt real. You know, if you can get over the fact that underneath all of the fur is a hunk of metal and plastic. Its eyes are motion sensors, so when you walk past it, the damn the meows. And swishes it's creepy little tail. If you pet it, it purrs. And it watches you. Creepy. So creepy that everyone in the house referred to it as "Creepy Cat Toy." And nobody played with it. It just sat on a shelf, meowing every once in a while, and driving the dogs nuts.

Sometimes late at night, when the kids are in bed, and Kenny, the dogs, and I are curled up on the couch watching TV, that damn cat will start meowing. And purring. Then you hear the motor from its tail swishing. With no one around it. That is when I started to suspect something.

First, I thought maybe we had little children sneaking out of bed to play in the game room. But that would mean someone was, *gasp*, actually playing in the game room and not in the living room, standing directly in front of the TV I am watching. I knew it wasn't either dog, as generally they are both fighting us for spots on the couch. But something. Something up there was making that Creepy Cat Toy purr. Sometimes, I would run up the stairs after it started meowing to see if I could catch the culprit that set the motion sensors off. Nothing. That cat started to creep me out more. The dog took to sitting in front of the shelf whining at it for hours. I contemplated throwing it out, but I have seen Pet Cemetery. I know what will happen if I do.

Barbie? She wasn't much better. At least she didn't randomly meow in the middle of the night. But still. For awhile, no one played with her either. Then, Jill decided they would be friends. Her and the Barbie. She named her. Probably some combination of Starthet and Blond Toe (Ha! That's right, Sister, I said it. I made fun of your doll names.). She dressed her in her pajamas and tucked her into the lower bunk bed in her room. I had to say goodnight to Barbie and Jill that night. Tuck both in. Kiss both goodnight. Jill was happy, she had been wanting a sleep over for the longest time. She feel right off to sleep.

All was good. Creepy Cat Toy was quiet for awhile that night. Jill and Barbie were tucked into bed. Emmi had long ago fallen asleep. Then. I heard it. A scream. Coming from Jill's room. I ran up the stairs two at a time. Jill was sitting up in bed, eyes wide.

"MOMMY! MOMMY!" She sobbed. I tried to calm her. Between sobs, she explains that she woke up and the Barbie was moving around her room. It turned and looked at her. When it saw that she was watching, it jumped back in the bed and froze. She was terrified. She wanted Barbie out of her room. I took Barbie into the game room. Creepy Cat Toy meowed as I walked past. I tucked Jill back into bed, reassuring her that it was just a nightmare.

A few hours pass. Creepy Cat Toy, who had been silent for awhile, starts meowing. I run up the stairs, again trying to catch the culprit in the act. Nothing. Nothing but Creepy Cat Toy and Barbie. Barbie? And then it dawns on me. That damn Barbie. It was her. It was her petting Creepy Cat Toy when no one was looking. A shiver runs down my spine. I threw Barbie in the corner with her nose to the wall. That'll show her. Back downstairs, I hear Creepy Cat Toy meow.

A few nights later, Kenny hears Sadie, our younger boxer, chewing on a toy upstairs. He runs up the stairs to catch her in the act. He yells, "SA-D....." The word trails off. It is replaced by laughter. Kenny comes down the stairs, with Creepy Cat Toy in his hand. And the face? Is gone. Sadie ate the face off of Creepy Cat Toy. It let out one last sad meow, before Kenny tossed it in the trash.

I noticed Barbie looked a little sad the other day. I think she misses her pet cat. And sleepovers in Jill's room. I worry about Barbie. I am waiting for the sadness to overwhelm her. I am scared she might snap. I just know I am going to wake up one night and find that damn Barbie standing over Sadie with a knife, ready to avenge Creepy Cat Toy's tragic death.