Movie Lines IRL

I love good dialogue.

Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean has some of the best dialogue, and great one-liners.  While imminently quotable, it's not often that I can just work "I can't bring this ship into Tortuga all by me onesie, savvy?" into normal conversation.

I really wish I remember why I was using big words around the kids this week.  I think it was when Mom spelled out "ice cream" and Small Fry knew right away--and she's not even in school yet--what Mom was talking about, which immediately put Dad on the hook for buying ice cream for everyone.  (And so we all trundled out to The Meadows for frozen custard.  But I digress.)

Clearly, we're at the end of being able to spell out words to get things past the Fries.

Now, we have to use $20 words and talk over their heads.

Poor Hubby.  He has issues with my vocabulary sometimes as it is.

Innyhoo, for whatever reason, I was having to use my mental thesaurus at this point.

I gazed fondly at my youngest child, and said in response to whatever she'd asked me, "'I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request."

A chuckle exploded out of Dad.  "Does she know what that means?"

I channeled Geoffrey Rush again.  "'Means no.'"

Small Fry just grinned at me and giggled.

It's a good thing I wasn't serious when I said no.

Bedtime

Large Fry has been darn near worn out just about every day this week.

I've been making the twins nap in the afternoons, but not Large Fry.  Yesterday afternoon she got to hang out with Boppa while both Gramma and I were out, and we've dragged her along shopping with us twice.

Come to think of it, we've probably worn out Gramma and Boppa.

Innyhoo....

By the time I get the kids jammied, pottied, teeth brushed, and night-time-prayered, and then downstairs to bed, Large is drooping like a day-old plucked dandelion.

It's almost comical.

So, tonight, I'm ushering them down the stairs.  The twins are punch-drunk tired and bouncy, and Large is wilting so much that I'm thinking she might not make it into bed before she falls asleep.

I adjusted my normal routine based on that, and followed Large into Dad's office, which has been doubling as her room this week.  She collapsed in Medium's old toddler bed, which Roo had used when Sis, BIL, and the boys were visiting earlier this year.

I pulled up the blanket around her.

Her eyes were already closed and I figured she was about two nanoseconds from being completely out.

I sang anyway.

"♫ Goodnight, goodnight.  I'll tuck you in, goodnight.  I'll kiss your cheek, so you can sleep.  Now close your eyes, goodnight. ♪"

I stroked her hair back, turned off the light, and left to go tuck in the twins, who were bouncing off the walls in the family room because they had infected each other with a serious case of the giggles.

It took five minutes to get them settled and everything set the way it needed to be.  I had just finished the song and was about to evict all monsters, giants, wombats, dragons, and snakes when Large appeared on the landing.

"Mommy?"

"What, honey?"  I tried unsuccessfully to tuck in Small Fry, who was still giggling over my attempt to kiss her cheek at the appropriate spot in the song.

"You forgot to sing to me."

That made me stand right up and grin.  "No, I didn't, honey.  I think you fell asleep while I was singing."

"Well, I didn't hear you.  Can you sing again?"

"Sure.  Go on back to bed.  I'll be right there."  I looked first at Small, and then over at Medium.  "Monsters, giants, wombats, dragons, and snakes: get out!"

"Fwiendly fings go to Gwamma an' Boppa's," Medium mumbled sleepily around her thumb.

"Go to sleep," I told them, and went in to re-tuck Large.  I pulled up the blanket again as she closed her eyes and smiled, and I kissed her cheek.

♫♪ Goodnight, goodnight, I'll tuck you in, goodnight.  I'll kiss your cheek, so you can sleep.  Now close your eyes, goodnight. ♪♫

Bleg Update

My friend Bill posted this earlier regarding the fire that destroyed their home and most of their belongings.

They have confirmed they lost two of their four cats to the fire.  (That just makes me want to cry.)  They also lost their guinea pig.  One kitty is safe and sound, and the other remains a small Waffle at large in the area around their neighborhood.

I'm sure they're all still in shock.

There's information at Bill's link for how best to help, financially or otherwise, if you're able.  (Which is better than my information in my last post, for the record.)

Otherwise, lots of love and prayers will help in the best of intangible ways.

Thanks.

A Bleg.

I learned this morning that some friends of mine lost everything (or nearly so) in a house fire last night.  The family is fine--they weren't home when the fire happened--but they're obviously devastated.

One of the family cats was found and resuscitated last night, and is bunking it out at the local SPCA for now.  Three other cats are still MIA.  I'm sure the not knowing makes it worse.

I live too far away to do something practical like let them bunk at my place (which I totally would, if I were closer).

I live too far away to do something practical like organize a good, old-fashioned burn-out shower, and collect gently used items to help them rebuild.

I do not live too far away, though, to try to offer help somehow.

I do not have the world's greatest readership, but I reach some folks.

If you've got a few spare bucks, would you mind hitting Bill's KickStarter tipjar?  He's trying to fund a book publication project, but somehow, I think living is going to be a bigger priority.  And every little bit helps.

If you pledge at the $1 level, and then change your pledge at the end, whatever is above that pledge will almost all go directly to Bill and his family.

Thanks!

Total Sweetness

Large Fry climbed into my lap.

"Mommy?  I love you so much."

I kissed her head and wrapped my arms around her.  "I love you, too."

"You're my best mommy ever.  I'll always love you."

"I'll always love you, too."

"Mommy?"

"Hmm?"

"When I'm a grown-up, will you be a gramma?"

"Yes, when you have children, I'll be their gramma."

"But what if I don't have children?  Will you still be my mom?"

I stroked her hair, still damp from tonight's bath, behind her ear.

"Yes, honey, I'll still be your mom.  I'll always be your mom."

Visitation Day...or, "Are you there, God?"

I hate visitation days.

They knock me off-kilter in a bad way.   It's even worse when Hubby isn't around to help me buffer, like now.  I am immensely grateful that my mom will drive the kids over to the visitation location and pick them up.

I do not think I could see my brother and maintain a civil tongue in my head, much less the attitude that the kids need for me to portray so that they don't pick up on my own unease.  (As much as possible, anyway.)

I find it much easier to tell the Fries to have a good time--and mean it--if I don't have to see my brother in the flesh.

So that's what happened today.

I promised I would miss them, and yes, I love them, and yes, I'll be here when they get back at lunchtime.  "But I'll miss you," Small said.  "I'll miss you, too, but you'll have fun with Daddy-S," I said.

Mom returned from dropping them off and said that Bro and his wife had arrived with a laundry basket full of water balloons for a water-balloon fight.  And clean, dry clothes for the kids to go home in.  (I could only hope, based on past experience, that they would fit.)  I was irritated, because I had swimsuits I could have sent with the girls...if Bro had just checked with me.  (But noooo, he has to do this all himself.)

Innyhoo....

I tried to amuse myself as best I could throughout the morning.  I worked some more on the scrapbook of Po memories.  I listened to music.  I read.

Mom left to pick up the Fries, and I started working on lunch--pizza muffins, since the kids have been raving to Gramma about how woooooonderful they are.

Large Fry came in first, and leaned into my side.  "Daddy S said not to be sad," she informed me in a quiet voice.  "But I am, a little.  I miss him."

I gave her a hug and said it was okay to miss him.  She schlumped over to Dad's recliner and moped for a few more minutes until I called a halt to that, recognizing it as the attention-grabbing device that it was.

The twins piled cheerily into the kitchen, arms loaded with grocery bags overflowing with...Easter baskets?  Hoo boy.  At least this time the things purchased were generally age-appropriate (if cheap), but the sheer volume of STUFF was definitely my brother's tendency to go seriously overboard if he's going to make any kind of gift gesture at all.

Part of me sternly told the rest of me that he's not deliberately trying to make me look bad, even if it's how I feel.  He's trying to make himself look good, and make himself feel like he's a good, generous, well-providing daddy (when he's not).

Dad looked at the haul of loot that the twins were eagerly showing him.  Candy.  Toys.  Big, animal-shaped, super-dooper balloons.  Toys.  12"-long pens.  Necklaces.  Candy.  "Is anyone else hearing The Beatles?" Dad observed.

Having just finished a conversation with Mom about leaving the automatic slider for the driver's side rear door turned off, my first thought was "Let It Be" (we've been having issues with that door, and we keep the auto function off for now).

"♪ Can't buy me looooove... ♫" Dad crooned.

Okay, so I'm not the only one.

And despite the (admittedly very small) logical part of me that declared I was not a poor mother for not showering my kids with a ridiculous amount of cheap gifts, I still felt very much like my position as mother and parent was under attack.  I felt like he was trying to bribe their love away from me, to him.

Even knowing Bro's tendency towards sheer overboard-ness, I was still surprised by the staggering amount of stuff my kids hauled home.  They'd left today with their stuffed animals (the $8 ones we bought at the Museum of Natural History on Monday) to show to him, and came home with ten times as much.

I finished making lunch and called everyone to the table.

Medium wanted to pray first.

"Deawr God, thank you for dis food.  Thank you for everything.  And thank you for my mommy.  I'm so glad I have her as my mommy, an' that I have her hewre.  If I didn't have my mommy here wif me, we wouldn't be a family.  So thank you for my mommy.  Amen."

I squeezed Medium's hand--I'd been holding it--and gave her a quick kiss and a hug.

"Feel better?"  Dad asked, only to be overrun by Large Fry insisting on praying, in which she thanked God for the food and then pretty much everything in the entire world.

After lunch, Large Fry found the butterfly box that her butterfly necklace had come in.  She wanted to put it away for safekeeping.  She carefully showed me how to take out the cushioned bottom, rehang the necklace, and put it all back together.  Then she closed the lid.

And handed me the box.

"Mommy, can you hold onto this and keep it safe, until we go to our real home?"

I really need to do something about these lumps in my throat.

I smiled.  "Of course."  I set the box next to my purse, on the counter, where it would be safe.

As I was hunting through the other bags of stuff for the necklace boxes for the twins, since naptime was coming and I didn't want them to be wearing them then, Large was pawing through her candy haul, looking for dessert.  She held up a box with chocolate praying hands.  If you opened the box's outer layer, before even getting to the candy, you could see the words printed inside.

"Mommy, what does this say?"

I glanced over, setting down the fine-point Sharpie that I was using to write the kids' names on their necklace boxes.

The Serenity Prayer.  In sweeping script.

Oh, crap.

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."

Dad started laughing.

"Shut up, God!" I said.

Which, of course, led to a mini-theological discussion.

"God was telling her stuff that she didn't want to hear," Dad explained conspiratorially to Medium.  He looked over at me.  "I thought it was pretty clear earlier exactly what mattered."

I knew he was referencing Medium's prayer.

Okay, Lord.  Message received.

*       *        *

After the twins were settled down for a nap, and Mom and I discussed some of the other things that happened while Large Fry happily decorated Gramma's lamps with ribbon (which we found after bedtime tonight), Mom decided she wanted to go to A.C. Moore.

Large and I went along.

Without warning, this pronouncement came from the backseat:  "Daddy S says Mommy J is my real mom."

There's this scene in an episode, somewhere in the first three seasons of M*A*S*H, where a patient comes into the 4077th with an unexploded shell embedded in his body.  Hawkeye and Henry Blake have to sandbag pre-op and do a grenade-ectomy right there, without exploding the shell and taking out half the camp while they're at it.

That's about how tricky this felt.

"He's right; Mommy J is the one who gave birth to you," I agreed.  "But I'm the mommy who takes care of you all the time."  I looked back at her.  "Did Daddy S say something about me not being your real mommy?"

Large shook her head.

"Okay."  Well, that's a relief.  There would have been holy heck to pay if that had been the case.

Mom jumped in.  "Mommy J gave birth to you.  So she is your mommy.  But your mommy here--" Mom pointed me "--she's your real mommy, too.  A real mommy takes care of you when you're sick, cleans up when you throw up, makes sure you have food to eat and clothes to wear, tells you she loves you, reads to you, plays with you, and is always there for you.  That's a real mommy.  And that's all the things your mommy does for you."

By the time we got through at A.C. Moore's (where Large Fry wanted everything in sight that had Minnie or Tinkerbell on it) and Kohl's (where Large Fry was supremely disappointed that I not only failed to try on everything that she thought I should but also failed to buy it all, and yet, still had a grand time playing hide-and-seek in the clothing racks), Large was getting bored and happy to be heading home to play with her now-awake sisters. She didn't drop any more bombs.

*        *        *

But...just in case I didn't get the message loud and clear before, when we sat down to dinner tonight, Medium prayed again:

"Dear God, thank you for dis food.  And thank you for my mommy.  She's my best mommy.  Thank you that she's hewre and that we'wre a family.  If I didn't have my mommy, we wouldn't be a family.  Thank you for my mommy."

And when I asked what she was thankful for at bedtime prayers tonight?

"I'm fankful for all the new toys and candy and stuff fwom Daddy S.  And I'm fankful for my family and my mommy."

Bedtime

The Fries are sitting on the floor in a small circle.

"Large Fry," I said, "what are you thankful for tonight?"

"That Daddy got to go on his trip to tell the other kids about Jesus."


...


Why, yes.  I did find it very hard to swallow around the huge lump in my throat.

"Go ahead and pray for that, honey," I managed to choke out.

"Dear God, thank you for Daddy.  Thank you that he gets to go help the kids.  Thank you that he gets to tell them about you.  Amen."

*sniff*