Sunday, December 21, 2008

My Kingdom -- in fact, any real assets that I can reasonably obtain and give away -- for a NAP!!!

The Crab Queen awakened still troubled by a matter Unfit for Blogging. Talked to APC by phone and the Crab Queen's ma (who was still installed on the Great Livingroom Monument (aka, the Aerobed)) trying to un-spin. This was really far too early for a Sunday during R & R.

If you haaaaaaaaaaave met any of my offspring, they collectively have never encountered an o-dark-thirty that wasn't worth entertaining with their personalities so soon enough my people were doing what they do best: foraging.

Weighed and otherwise considered the pros/cons of Mass attendance. Taking a couple ticks off my long-term lease in Purgatory versus suffering in a Dante-esque GMK, real-time nagfest. If you've met GMK, you know I did what any rational person would do: Yield to the superior vector and drag my happy fanny to church.

Ben had Charlie detail, which was indeed a Blessing. I had Tim and LLGA. LLGA, despite an extended dance-mix pre-Mass nursing, decided that there was quite a bit of novel surroundings given the cold, hard fact that she hasn't graced the pew all that many times yet. By the offeratory, she was snoozing, leaving me just the drool-wipe prompting and intermittent horror-diversion that goes with Tim having had sweatpants ok'd by the Sand Crab as Mass attire. That leaves boy-parts WAY too out there for readjustment. He may be 14, he may be 5'10", but he's still just not convinced the parts are still there at any given moment -- especially when he has to kneel, stand, sit, and repeat once more with FEELING. (PUN INTENDED). Oh, wait, I did interfere with not one, but TWO attempts at finger-flicking (with the favored middle digit) at the pipe organ. I can pray and manage behavior. Of many, including the two J-crabs that apparently guzzled Jack-ass Juice (smuggled in by the juice's namesake) midway through the Mass.

Highlight (and I use that term graciously) of Mass was Tim clapping and CLOGGING to some Celtic-type recessional hymn. Lord, save your People, especially mine.

Lowlight was getting the family loaded back into the van, not for the weak of soul, and having Jamie report that Jack said "many bad words in the God' House". Me, being me, asked which ones. Found out that one word was uttered in a repetitive manner. Not a particularly impressive word so Jack continues his primary missions on Earth: exchange O2 for CO2 and drive his mother to the brink.

Home again to discover that GMK, left to her own devices (since she Mass-attended last night CONVINCED that despite the gridlock in our nation's airlines due to cruddy weather, she would need to leave before 10 a.m. to meet my dad at the airport) still glued to aa.com albeit not assisting in getting him here any quicker. (As I type this at 2:32 p.m. PT, she is casually arranged on the couch as he is not due to arrive for at least 2 more hours).

Ben is spending his R & R in the kitchen. By choice. He whipped up pancakes and sausage, which was tasty. By early afternoon, Lucy and I were both in that post-prandial haze usually reserved for Thanksgiving turkey dinner with a cocktail of NFL football. I uttered the words to my beloved, otherwise-doting spouse, "I would like to take a nap." Being male -- meaning he hears every third word "would...take" and fills in the gaps with a preferred message: Ben drives to the grocery store with Tim, doesn't pass the message to GMK, and leaves the other three boys without direction. This translates into no fewer than 4 interruptions by Charlie, two bellowings by me "Ben, could you get Charlie a drink of water?" directed to an adult NO LONGER IN THE HOUSE, and GMK happily interacting with the wide, wide world of aa.com (where she can witness each/every 10-minute incremental delay in Dad's flight progress). Finally, after Charlie backs into the door jamb and starts screaming that he needs "eyez pack! eyez pack!" -- remember I still believe 2 adults are allowing Charlie's flagrant violation of the Code of the Nap, I mount my broom and fly into that terrible land of Exhausted Enragement.

By the time Ben returns with Tim, the house has fallen into the eerie silence that follows a Mom-Spaz. I got all of 11 uninterrupted minutes of peace and quiet. Hell hath no fury like a girl deprived of well-earned siesta.

Maybe tomorrow...I mean we've only got all the kids home from school. Sigh.

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