Unconditional Love

I woke up at 5:30 this morning with a jump, a steroid-induced hot flash, and heavily breathing in fear! I'm not sure what rational people have nightmares about, but I'm pretty sure it is not the accumulation of dust and debris on and near the baseboards. I sit in the darkness trying to calm down, "One Q-tip resting in the crevice is not going to multiply overnight." I realize I'm on the verge of losing my mind.

Isn't it enough that when I'm sick I'm ultra-sensitive on top of my already extra-sensitivity or that I cry at a glance? But top that with a monthly and I'm a wreck!

Last night after supper all five of us sit around chatting. Without trying, I make J-squared's youngest cry.

She says, "I love you, Muffy."

I melt, "Awww, I love you too."

Under her breath she whispers, "J/k."

Normally when Phaedra jokes like that I reply, "That's okay because I love your brother or sister more." But not last night, no! Last night I open my mouth wide in shock. The sickness combined with hormones and the concoction of steroids, antibiotics, a mild pain reliever, and narcotic cough suppressant which should have left me zombified only opens a floodgate of tears.

Being the sensitive young lady that Phaedra is, at the sight of me crying her eyes bubble up and spill over with tears, "I'm so sorry Muffy. I really do love you! I love you!"

J-squared, who is always quick to remedy a situation with impeccable comedic timing, accuses Phaedra of taking the boy-child's 'job' of making me cry.

The boy-child squints and agrees, "Yes..." in a diabolical tone. I can see the cogs and spokes behind his eyes slowly beginning to turn. I can see him contemplating his next move, perhaps a checkmate to regain his title.

We all laugh.

As we clear the table and put away the leftovers Phaedra squeezes in between me and the refrigerator, "Muffy, do you know I love you?"

Oh damn, I've got to stick my face in the freezer. I feel another hot flash coming on, "Yes Sweetie. I know."

"Well, if you know I love you how come you're still all weepy?"

I explain to her how all the medication I am on can mess with me, which makes me hypersensitive. She still expresses a concern that I am mad at her and inquires if I have stopped loving her because of her joke.

That thought is preposterous! Really the joke is pretty funny. She reels me in with sweetness and once I'm lured in she yanks away the security. I would have laughed; it was just bad timing.

Despite my urge to do the dishes, I close my eyes to the state of the kitchen, take an extended peak in the freezer, and then make my way down the hallway. After all, the kids won't ever do the dishes if they know I'll go in behind them to complete their chore.

As I walk back to the bedroom to go to bed I glance at the Q-tip on the floor. You know, a couple of months ago I was tired of seeing used Q-tips on the floor so I color coated them. I bought each child a specific color of Q-tip. From the color of the stem I know who the offending litter-bug is. But that damn thing has been dead on the carpet for more than three days and nobody has bothered to pick it up! If I see it, I know they see it. They should find this disgusting, embarrassing and disrespectful. It is a real disappointment to all the hard work we put into cleaning the house in June. I question my sanity at such a build-up of anger over a simple Q-tip on the floor. I chalk it up to roid-rage.

Sensitive or not it's hard enough to squelch or attempt to curb my OCD, but if these prescriptions are exacerbating cleanliness to the point I'm living the nightmare in my sleep, I'm screwed!

However, if the youngest wants to prove that she loves me she could finish up the sink full of dishes. Or better yet she could dust and vacuum the baseboards. After all, to withstand a nightmare and proving to have medicinal powers at preventing lost minds, pristine baseboards are truly a tangible expression of unconditional love.

Wrong Number

This all could have been avoided if I were a better girlfriend.

Today I left my cell phone at home. I know, the absolute horror!!! 

I emailed J-squared this morning to let him know, just on the chance that he’d text me and I wouldn’t respond. He responded with an email that asked for me to call him. He attached his cell phone number.

Naturally I called the number J-squared gave me, twice. 
Some man named Kim answered. Kim told me that I sound damn sexy and it I don't find J-squared then I need to call him back. He then said if I don't call him back it’s okay because now he's got my number on lock down and he'll be calling me back. Sweet mother of mercy I was laughing so hard, “Damn girl even your laugh is sexy.”

Yep, I’ve got it! But, I still can’t help but to think if I had J-squared’s cell phone number memorized this wouldn’t have happened.

Karmic Retaliation

My Mom always says that when I have children I'll earn karmic retaliation three-fold for the antics I pulled in my rebellious years.  I don't have my own children, but in an attempt of the universe at seeking revenge at me for my former antics I have earned three paybacks. Oh, my Little Rottens!

This evening, as she is rolling Lime leaves to cut and cook for supper, Pandora's cell phone is blowing up with text messages. In between text conversations she is teaching me to make the Thai dish Chicken Panang. Gaw, it's so delicious!

As the conversation and cooking lesson is progressing Phaedra sneaks away from her duty as rice chef to return to her new-to-her laptop that is patiently waiting in the Living Room.

Pandora's friend, Gavin, is annoyingly bugging her with his text messages. Those are her words, but I think she secretly loves the attention. Gavin wants Pan to come out to a party he is attending. After repeatedly asking Gavin who the party goers are he finally answers. She yells in frustration, "Ahhh! It's a Sausage Party! I don't want to go to a Sausage Party!!!"

I promptly reply, "That is EXACTLY why they want you there!"

As Pan is growing increasingly frustrated with Gavin and the prospects of attending a 'Sausage Party' Phaedra is questioning the term.

She is quiet at first, "Sausage Party? What is a 'Sausage Party'?"

Slowly she gets louder, "Averill, what is a 'Sausage Party'? Hey! What is a 'Sausage Party'?"

At this point I am hoping J-squared will hear the questions, come out of his bedroom, as the door is wide open, and answer this daunting question. I do not see his shadow looming on the carpet in the hallway. His ear buds are firmly planted in his ears, an audio book drowning out our noises as he works from home.  I send up a silent hope, maybe she'll look it up on-line. Instead the hall bathroom door swings open.

I walk out of the kitchen to look at Phaedra, who is sitting at the drafting table on her laptop.

"Phaedra, a 'Sausage Party' is a get together that only has men attending. In this term the word sausage is slang for a penis. Only men are at the party."

Phae is silent.

 "Awhh man!! Even I know what a 'Sausage Party' is. That's inappropriate to talk about, especially to tell Phae. It's inappropriate!"

I correct him, "No Mav. If Phaedra has enough nerve to ask me a question, the least I can do is answer her honestly."

His rebuttal, "It's still inappropriate!"

With this simple comment Maverick places himself squarely in the epicenter of the conversation.  He is the target for being on blast.

Pandora pushes past me, "NO! NO, Maverick! You know what's inappropriate is you locking yourself in your bedroom with your laptop, looking at porn, and masturbating. That's inappropriate!"

Mav silently sulks back to his bedroom.

Oh, brown-word! I don't know what I did, but I'm absolutely sure that for some past indiscretion I deserve this karmic retaliation.

1-up

The temperature on my car's digital thermometer displays 105 degrees Fahrenheit before I turn the ignition off. I grab most of the frozen groceries and run through the house like a tornado to put them in the outside freezer.  I'm barking orders to which ever child might be gaming in the living room, "There are groceries also in the front seat of the car too!" I can only imagine the havoc the heat is playing on the food while it is sitting in the hatchback during the 20 minute drive from the grocery store.  My paranoia is in overdrive, I've convinced myself the helado popsicles are melting through their individual plastic wrappers.

After the freezer is stocked I calmly unload the rest of the groceries into the pantry. "MAVERICK!" I holler down the hallway for him to come out of his bedroom.

Without a sound he appears in the hallway directly behind me, "Geck!" I jump out of my skin. It freaks me out when he does that! I take a deep breath, "It freaks me out when you do that!"

He flashes his typical cheshire grin.

"Hey Maverick, I called you and Phaedra in here to tell you something." I didn't technically have to call Phaedra into the kitchen. When I'm at the house she's less than a step behind me. She's become my favorite little shadow. "Don't eat the generic-Doritos. They're for a Taco Casserole dinner. Okay?"

After a litany of excuses and blaming the other, absent inhabitants of the house for eating the last bag of Goritos, they both agree.

"I've bought each of you your own special lunches and treats." I look to her, "Phaedra, it looks like Mac got more than you, but it's even. Your food was more expensive."

Mac smirks to himself. His larger pile, consisting of Spaghetti-O's with Meatballs and Vienna Sausages, pleases him. They both say, "Thank you," in unison.

As Phaedra opens the refrigerator to examine her vegetarian friendly Lunchable, Maverick moves into the kitchen and stands in front of the laundry closet. His behavior is odd. Normally he dismisses himself from my presence as soon as he can make a break. But today his chest is all puffed up. He turns to face me and proudly announces, "I mowed the grass all by myself."

I can tell he is the one that mowed the lawn, with the missed spots and all. But, instead of drawing attention to the flaws I decide to cut him some slack. After all, this is only the second time he's ever cut the grass. He doesn't know yet to cut it in two different directions, like the diamond pattern of the outfield in a baseball field.

I smile at him and say, "I saw it was cut. You did a good job."

My compliment is genuine. I smile at him.

He smiles so big, enough to show at least six teeth on the top row!! I feel like we are playing a video game. By giving him that one compliment I earn a level up.

The three of us finish up our short conversation. I head for the door. I declare, "I wasn't here."

Phaedra responds, "I'm not promising anything."

I smile, "Love you, bye!"

As I was walk out of the front door I receive a bonus. Maverick yells after me, "Please drive safely. See you on Friday!"

My inner scoreboard chimes again, I'm credited an extra life, 1-up  I'll take that!

Pumping up the Volume

I didn't think this day could get any better, but it did!

After three and a half hours of sleep the day began with the anticipation of sleeping in and being off of work tomorrow.   Perfect Student Worker (tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, ding, ding, ding - make a noise for her like the tinkling of bells when a Disney Princess arrives on screen - she's that awesome!) sneaked in and gave me an amazing birthday present in a pink polka dot gift bag!! Then, a bevy of birthday cards were secretly delivered to my Desk#2. I completely forgot that I'll be having a work birthday party until Nosey Supervisor reminded me, so I got all excited like a five year old going to Disney World.

AND THEN, the best thing ever!!! Nosey Supervisor asked me if I have seen Magic Mike yet.

Me, "No."

"Well let me tell you about it." She starts thrusting her hips back and forth and gyrating her upper body in a sexual manner. "I took my daughter, and it was great! They showed some rear ends from here on," she motioned with her hands. "And nothing around here," she waves her hands in a circular motion around her treasure area, "except in one scene they showed some guy pumping."

I made my eyes really big, like a Precious Moments doll.

"Do you know what that is?"

I innocently answered, "No," knowing full well what it is, thank you to the nudie magazine Becca brought to at an eighth grade slumber party.  I wondered how far Nosey Supervisor would go with this topic.

"Well me either, I had to ask SunDrop about it. And she told me that it's something men use to make their penis bigger."

FANTASTIC!!!! This day is perfect!

Wrap-up: Family Date Night

I really had no idea how HUGE of an impact Family Date Night would be on J-squared's kiddos. Yesterday, even after putting in a 12 hour day of 'Muffy-Style Hardcore Cleaning,' at the end of the evening, the three Little Rottens are still talking about how much fun they had on Friday night.

Before I sent her off to shower and go to bed the J-squared's youngest, Phaedra, and I were reviewing the list posted on the refrigerator and crossing off our accomplishments. Except for the hall bathroom everything else on the list and so much more was accomplished.

I stretched my arms above my head and said, "I think all of my elbow grease has been used up for the day."

She rolled her shoulders and moved both of her elbows back and forth and shook her head in agreement,  "I've got just enough left to eat some of the ice cream that's in the freezer."

She's good!

When my Dad was growing up, dessert would be a carton of ice cream and a bag of pretzels. He's carried that tradition on with our immediate family. After a hard day of family working togetherness we finish the day relaxing, laughing, and bonding over ice cream. So, when my Little Rotten asks for ice cream after the 'Muffy-Style Hardcore Cleaning,' it tickles me. She couldn't be more a part of my family if she were trying!

Little, Rotten, Four-Letter Words

I call my boyfriend's children "My Little Rottens." It's not because they are bad, it's just an expression. I liken them to the three little girls in Despicable Me, except they all aren't girls.  One is a magical sea monkey child. I love those Little Rottens!

I guess it is coincidental and convenient that when I was growing up my Mom would always wish upon me a child that was three times as rotten as I am, errr rewind, was. Yes, was. I was rotten. As in, I'm not rotten any more. Nope, no rotten here.

Sometimes my brothers and I used to call each other some very special four-letter words. I remember them fondly as terms of endearment; it was all in love. Sometimes we'd utter four-letter words just for the heck of it. On some very rare and embarrassing occasions Mom would catch us venting a bad word. Part of our punishment was to define it as we knew it, the slang terminology of the word. It really was the worst punishment; she should be proud of herself for that. Imagine if someone were to perhaps get caught saying a word that can be abbreviated "Mo Fo," try explaining that to your Mom. After the definition we would be lectured and forced to eat soap, liquid Dial soap. I hate Dial!

I stopped at the boyfriend's house after work this evening to pick up my stuff from the weekend. One of his children, Phaedra, was looking at her Pinterest account. The child showed me a pictorial that she had repinned. It was a silly slam against Kristen Stewart of Twilight fame. However, the quip used the words "bestiality" and "necrophilia." I read the cartoon and although it was funny I managed not to crack a smile. His daughter was looking for approval. I pursed my lips, took a deep breath, and slightly shook my head up and down. I was wrestling with my next question. I pointed to the words and asked, "Do you know what those two words mean?"

 

The repinned pictorial that led to the definitions. In the Twilight Saga Kristen Stewart's character is in love with a werewolf, thus the bestiality. She is also in love with a vampire, where necrophilia comes in because a vampire is dead (undead?).

She answered innocently, "No."

I told her that those words are somewhat bad words and if she is going to post them on her Pinterest account than she should know what they mean. She said, "Okay."

I explained the words as simply as I could. And fast, very, very, very quickly, "Bestiality means people that like to have sex with animals. And, necrophilia means people that like to have sex with dead people."

The poor girl had a look of horror on her face. I felt whoozie. It got hot. My hands were sweating. I thought I was going to get punished. I imagined the pain of my Dad's fingers clenching my jaw open, the faint scent of liquid Dial soap, and the cool, fluid, orange goop being squeezed into my mouth.

I guess my Mom's curse came somewhat true, except I didn't get a child three times as rotten as I once was. No, what I got was much worse. I get to continue defining inappropriate words in uncomfortable situations. I've got that covered, no problem.  But, if my Mom hears my language will you perhaps tell her I already took a bite out of a bar of soap, just for good measure?