The Little Black Dress

Last summer, Lucky's grandma bought her a little black dress. Grandma asked Monica if she thought the dress would be appropriate for church. Hmmm...well, not our church. Maybe for a cocktail party but not for a (then) 11-year-old to wear to church.

Lucky brought the dress home. She wore it for Halloween with a pair of black wings. She asked to wear it to school. No. She asked to wear it to a party. No.

No. No. No. No.

It's not appropriate for school. In fact, I can't think of a single place where that dress would be appropriate for a twelve-year-old. Those were my exact words last week when she asked if she could wear it to school not once but TWICE.

Yesterday, she called her friend to RSVP to her 10th birthday party. She spoke to the girl's mom and, after hanging up, said, "Her mom told me I'm supposed to wear a black dress." (Ri-ght.) "Hey, I have a black dress."

Um, no. Again.

High Crimes

We had plans today to go down to our church's Good Friday service at noon, meet with Lucky's social worker, and then go to the beach for the afternoon. Our plans were blown when Ana called the court recording to find out that she had to report for jury duty this morning. I told the kids we had to nix our activities for the day (we're down to one car) but we might still go to the 6pm service because we had to pick up Shorty this evening.

Squeaker slammed her door in a snit angry about having to go to "stupid church" when she wanted to go to the pier. I should have just left it at that. She might have escalated on her own anyway but I should have walked away. Why didn't I just walk away and let her throw things at the walls. Why must I always say something about door slams? Stupid, stupid. {smacking forehead against table}.

Things happen, I explained. Yeah, because some stupid criminal has to ruin my life by getting caught so that Auntie has to have jury duty, she says. (Huh?) Why are you making it about you? It's not really about you. Stuff happens and you deal with it. That's it. Why don't you stay up here and calm down and come down in a bit?

Whoa, duck and cover! Slamming, head banging, throwing stuff. Inevitable personal attacks. Trotting out oft repeated arguements about being blamed for everything. Angry exclamations: "I'm sick and tired of being punished because of other people!" Again, huh? Apparently some idiot criminal did actually go out and commit a crime and get himself caught so that he would have his day in court so that Squeaker's auntie would get jury duty on this day. Why? Just so that Squeaker could NOT go to the beach when she wanted to. Who knew?

When I texted the day's update to Ana at the courthouse she replied that she was reading an old Newsweek article on pediatric bipolar (magazines in the jury room a year behind, I guess). In children with bipolar disorder there is too much activity in the amygdala (regulates emotions)and not enough in the frontal cortex (rational thought). Sounds about right to me.

Haircut Hysteria

Drama Boy came back from his visit last weekend with bleach-orange hair and a weed-hacker haircut that he did himself. The deal Ana made with him was that if he wanted to dye all of his hair then he needed to trim up his shaggy, Disney-channel 'do.

So Ana went out with him to get his hair cut. He went agreeably enough. But in the car he started having a fit, cursing and crying and carrying on finally telling Ana if she made him cut his hair he would kill himself but make it look like she killed him.

Who says we don't have sweet children?

So she brought him back home and sent him to his room.

Then she decided to take Lucky to get a trim instead and so, naturally, DB had to freak out that she gets to have a haircut and he doesn't.

He fussed and whined and screamed about the unfairness of it all. You see, it's not that he didn't want a haircut it's that he didn't want a haircut from that particular hair cuttery. He ranted and rambled into the subject of unfair allowances and other imaginary injustices and discrepancies that litter his muddled little brain.

So then Ana agreed to take him for a haircut when she took Lucky.
"WHY?!?", says I. (Aren't I the supportive one?)

Well, I guess it's better than another false allegation.

Punk.

Case(y) In Point

"Casey rocks. She's my best friend." Lucky commented as we were playing Guitar Hero.

"Casey Lynch?" Squeaker asked.

"This Casey." Lucky pointed to her favorite fictional character on Guitar Hero.

"That's Casey Lynch. (pause) I have a friend named Emily Lynch."

"You should ask her if she has a sister named Casey." Joked Lucky.

(pause)

"I did and she does! She has a younger sister named Casey."

(snort of laughter) That was me. I couldn't help it.

As Squeaker pointed out, Casey is a popular name right now so I guess it's possible.

I hear Wimblysnippet is gaining some popularity as well.

How's That Again?

One of Squeaker's funny quirks, in addition to repeating the same story word-for-word dozens of times, is the ability to take someone else's story and make it her own. Because of this it's pretty hard to tell what is a for-real Squeaker story and what is a borrowed-from-someone-else-as-if-it-happened-to-me Squeaker story.

A few days ago, Ana was telling Lucky about a girl she met who also had the name Anastasia but went by "Stacy". She added that it was probably because the other girl pronounced her name ah-na-STAH-see-ah (Ana's is pronounced anna-STAY-zhya).

So yesterday, Squeaker was telling us about her friend at school this year whose name is Anastasia but goes by "Stacy", adding, "It's probably because her name is pronounced ah-na-STAH-see-ah." Oh, really?

Seriously, no matter how unusual the name, Squeaker apparently knows or has known someone by that name. You could say, "I met a guy today name Wimblysnippet" and she would be sure to respond, "Oh, there's a kid named Wimblysnippet who sits behind me in second period."

You think I exaggerate.....but I do not.

Updating Post Below

Seamonkey told me there was a bad guy upstairs. It's either a monster, a spider, or a bad guy all the time. I told him there wasn't and went upstairs to show him it was okay. As I rounded the corner in the hall, I saw a dark shadow moving at the crack at the bottom of the door. Heart-lurch time again. Turned out I had closed Cooper in the girls room when I shut all the upstairs doors. Lousy dog. Ana and I were going to go to a scary movie this weekend but now I'm rethinking that plan. What a twinkie.

I came downstairs to find The Boss "reading" a book to Seamonkey in the big squashy chair. Awwwwwwww....too cute. I snapped a picture and texted it to Peaches.

About thirty seconds later Seamonkey tried to rip the book out of The Boss' hands. He responded by shouting, "Do you want me to bite you?" Good feeling gone.

The Boss is being completely rude and obstinate today. He's been in time-out three times already and has kept up a constant stream of muttering.

Ana just called again with another update from court. Hard to believe it can get worse and yet it does. They are actually making this a reunification case whether the guardianship stays in affect or not. Four years of nothing from mom then she gets out of prison and into a rehab program for six-months and, presto-bango, here's your kids back. Un-stinkin-believable.

Just not feeling into being productive today. Let's try this one in the iPod.

One Day More

One Sunday then back to school.

The big boys are back and acting normally...wait that's not exactly right....let's see, we'll go with "normal for us". Sparky has been uncharacteristically quiet but cooperative. Drama Boy cried over having to do the dishes and not being allowed to dye his hair black or bleach it blond. So again, "normal for us". Ana did allow him to have his hair highlighted. Choosing hair dye right after having the boys choose new school shoes was excruciating. They are so picky. I'd rather take 60 teen girls shopping then those two guys.

Following our shopping excursion we ate dinner at the food court of the last store we visited. Keeping things interesting, Drama Boy asked all the girls (grown-ups too) what they would want to look like if they were a guy. Never been asked that before. Odd child. Then he told us what he would want to look like if he were a girl. Okay, freaking me out...can we change the subject now?

The Boss made it through an entire day without a screaming fit. Squeaker told the same story that she has been repeating for a week and at least twice today. When asked "Didn't you just tell her that story?", she simply answered "Yes." Lucky pestered all day about walking or washing the dogs. She's making me hate the dogs. Not really....okay a little bit.

Just another normal Saturday.

Planet Make-No-Sense

I've been informed by Peaches that "I'm losing it" because I haven't written anything funny lately. Sorry, but I can't figure out how to blog her designed-by-fruit-punch-hooters-tshirt. Let me just say, WAY too much ice in the cup.

Moving on...

It started out to be a pleasant afternoon as afternoons in our house go. The girls had a neighbor friend over. Everyone was doing their respective things. The boys were helping barbecue hamburgers. Then Lucky found that someone had written on a letter that she was working on for her mom, finishing an unfinished sentence with "...because I hate you, fat lard".

Lucky immediately blamed Drama Boy who has been pretty hateful in addition to pulling pranks like leaving Lucky's swimsuit in the toilet. Drama Boy immediately began crying and wailing that he had not done it. Lucky produced the evidence. It was evident that it had been written by someone who wrote more neatly and more girly than DB usually does.

He continued to make his case saying that if he had written it he would have used more swear words. Great. Thanks for the tip-off for next time.

We managed to get through dinner and then the incident was brought up again. Drama Boy started up again with the whining and denying and explaining. Ana told him "We're not going to talk about it any more because I believe you."

Well, you'd think that would be the end of it. But no, because we live in some sort of distorted parallel backwards and upside down universe. Therefore, to Drama Boy it was his cue to really turn on the waterworks, this time because he didn't believe Ana that she believed him. He carried on and cried for a good nine and a half minutes about how no one ever lets him say anything.

Yeah. I know. Bizarre. There must be some kind of portal back to reality somewhere around here.

Car-medy of Errors

After many months one of the broken cars is back in action, so today I had to get it smogged in order to register it.

Smog Place #1: Had a sign stating "WE TEST ALL VEHICLES!". That looked promising.

Smog place guy: What kind of Ford is it?
Me: It's an Expedition.
Smog place guy: We can't test Expeditions.
Me: (To self: HUH?)

Smog Place #2: Right next to Smog Place #1 with a shared parking lot. That looked promising.

Me: Can you test an Expedition?
Smog place guy: We can but we're not able to now.
Me: (To self: HUH?)
Ana: So that means you can't?

Smog Place #3: It's in the next town, but it's open. That looked promising.

Me: Can you test an Expedition?
Smog place guy: I can do that. Pull it up here.

5 minutes later with car up on ramp thingy.
Smog place guy: It's out of gas.

10 minutes later after they roll it off the ramp thingy, I put in gas, and it's back on the ramp thingy.
Smog place guy: There's another problem.
Me: Of couse there is.

My car passed but my gas cap didn't pass. My gas cap has never not passed. I didn't even know it had to pass or not pass. Twenty dollars later the new cap passed so it wasn't as dire as it sounded.

10 minutes later paying at Smog Place #3.
Smog place guy: The credit card machine isn't connecting.
Me: Some days are like that.
Me: (Adding to self: Even in Australia.)

The Good, the Bad and the Funny

Sparky's behavior has finally stabilized after several weeks of destructive and abusive tantrums which resulted in 3 new holes in the walls, a cracked door, ripped up window screen and broken garden lights. During the last 2 weeks, there have been only 2 tantrums.

On Monday, it took him 2 hours to get out of the car and go to his after-school program since he felt he shouldn't have to go on his day off. I sat in the parking lot with him while he raged, cussed, threw things around the car, hit the windows with the seatbelt buckle, called me names and then blamed me for the fact that his head and eyes hurt since I "got him mad and made him cry."

On Wednesday he ditched the bus driver and walked home instead. When I told him he had to go back to the bus and attend the after-school program, he scratched the car with a rock and hit it with his bandsticks. I followed Sparky back to school where the bus driver was looking for him, trailing all the other little bus-riders after him.

Yes, this was bad behavior and we both got a lecture from the program's director about the importance of meeting the bus driver directly after school, but he did get a "Caught Being Good" award two weeks in a row by the game room supervisor so he earned the privilege of standing on his chair after dinner to celebrate.

He was also recognized at school with the "Teacher's Choice Award" for outstanding academic improvement and performed in his first school band concert.

That's what we call a good week around here.
__________

Tonight the kids watched part of the sci-fi adventure movie Armageddon. I turned off the movie right after the space shuttle crash landed on the meteor, woke Sparky up and told him to go up to bed. He got up and started walking around looking for something.
"Where is it?" he asked.
What?
"I don't know where it is! Wait...can I just wear this?"
Where?
"In space!"
Huh?

There Arose Such a Clatter

The littles have been arguing, tattling, begging, and making demands loudly every day, all day, all week.

He took my car. He hit me. You be quiet. Get off my bed. That was you. That was not me. No you can't. You took my spot. Don't say that. Stop it! No you stop it! Right now! What the heck? Don't talk to me. You can't go right there. I want a cookie. THERE'S A SPIDER! Open the door! Shut the door! I don't want to take a nap. I want to eat. I don't want to eat. I'm going to FREAK out! You give me juice. I want Transformers/Thomas/Bob the Builder/Spiderman/skateboard. That's not yours. NO! YES! NO! YES! Heeeeeyyyyy!!!! He's pushing me. You can't do that. No you not. Yes I can. I can't. Ewwwwww....he farted. That was not me that was you. Get OFF!

We're a pretty loud household. I guess everybody thinks they need to yell to be heard over the others and the little guys are no exception. They argue loudly over everything including, this week, a pair of dirty socks that they both thought was theirs. We, of course, get to enjoy the accompanying whines, shrieks, squeals, growls, raspberries, and shooting/blowing up noises that go along with their conversation. They also mimic perfectly the name-calling and "tone" from the older kids. Charming.

The rest of the kids continue to recover uncustomarily quickly from outbursts (can anybody say "Christmas is coming"?) but are still originators of almost constant noise. Drama Boy playing video games and guitar, Sparky drumming on every surface he can reach, Squeaker talking and/or singing during all waking hours, the boys wrestling and chasing one another up and down the stairs and all of them bantering, arguing, bargaining, chatting about thier friends and their day at school.

However the winning argument of the week went something like this:

Guy.
Don't say that!
Guy.
Don't say that!
Guy.
Don't say that!
Guy.
Don't say that!
Guy.
DON'T SAY THAT!

Yep. I don't even know what that means. Are my ears bleeding?