Charlyn’s Web

KJ style.

How to stop a bike:

Pedal. Don’t coast. Pedal. Don’t gently apply brakes. Pedal. When you see that you need to stop throw both feet off of pedals so you couldn’t apply brakes even if you wanted. Take a hand off of the handle bars, so you can’t steer, and put it out straight. Crash. Cry about your skinned knee and hand. Refuse to listen to instructions.

How to eat:

If it is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich: take off top and lick off the jelly. Slowly eat what is left.

If it is a meat sandwich: take off top, eat cheese and meat. Complain about having to eat the bread.

If it is toast with jelly or honey on it: lick off sweet stuff first.

If it is a salad: pick out with your fingers the things that you like, croûtons, olives and sunflower seeds leaving the yucky stuff to choke down on it’s own. Chew a lot but don’t swallow. Take 40 years to finish.

How to Dress:

Always wear a dress. The more frills and froo froo the better. Pink is best. Purple will do. A skirt will suffice in a pinch. Don’t worry about the weather. Complain loudly that there is “nothing to wear” when no dresses are clean. If someone else should try to tell you what to wear- fight for your dignity.

How to annoy your Mother:

Whine. Don’t EVER use words if a good whine will suffice. Throw back your head, arch your back and let it loose. Use your throat. Use your nasal passages. If you don’t like what is going on keep up a constant whine. Make use of the ‘ka, ka, ka’ sound in your throat. Point but don’t actually say what you want. If you must use words make them as nasally and high pitched as you can.

The rest of the time? Be sweet and helpful.

“What word starts open?”

Asked in the van, late at night, out of the blue- not in context with anything else being said.

A conversation I actually overheard last night.

“Actually, it’s mine T!”

“Actually, it’s mine K!”

I actually don’t know where they learn these words.

Pop! Thwup!

Col. Panic bought his son a toy shotgun. Oh joy.

I don’t know what it is about mothers and guns. I know, there are mothers out there that have no issue with them. I know mothers who hunt. Overall, I don’t have problems with guns… until my son’s hands grasp one. I know this is a toy gun but it still sends chills up my spin when I see him push it up at his chin and inform me it hurts when he fires it there. It causes my nerves to tingle when he fires it over his sister’s heads or points it at them. I keep repeating to myself- he is a boy! He is a boy and it’s a toy! because, somehow, that is supposed to make it better.

Pop! Thwup!

Then, of course, there is the constant noise associated with such a toy (Pop!). Darts whiz by and land (Thwup!). It’s especially fun to fire both barrels at once.

PopPop! ThwupThwup!!!

And the constant commentary.

“I missed it Mom!”

“The darts stick to the window without licking them first!”

“Can I fire on your calendar with the lighthouse figurines?”

Do you value your life?

“Can I shoot the camera traps?”

(Yes, they are still on top of the closet, gathering dust but don’t you dare take them down!)

Fine, but I’m not crawling up there to get them.

“Did you see that shot?”

“Guess, is the gun loaded?”

“Guess, are the shells in the secret compartment?”

“Can I shoot this box of cookies?” As he takes aim from four inches away.

Pop! Thwup!

I finally gave him some cracker boxes to use as targets but I guess they weren’t satisfactory enough because they didn’t fall over when hit.

Pop! Thwup, ping!

What was that? Oh, just a dart hitting one of the afore mentioned lighthouse figurines. He wasn’t aiming at it- honest.

There are round circles on the windows now, but he decided to not shoot at the TV. It’s important to be able to see it, you know.

He couldn’t understand why I wasn’t sympathetic this morning when he lost two darts outside. He had shot at a bird and then couldn’t find the dart. Then he shot at at butterfly and that dart can’t be found either. The ground is covered with little yellow leaves that make finding the little yellow darts difficult. The thought that went through my adult head was “um, didn’t we learn anything from the first time?” but I kept my mouth shut. I did track down one of them, because I am a little twitchy and my brain wasn’t in gear. It was lying in plain sight on the gravel; it must have camouflaged itself when they were looking for it.

Pop! Thwup!

His Father, the ever brave Col., has gone off to the quiet of his ‘hoffice‘ and left me alone to deal with the constant noise.

PopPop! ThwupThwup!

You see, The Col. didn’t buy it to give his son a fun toy. He didn’t buy it to give his son joy and the desires of his heart.

No, it is another tool in his nefarious plan to drive me slowly, totally insane.

Pop! Thwup!

The blonde quadruped that lives around here has been displaying his true colors, and they aren’t all golden.

Once upon a time, “Mom’s dog” used to announce visitors coming up the driveway, chase deer out of the area, go “mousing,” and perform other useful services. Admittedly, he’d dig up the yard, drag smelly wapiti remains home, and forage in the organic refuse pile, but basically he was all right to have around.

That was then.

Oh, to be sure, he still excavates the yard, and deposits decaying carcasses and other disgusting things near the back door.

But the slothful canine gave up chasing deer: can’t catch ’em; they’re too fast; might as well give up. So the villains wander around like they own the place, eating roses, raspberry vines, small trees and whatever else, leaving destruction in their wake. He often doesn’t even bother to lift his head.

Whilst pheasants recklessly ravage the garden, the lion sleeps.

Announcing visitors? Well, yes, he still does that sometimes.

When he feels like it.

But both the mail lady and the “children’s father” clad in brown shorts are now able to drive all the way up to the house and escape our notice until they honk. It seems that bribery with delicious doggie treats will prevail over any sense of duty and honor. The tawny traitor excitedly (but quietly) trots out to greet the delivery vehicles, visions of yummy delights dancing in his head.

But the real slap in the face?

The fleabag barks at me when I’m driving home from work!

Man’s best friend? Ha!

Well, maybe. They just didn’t say which man’s best friend!

It’s all a matter of perspective. Not the deep kind of perspective I’ve talked about before but the simple sight differences between Child and Parent.

Children are supposed to have innocent eyes who see the world with freshness and wonder. Parents on the other hand are known to be cynical, hardened beings who just don’t get it.

So it is in this household.

I empty a container and am about to throw it away when HP comes up- “Don’t throw that away!”

Why not? It’s trash replies his Mother proudly because she is a known pack rat and is just learning the joys of actually throwing and giving things away.

“I could use it for something! Put something in it!”

I don’t think so! Knowing that ‘something’ means ‘water’. Besides, have you seen his room lately? But that is another story.

We went shopping awhile back for shoes. We were in a largish store that sells a number of things. The Kids discovered the things in the shoes to help them hold their shape. They are long black plastic things with a hook on one end. They loved them! We somehow came home with more than were in the shoes we bought. They also found….somewhere (the floor?) a blue plastic thing that kind of looks like a bulb but isn’t. It has been a valued item with several fights disagreements over it’s ownership.

On this same trip I spied KJ, between the drinking fountains and the Ladies Room, reach down and pick up something off the floor. I, being the sane, calm Mother, am yelling at her to PUT IT DOWN! It’s trash for goodness sakes! Move away s l o w l y! But, you see, she couldn’t be sure of that until she looked at it closer. She reluctantly put it down again.

On our walk today HP found a beer bottle cap in the dirt. What a find! He was very pleased.

What in the world are you going to do with that?

He smiles and shrugs. But he NEEDS to have it! Sigh. I inform him that if I find it on the floor, on the table, etc. I am throwing it away!

Broken toys, broken necklaces, parts of toys that are meant to be used in a different manner, rocks, pieces of pens, hair clips are just some of the things I find in the most interesting of places, being used in the most interesting of ways and, most often, scattered from here to kingdom come. But try and throw them away (the ones that need to be thrown away) and oh the agony and gnashing of teeth!

I have a hard enough time keeping this place picked up and clean without the added burden of extra trash being brought into the house. But see, that is where my perspective is off- in my children’s eyes it’s all very valuable treasure.

Ho’ffice: Place where Papa works.

It’s hard to believe that our sweet, cheery little baby is capable of brutally pummeling her older siblings!

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HP reading to his sisters. What precious gifts from God they all are!

(click thumbnail to view larger photo.)

I decided it was high time to clean the shower in the Master Bath. I know it’s autumn but I don’t think the tub should be decorated in orange and brown even at this time of the year.

I bought a new shower liner, took the old one down, washed the pretty outer part and sprayed down the tub.

As I started to work TG decided to join me.

“Are you cleaning Papa’s shower?”

Yep.

She kneels down next to me.

“This is Papa’s shower but he lets you use it.”

Yep, Papa is nice that way. He also “lets” me clean it.

“There’s your stinky butt.”

It’s just my back and butts aren’t stinky.

“Are you cleaning the tub?”

Yep.

“There’s your stinky butt, again.”

Honey, we don’t say butts are stinky and in this house we use the term “bum.”

She breathes the fumes in deeply and I cringe thinking that when she gets lung cancer, I will remember this moment with horror.

Why don’t you go outside?

“No!”

Why don’t you get dressed?

After much fussing about she takes off her nighty and gets her pants on.

“Will you snap my pants?”

My head is stuck in the tub still and my gloved hands are all wet and dirty.

Ah, no.

“Snap my pants!”

You’ll have to wait until my hands aren’t dirty and wet.

“Look at me!”

She’s standing with her head on the floor and her bum up in the air.

I have to look to get her to stop saying it over and over.

Why don’t you put your shirt on?

“No, my pants aren’t snapped.”

Yes, why don’t you get your shirt on and brush your teeth while you wait for me?

“But my pants aren’t snapped.”

Sigh.

Finally, the job is done, I get her pants snapped and her shirt on. After her version of “looking” for her shoes is over (playing with other stuff while saying she can’t find her shoes) she finally goes outside leaving me to wonder how I ever got stuff done without all this help.