I’m sitting on our sun soaked patio at the computer while Hudson is inside watching Mighty Machines. He’s so excited about that show, and even does synchronized grunts with the theme song. “UGH UGH, Mighty Machines!!” That’s right, there are grunts in the theme song, the only thing better than hand claps in a song are grunts, in my humble opinion.
Zoey is sitting with me on top of the table, and that’s fine, because she usually wants to sit in my lap, but there is limited space on my lap, plus it hurts my legs, and she farts uncontrollably. I guess everyone farts uncontrollably, right? Because if it was controllable, we’d all just not fart, or fart at really awesome times, like when you’re mad at someone and you want to make your storm off exit that much more memorable.
Like I said, Zoey is sitting on the table with me, and every so often she gets anxious and wants to get down. The table is too tall for her to jump off it, and I’ve explained it many times to her, that she’s not as lithe and nimble as a cat, instead she’s girthy and uncoordinated. So, wait, here comes the funny part, I told her, “If you want to get down, let me show you the way…” And holy crap, I’m singing the Whoomp There It Is song. And that’s about as exciting as my day will probably get today. Unless someone wants to get in an argument with me so I can try out the whole farting on cue thing when I exit. That would defiantly be a highlight, might even make it in my diary.
The nice thing about sitting out here, other than ignoring my youngest child, is that I can be at one with nature. There is a hummingbird nest on one of my magnolia trees, and her babies just hatched, and I was able to take a blurry photo of the oily little creatures. SCIENTIFIC FACT: baby hummingbirds are not cute, so I’m basically sparing you the icky details with my blurry photo.
Today I sent Berlyn to school despite the lice outbreak that was recently reported by her school director. I’m nervous right now, because I had lice when I was little, TWICE. And both times my mom tried to give me away to various neighbors and relatives, but no one wanted me because of all the bugs.
I remember coming home from school early after being checked by the school nurse who wore plastic baggies on her hands and examined my scalp with a popsicle stick (we were an economically challenged school, to say the least), but at the time all I wondered was where the popsicle that used to be on that stick went.
Do you need help cleaning off another popsicle stick? I’ll handle that for you, Miss nurse lady ma’am.
When we got home I remember washing my hair with that medicated shampoo and then having my mom attempt to comb it out with that itty-bitty spaced comb, all while teaching me a string of colorful superlatives that I think she envisioned me teaching my own children one day. A gift, really.
As much as I’d love to pass on the gift of wrath and the spewing of dark and treacherous words to my children, should Berlyn bring home an itchy head of festering lice, I thought I’d take some precautions. My first idea was a swim cap, and shaving off her eyebrows, but Berlyn didn’t take to the idea very well. Her loss really, I think it would have made her more interesting, I mean, look at Whoopi Goldberg, but Berlyn prefers to have eyebrows, and (deep sigh) that’s fine.
So my only choice was to spray her head down with tea tree infused water, slick it into a nubby pony tail, and shellack it with enough hair spray to win her the gold title in a Miss Alabama pageant.
It’s a helmet really, and if she falls down at school today, I have confidence that her head will be properly protected.