Barkeep! A Round of Ritalin for My Friends!
This morning when we arrived home from the commissary, Marty asked if they could go on the moon bounce (a little inflatable bouncer that Aislinn got for her birthday). Figuring this was a perfect way to occupy Lauren and Marty while I got the groceries unloaded, I lugged out the whole contraption, pounded the stakes into the ground (and let Lauren and Marty pound with the hammers for a while too), tied up all the things that needed tying, plugged in the blower, and set it up for them.
I know David Letterman says the shortest measurable unit of time is the duration between the time a traffic light changes to green in NYC and when the cab driver behind you honks, but I have a new contender. Before I could even get the door unlocked to begin bringing in the groceries, the kiddies announced that they were done with the jumping.
Later today, after school, Aislinn (who got ratted out by some boys for sitting with one of her friends near the back of the bus) was feeling sad and asked if she could use the sidewalk paint. Trying to be a nice mommy, I got all the stuff out, filled up the paint tray, rinsed out all the brushes, and spent at least five minutes at the sink poking a toothpick through the holes in the splatter attachment. When I finally went outside and settled into my chair with a glass of water, Aislinn announced that she wanted to jump on the trampoline instead.
I sent the girls over to the trampoline and piled up all the paint stuff. I picked up my chair and Marty and carried them over to the trampoline. Approximately ten seconds after I dumped Marty through the net and settled into my chair, Aislinn announced that she wanted to ride her bike instead. At that point I had to lay down the law and order them to have fun on the trampoline.
They did jump for a while, but one by one they wound up back inside the house. As I stood at the sink washing out the sidewalk paint brushes, Lauren asked me to open a stationary set that Aislinn had received as a birthday gift, and to get her a glass of orange juice. The set was being held closed by approximately 10 pieces of tape that I was cutting with scissors. Here is what happened for the next three minutes:
Snip. “Mom, can you get me my orange juice now?” “Lauren, I’m trying to open this for you,” Snip. “Mom, can you get me my orange juice now?” “Lauren…” Snip. “Mom, can you get me my orange juice now?” “Lauren…” (Repeat 10 times). When she finally disappeared with the now open stationary set, I poured her some orange juice and walked out of the kitchen to tell her it was ready when…
I kicked over Marty’s orange juice that was perfectly positioned on the dining room floor. I stopped to clean that up, and immediately heard Marty say “I’m going to go drink some of my orange juice now.” Here is what happened for the next three minutes:
“Mommy, where is my orange juice?” “I spilled it Marty.” “Mommy, why did you spill my juice?” “I didn’t see it on the floor Marty.” “Why did you spill it?” “I didn’t know it was on the floor, Marty.” “I need some more orange juice, Mommy.” “Okay, here you go.” “Don’t spill this juice Mommy.” “I won’t.” “You need to be careful, Mommy.” “I know.” “I don’t want you to spill my juice again, Mommy.” “I won’t, Marty.” (etc. etc. etc.).
When I finally got Marty out the door and opened the refrigerator to put the orange juice away, the horseradish fell out on my foot. I, the once sane and well-adjusted, well-respected, and well-paid chemist, looked down and asked the horseradish, “What the hell is your problem? Now your lid is broken, so you are going in the trash.” Yes, I am talking to condiments.
I know things always ease up at the end of the school year, but the slope that things are sliding down in this house is dangerously steep. Things that are back in vogue here include paper plates and cups, TV during dinner and before bed, and piles of laundry that occupy whole corners of every room. I am suffering from a non-alcohol-induced fuzziheadedness that may start to threaten our very safety if I don’t find some relief soon. I need a little quiet, a little time to stare at the ocean, or at least a little time away from the Entropy Three debate team.
I know David Letterman says the shortest measurable unit of time is the duration between the time a traffic light changes to green in NYC and when the cab driver behind you honks, but I have a new contender. Before I could even get the door unlocked to begin bringing in the groceries, the kiddies announced that they were done with the jumping.
Later today, after school, Aislinn (who got ratted out by some boys for sitting with one of her friends near the back of the bus) was feeling sad and asked if she could use the sidewalk paint. Trying to be a nice mommy, I got all the stuff out, filled up the paint tray, rinsed out all the brushes, and spent at least five minutes at the sink poking a toothpick through the holes in the splatter attachment. When I finally went outside and settled into my chair with a glass of water, Aislinn announced that she wanted to jump on the trampoline instead.
I sent the girls over to the trampoline and piled up all the paint stuff. I picked up my chair and Marty and carried them over to the trampoline. Approximately ten seconds after I dumped Marty through the net and settled into my chair, Aislinn announced that she wanted to ride her bike instead. At that point I had to lay down the law and order them to have fun on the trampoline.
They did jump for a while, but one by one they wound up back inside the house. As I stood at the sink washing out the sidewalk paint brushes, Lauren asked me to open a stationary set that Aislinn had received as a birthday gift, and to get her a glass of orange juice. The set was being held closed by approximately 10 pieces of tape that I was cutting with scissors. Here is what happened for the next three minutes:
Snip. “Mom, can you get me my orange juice now?” “Lauren, I’m trying to open this for you,” Snip. “Mom, can you get me my orange juice now?” “Lauren…” Snip. “Mom, can you get me my orange juice now?” “Lauren…” (Repeat 10 times). When she finally disappeared with the now open stationary set, I poured her some orange juice and walked out of the kitchen to tell her it was ready when…
I kicked over Marty’s orange juice that was perfectly positioned on the dining room floor. I stopped to clean that up, and immediately heard Marty say “I’m going to go drink some of my orange juice now.” Here is what happened for the next three minutes:
“Mommy, where is my orange juice?” “I spilled it Marty.” “Mommy, why did you spill my juice?” “I didn’t see it on the floor Marty.” “Why did you spill it?” “I didn’t know it was on the floor, Marty.” “I need some more orange juice, Mommy.” “Okay, here you go.” “Don’t spill this juice Mommy.” “I won’t.” “You need to be careful, Mommy.” “I know.” “I don’t want you to spill my juice again, Mommy.” “I won’t, Marty.” (etc. etc. etc.).
When I finally got Marty out the door and opened the refrigerator to put the orange juice away, the horseradish fell out on my foot. I, the once sane and well-adjusted, well-respected, and well-paid chemist, looked down and asked the horseradish, “What the hell is your problem? Now your lid is broken, so you are going in the trash.” Yes, I am talking to condiments.
I know things always ease up at the end of the school year, but the slope that things are sliding down in this house is dangerously steep. Things that are back in vogue here include paper plates and cups, TV during dinner and before bed, and piles of laundry that occupy whole corners of every room. I am suffering from a non-alcohol-induced fuzziheadedness that may start to threaten our very safety if I don’t find some relief soon. I need a little quiet, a little time to stare at the ocean, or at least a little time away from the Entropy Three debate team.
posted by Shannon at 9:28 PM
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