Pre-Elay

Summer has begun...actually it's almost half-way over, but our vacations began last week.  Kindsay's phonetics dependence has her sending massive texts out to all those in my contacts in my cell saying we're off to "Elay"...I never bothered explaining, but we went to L.A. with some friends and their kids and an hour into our visit I told my friends to get a good look at my kids because it would be the last time I take them on vacay.  grrrrrr.
Prior to leaving for Elay, Greg and I are scrambling to get everything together.  It's anxiety inducing, cranky making, final straw material.  As I'm packing inside, Greg is loading the van.  I needed a few things and since we didn't plan on leaving for another hour, Greg suggested I run to the store while he continues preparing the car.  Oh the bliss I should have enjoyed.  Walking through Target, no child at my legs, no calling for the insubordinate son to return from the toy aisle, no forgetting everything on my list because I'm preoccupied with fighting children.  I strolled though...I did stroll.  I glanced at the people with crying kids...tsk tsk. Poor saps.  I smiled kindly at those threatening to paddle their kids in public.  Stroll....
In the  meantime, Greg is up a creek with our beloved Kindsay.  Instead of offering to help Daddy, she finds her bike buried in the garage and decides it's time to take a ride down the street.  She doesn't care that her face is covered with food.  She ate and didn't wash herself, so she had the food goatie, and I'm guessing a decent amount was stuck in her hair as well.  She was wearing a maxi dress...an older one...but it was a maxi nonetheless.  (yeah I know, at least she was dressed!) 
So she boards the bike unbeknownst to Greg and takes off down the street with high hopes for a quick sail around the neighborhood, but she got a few feet from the house and her maxi dress billowed out like a sail, underwear on display with her long legs losing momentum.  The dress quickly becomes tangled in the spokes which knots up and drags her down.  Greg ran out hearing her screams.  He said all you could see was this parachute of  dress flying over her head, ripping as it caught in the spokes, food all over her face as she wails like a banshee.  He had to rip the dress to get her off of the bike, the bike I imagine she will bury back into the garage.  I know the neighbors can hear the racket, but they also know Kindsay so I can picture them perking up from their newspapers to discern the horrible sound, realizing it's the neighbors (us), shrugging, then taking a sip of their coffee and back to the editorials.  After all, the little yellow bus stops in front of our house everyday, there are no secrets on Carson Avenue.

Here We Go AGAIN!

Yes....my husband is allowing another animal into my home, one that is weak against the fury of an unforgiving master.  It's my neighbor's fault.  They went and got a hamster for their cute little blonde-haired, blue-eyed girls.  Sweet girls with only the best intentions for their new ball of fluff.  That got my boys into a frenzy.  They've been on a hamster kick now for the past couple of months.  Slowly, Greg came around and starting campaigning for them.  I, on the other hand, am campaigning on the hamster's side.  I know what's going to happen to that poor thing.  The boys swear they will protect it with their own lives against the misdeeds of big sister, but she's too smooth, I don't trust her.  In fact, I'm taking bets on how long it will all last.  Anyone want in? 
Trust me...I am fighting this even now.  With Father's Day coming up, I thought I had a fool-proof way of stifling this fight.  Every holiday that Greg gets a gift, he wants a new game for his PS3.  He has it decided on months, if not a full year, in advance.  He counts down...sometimes he purchases them without my knowing before I get a chance to because he can't stand the waiting.  Oh brother.  Is there anything in my life that gets me so riled up?  nah.  can't think of anything.
This time I thought I had him--OK, Greg...you want the kids to have a hamster?  Then you'll have to use your Father's Day game money to pay for all the stuff because I'm not funding this disaster-waiting-to-happen.  (remember the mice?  $60 for 3 mice that lasted 3 mos...including their stinkin' pinkies.)
No answer.
Aha!  I got him.  Then the kids caught on--Yay Daddy wants a hamster for Father's Day!  We'll get him one..a black one!  Can we go now?  When can we pick out daddy's hamster gift?
Chuckling, I tell them - No way is your father going to be willing to give up a game for a dumb hamster.  Sorry, guys....
Then Greg came around. 
And around.
And around again.
To where Kindsay is already counting on it and even shopping for it.
See the picture at the top?  That's what I found on my computer one night.  Yes, Kindsay is shopping for ferret harnesses because they are the closest size to a hamster and she plans on taking her hamster for a walk.  I just looked at her.  I'm picturing this gargantuan girl (she's like 5'8") in her bra and underwear (have mercy on me) walking a three inch hamster around the house (reality show here we come)...every step she takes takes the hamster a whole minute to clear before she can move on.  *sigh*
I see ferret harnesses all over the computer...different sizes, colors, shapes...are you KIDDING me?
I can already smell the hamster cage, hear the fights over who holds it but who has to clean the cage, cries over where the hamster went because Kindsay let it out to stretch (thinking it would willingly return home to it's cage), and the anger of why did we let Kindsay touch it because now it's dead?
Kindsay is absolutely positive she will not hurt it.  She has been scouring the Internet for weeks now, hunting for supplies, cages, hamster care information, etc.  She swears she will only be a loving mother and will give it only the best of care. 
I'm starting to give in, thinking maybe she's ready and has had enough bad experiences.  I'm starting to warm up realizing that the boys will keep a watchful eye on it.  I start having sympathy for Kindsay who just so desperately wants to love something and will never have a baby of her own (if I can help it).  Only to be stopped in my mind tracks once again.
Last night Kindsay burst into the kitchen with new information.  She found baby rabbits online.  She found little cute bunnies that she wants so so so bad.  (she had a bunny in her last class she called Panda Foo Foo and she was the main caregiver.)  I start shaking my head...no no no no!  I'm not willing to even discuss having a rabbit.  They stink even more, they poop more, they are larger.  NO!
Kindsay is quickly frustrated with my ignorance--Mom!  I don't want to have it for a pet!  Gosh!  There's a recipe on the Internet for rabbits!  The computer says you can EAT them, geez Mom!
uh-oh..I smell trouble, or is it hamster stew?

Kindsay Dearest

Kindsay has many strengths--she's great with technology and decoding print.  But social skills?  I remember when she was in preschool and I'd ask her how her day was.  She couldn't answer the question.  I started asking her the question and then answered it for her so she could hear the proper response with hopes that she would eventually start answering me herself. 
"What did you have for lunch?  I had mac n cheese." etc.
When she'd have friends over, before all the little girls outgrew her, I'd have to sit in the next room and facilitate her dialogue so the friend could understand what she is trying to say.  Now she's a great talker, and question asker, and truth teller (to a fault), but making and keeping friends is still in the works.  Don't believe me?  Let me enlighten you.
You've heard of her friend Alli, and the teacher tells me Alli can be very mean and nasty to Kindsay.  She tells Kindsay lies, according to teacher, and says stuff like "my church told me not to talk to you anymore" and "I can't be your friend" and so on.  From what I'm told, at school there is constant turmoil.  Oh I believe it.  The many afternoons of the door slamming upon her arrival and the hours of self-chats while sitting on the toilet are perfect evidence of this.  Finally, Kindsay's teacher tells me that she's not taking Alli's crap anymore.  At first I was glad to hear that she is standing up for herself and not letting someone walk all over her.  Then, I found my phone and all that was added to it.
Where's my phone? I asked myself while frantically searching the last place I put it.  Ahh, wait a minute, I have a teenager without a phone, so that's where mine is.  Kindsay, sure enough, has my phone plugged into her wall and is texting like a scandalous fifteen-year-old while under her massive down comforter.  I can see the light under the white blanket with the perfect dome peaking where her head is.  "Kindsay!"  Lights out because she's slammed the phone onto her lap and played possum, which was useless because she sits three feet tall on her bed.  She reluctantly hands it to me, all the while the look of the devil in her eye as she suspicously watches me check my phone for her activity.  She's guilty...guilty guilty, so I quickly scan through the texts.  A scorned woman she was too...the texts were so furiously created and sent that Alli's sister finally texted to please stop.  I immediately texted by an apology, then choked as I pulled up her texts.  The contents were atrocious and certainly containing words I don't want any child to be the recipient of (nothing vulgar, just mean like "you have the face of a butt.")  I called out to Greg who looked them over, and as I walked into the garage to run an errand I can hear him light her up.  Busted.  But even with all the hormonal nasty girl teen dirt she can pull out of herself, Kindsay isn't threatening or scary at all, rude yes, but not scary, though she tries with all her faculties to bring fear into her enemies.  Why don't I just show you what I am talking about?
This picture was sent to Alli with the following text (exactly how it was sent, mind you):  Several "pist" faces follow with more similarly angry texts. 


I am mad and pist at you ***(Alli's full real name here)*** you are mean to me why would you not come to my birthday mad face and pist look on my face do not call me ***name here*** please don't call me.

She then attempts to put fear into poor Alli's heart.  Here's the picture with the text just as it is sent:

I am a scary zombie white eyed girl person staring at you ***Alli's real name***

Now excuse me while I have to go in and delete each picture one at a time along with several lines of obnoxious texts that only add to my embarrassment having them sent from my phone.  There is, however, a lesson to you all--do not cross this woman without expecting to suffer the consequences, one of which will be relentless texting and harassment with pictures that just might keep you awake at night.  In the meantime, I'm teaching those social skills as fast as I can.