Kindsay's Island

Some people have heard me say that if Kindsay was left on a deserted island, she could survive just fine. She can't tell you what day it is, what she did last week, answer anything abstract at all, but she can swing a deal. I'm telling you--RESOURCEFUL.
Her birthday was Oct 2, and we gathered as a family at a restaurant. I offered her cash or a friend party and she threw her friends out the window without a tear in her eye or a glance backward. She pretty much made the rounds with my family that she wanted cash. Hi--how are you? yeah, yeah..for my birthday I want cash. Bye. End of conversation. My brother, my sister, my parents, everyone was included. There we sat at lunch on her birthday--Kindsay of course was in a ball chewing her nails off. After we ordered we handed her our gifts--all cards. She knew what was inside. One by one she ripped them open, smelled the cash that fell on her lap, glanced over the card for politeness sake, and went on to the next. By the end she had $115 in all kinds of bills, and she smelled them in their fullness throughout lunch as the rest of us ate. She didn't touch her lunch, didn't even give her cake (a Cold Stone cake, mind you) the time of day, but smelled the cash that would soon go into the little change purse she brought strapped around her wrist. Why, after the cards/gifts/money, she was done and over with her party--"take me home!" That was the end of her birthday.
or was it?
My mom asked her to go to the movies with her, and Kindsay declined every invitation and went right to her room, door shutting behind her. Greg and I shrugged and went off to take our weekend naps. Sunday rolled around to business as usual, until Monday morning came. Now, a typical school day morning consists of Kindsay face-down in bed, parents begging her to get up, parents threatening her to get dressed, and shoved off out of the bathroom, where she now spends half her day, and onto her bus. This particular Monday morning wasn't a typical day. Greg and I got up to find her already dressed and pacing the house. We looked at each other with puzzled bewilderment (is there another kind?), but began the morning routine. We were so baffled, though, that we stopped her pacing and asked what the deal was? The deal...well she blew up at us as though we took away a teenager's cell phone. "Just because I bought a dog--You said I could have a puppy--you said someday! I'm not having this--this is getting old!" Puppy..dog? wh..? WHAT? What puppy? "I bought a dog and he's coming in the morning from Cassie!" Cassie? Who is Cassie? "It's $25 and it's my money--I'm tired of this--stop talking to me!" Love how she turns her bad deeds into my fault, right? We had a little "no you aren't getting a dog" talk, finished the morning routine, and all of us went off to school, except Bek who doesn't have school on Mondays. Greg and I felt like we'd dodged that one...and what was she talking about anyway? Beats both of us (please, with a stick), so we went on as though it was typical Kindsay ranting in La-La land (remember, she's good friends with Justin Beiber too.)
then we got a call.
Greg called me about 10AM that morning. He is terrible when it comes to breaking news. He hesitates, beats around the bush, like a horrible suspense movie that makes you topple out of your seat in anticipation. "We have a...um..well, there's a new...uh--Kindsay bought a dog." What? When? How? Apparently, Bek heard whimpering in the house and found the dog shut away in Kindsay's room. It was a 3-mo-old rat terrier that had peed itself and was starving. What...were we never going to discover this? Bek took care of it while Greg and I scrambled to uncover the mystery of how this deal went down. I phoned her teacher who could get Kindsay to admit to shooting JFK, and she was on it. Turns out, Kindsay got on Craigslist, found a dog she liked, texted the woman, made arrangements to meet out front our house at the crack of dawn, and had cash ready for delivery. I was, as you can well imagine, livid at the idiocy of a grown woman. and livid, terrified, and impressed that my special needs child who has a cafeteria of disabilities could pull off such a stunt, and without us knowing! The school psych even had to talk to her to get her to understand the very dangerous thing she had done. After the long talk, reviewing scenarios of what could-have-been, Kindsay gushed, "do you want to see my puppy?" Teacher and psych exchanged looks of concern, knowing that I was in for a real treat that night. Even if I wanted to keep the dog, I couldn't because I can't affirm the actions Kindsay took. It had to be a life lesson for her. I phoned the woman and told her she sold her puppy to a child with disabilities who killed her last four pets. "I'll be by after 7 to pick it up." 7:30 PM she came, apologizing profusely, and exchanged puppy for cash. No, I did not chew out the woman. I figured she'd never forget this incident and learn to ask for an adult next time. Besides, her punishment is the fact that she has to live with the kind of rationale that says, "sell to a minor without parents' permission." Scary. I can't stand the thought of another dog, especially with short hair that gets left on EVERYTHING. And a puppy? Chewing, potty-training..ugh. The dog, named Brandon/Shadow/Midnight (yes, they went through all those names in the time of about 3 hours) had peed on multiple things in my house, which confirmed my convictions NOT to keep it. Kindsay cried the first part of the afternoon, called everyone to tell them what a bad mother I am, but was chewing her toenails off in typical nervous fashion by the time the dog left...oh well. So long. Unfortunately, picking up the dog so late allowed my four children to bond, and left me with the original yet unfairly appointed nickname "Cruella"...a short-haired rat terrier fur coat? Hmph...I don't think so.