WHY

Middle came into the den to join Youngest, Hubby, and me as we ate pizza and watched a movie tonight.

That's when I noticed the four--count 'em, four--neon bandaids on her forehead.

I contemplated this for a moment, before attempting to ask the inevitable question. But I couldn't make my lips form the question, because I had "Rule #2" echoing in my mind.

Middle grinned impishly at me. "If you have a question, just ask. I'll answer it."

Do Not Kiss.

Hubby raised his hand. "I know the answer!"

I still tried to form the letter shapes with my lips.

"She tried to kiss Makaha on the forehead," he explained.

"And I did it wrong," she concluded.

"You kissed Makaha?" I asked.

"I tried to kiss him on the forehead, but I did it from the front, rather than trying to kiss him on the cheek. He objected to it," she intoned philosophically.

Well then.

*smooch*

It seems Makaha won't kiss on the 8th or 9th or whatever-th date. Waffle's late cat Monkey only had issues with kissing on the first date, and he never let me forget it.

And the no-kissing rule definitely isn't in place with Kimo. She gets (and gives) kisses all the time, without a problem. (Unless, of course, you're trimming her nails. Then she leaves bruises.)

Family Game Night Rides Again

Last night's Family Game Night started outside around the fire pit, because we had all the fixings for s'mores (and Reese's s'mores and s'moreos), and it was the first night this week nice enough (warm enough) for us to actually have a fire for s'mores. Rather than the usual board or card games, we opted to play "I'm Going to a Picnic," which the kids hadn't played before, really, instead of "Psychiatrist." The games are similar: "Picnic" involves the starting player determining what sort of thing everyone is bringing to the picnic that has to be in common, and the players all take turns saying what they'll bring, and the starting player tells them yes or no, based on what he (or she) has determined is the common factor. "Psychiatrist" involves sending one person away, out of hearing distance, to be the psychiatrist, while the rest of the group determines what their problem is, and then they bring the psychiatrist back in and have that person ask questions to determine the group's issue. (Funniest game of that I ever played was in college, when the a cappella choir I was involved in sent our director out to be the psychiatrist and we all determined our problem was that we thought we were him. He couldn't figure out our problem. But I digress.)

So, we all took turns going to a picnic and bringing things until everyone could guess what the common theme was, at which point I'd had enough smoke inhalation, Special Edition had a numb backside from the chair she was sitting in (the plastic ones we have kicking around outside are uncomfortable for long-term use), and I was also getting too chilly. We moved inside.

We didn't want to give up on the fun, so we began playing Code Names, a game my mom had given

the family for Christmas a couple of years ago. This is a word game (no wonder my extended family on Dad's side loves it), and we've played it several times now and we all enjoy it. My biggest problem is thinking smaller in my vocabulary. The kids, despite having consumed multiple s'mores, went for more snacks mid-game, returning to the table with grapes I'd bought earlier in the week.

Special Edition gaped first at Middle, then at Oldest. "There are grapes?"

I nodded. "There are grapes."

"I didn't know there were grapes. I'm going to go get some."

Gesturing to Middle's bowl of clearly washed grapes, I commented, "Be sure you wash them."

I think Special Edition actually snorted. "Who washes fruit?"

"Anyone who buys fruits and vegetables at a store and knows they come into contact with pesticides," I pointed out.

She gestured up and down at herself. "Well, I ate a lot of unwashed fruit, and look at me. I'm the picture of health."

I raised my brows. "Says the raging asthmatic."

SE jabbed a finger at me. "Hey. That was because of the meth my mother did."

Hubby chimed in now. "Then there's all the psychological issues..." (He's awful brave to say that, sitting next to Special Edition like he was.)

"Also the meth. I think we're underestimating the amount of meth involved here. There were bigger problems than pesticides."

Okay, so Special Edition has a genuine point there. Her birth family was, shall we say, not remotely the greatest, hence why she chooses to call us family now.

We cracked up, and she went to get grapes.

To be honest, I'm not sure she washed them.

But then, the pesticides are probably the least of her worries. A

Evening Meditation

This deserved its own post.

Scene: Our bedroom.

Characters: Hubby, Middle, and an unknown TV Narrator.

Necessary Background: Hubby has taken a liking to the show Naked and Afraid, which we have access to through Netflix, I think. I don't know. I don't care, because I don't watch it. I don't get why he likes it, despite our conversation about it this morning. Something about the fact that he knows he'd never survive being naked and afraid, not even in our own backyard, and he gets to watch these idiots from the comfort of his couch, fully clothed, and see what nonsense they can pull out of thin air in the wilds of, y'know, Antarctica or some forsaken place like that. I have zero desire to be naked and afraid at the same time ever, let alone watch someone do it, even with the proper blurring of personal areas, so this just doesn't seem like quality television entertainment to me. But he likes it. And the kids like watching it with him too, on occasion. And since it's been chilly and gloomy and looking like it's going to threaten rain all day, well, Naked and Afraid it is, since they proclaimed before the start of the fourth quarter of school that they had "finished" all of YouTube.

So they're watching TV up in the master bedroom, and I'm down here ordering pizza for dinner because I have no desire to cook tonight. That's when I get this text message about the goings-on upstairs.

Middle: Look at all the monkeys. I wanna see them catch and eat a monkey.

Narrator: Asian Gray Monkeys are known to carry rabies and Japanese encephalitis.

Middle: New plan: don't eat the monkeys.


Annnnnnnnd...scene.

Vignettes from Our Quarantine

Scene: The living room.

Characters: Middle and Me

Necessary Background: School is now out for the rest of the year, but the kids are doing online stuff with their teachers for the fourth quarter of the year. Lots of Zoom meetings and time on school-issued Chromebooks. Lots of canceled everything, including the Music in the Park event at a rather sweet-sounding amusement park not too far from us, which the twins were going to attend as part of them being in band/chorus/jazz band. Last week, a refund check came from the school in an envelope addressed to Middle, for the amount of the trip minus the t-shirt costs. They only sent one refund check, but no biggie; I'd only written them one check in the first place to pay for two kids. I decided to run some errands today, including a drive by the bank down the street, and I'd deposit the check.

That's when I discovered that the smart folks at the district had issued the check not in my name but in Middle's. Fantastic. I scrawled a "Pay to the Order of" above my own signature (boy, it's lucky I leave some room) and went to find Middle. (WHY.)

Me: Here, I need you to sign this. They made the check payable to you.

Middle (taking the pen and studying the back of the check): Okay.

She carefully signed her first name in the spot I indicated, then paused for a good five seconds.

Me (prompting): Last-name.

Middle: I forgot my last name. Oh, that's delicious.

This kid.

We are not bored.

*     *     *

Scene: Kitchen

Characters: Youngest, Me, Kala, and Waffle

Necessary Background: There is a Zoom meeting going on for both Youngest and Middle, with their band teacher. Middle has moved into the dining room so she and Kimo can both attend the meeting, because Mrs. Band Teacher and her dog are hosting.

Youngest: Kitten, you're such a hawtie.

Me (messaging Waffle): Youngest just announced, "Kitten, you're such a hawtie." I think I should be scared.

Waffle (messaging back): Yes. Ask her what she thinks that means. Results promise to be hilarious.

Several minutes go by before I'm able to do just that. Results are, unfortunately, a bit of a letdown.

Me: You called Kala a hawtie. What did you mean by that?

I guess I asked it wrong.

Youngest: I don't know. She's just adorable.

She pointed to the chair under the homework desk in the kitchen, where Kala was curled up, the only one of our cats tiny enough to do so.

Youngest: See?

Me: She's definitely cute, but I don't think she's hawt.

*     *     *

Scene: Dining Room

Characters: Middle, Kimo, and Me (and Youngest, sort of)

Necessary Background: Previously mentioned Zoom meeting with Mrs. Band Teacher is going on. Kimo is on one of the spare dining room chairs and is "attending" (looks more like she's trying to doze through class to me). She puts up with this stuff because it's Middle hauling her into it, and she has annexed Middle as her own.

Middle: Kimo is taking up all the space in the meeting! I can't even see me anymore.

Youngest (from kitchen): I can kind of see you.

I opted not to point out that Youngest is merely in the next room; of course she can see her twin.

Middle: Kimo, you took all my head space! You're so cute.


Annnnnnnd...scene.

Musings with Middle

The twins are currently in a play at their middle school, so this afternoon I drove over to pick them up from practice.

Middle hopped into the front passenger seat. "Mom, you missed seeing the wonder that is Ricky."

"Gosh, I guess I'll just have to survive." I pulled out around the cars still in line in front of me, waiting for kids to either pile in or buckle or whatever.

"I have good taste in guys," Middle went on. "First there was Wynn, then there was Boater, and now Ricky."

I was familiar with the first two on her list, whom she'd also supplied surnames for, but I can only do so much anonymizing here without messing up my brain cells. Wynn's a church friend who has boldly declared his love--and his intention to win the Middle Son-in-law Sweepstakes--almost from the moment he met her. Boater is a friend from school, actually in Oldest's grade (so he's now in high school, along with Oldest, and sorta out-of-market), and a good kid.

She didn't provide a last name for Ricky, though. "Do you know Ricky's last name?" I asked her.

Middle spouted it off without hesitation.

Okay then. So it's not a random crush where we like the kid, but don't even know his whole name.

"You know what the difference is between Ricky and those other guys, though?"

I can hardly wait, my child.

"I'm not even crushing on him. I just think he's hawt."

Hahahahaha. Wait until I tell your father, kid.

After-School Conversations

"Hey, Mom, what is good lying?" Pause. "How do you tell a good lie?"

I just stared at my child, who actually asked me that question.
 
"I know. Pathetic, going to your mom for lying tips."
 
"Well, yes, but what on earth made you think I would teach you?"

A sly grin.

Then, "I think I forgot how to lie. I don't think I'd forget how to murder, but I forgot how to lie." She caught me staring at her. "Not that I would ever murder."
 
Two guesses for which child I'm having this conversation with.

So It's That Time Again

I meant to write a post a couple of months back, when Middle had shrieked something in the midst of a conversation on a long car ride about how traveling in cars was akin to nothing more than riding in what she termed "death baskets" (you really had to be there), but I've spent most of my summer like this:

"Keep extremity elevated above heart."

Which was, really, why she was having the conversation with Hubby about cars being nothing but "death baskets."

Bert the Pain Pump

For the record, we'd been discussing our car's safety features (seat belts, anti-lock brakes, front- and side-curtain air bags), and I was doing a remarkable job of maintaining the conversation, considering a) how much anesthesia I'd been under earlier in the day, and b) how much juice was still pumping into me, courtesy of the nerve block they'd sent me home under. (Say hello, Bert.) All in all, due to Bert's presence and the two-pronged nerve block in addition to the prescription pain meds, I felt pretty great for just having some major surgery. Stuck in the back seat with my foot up on the console while Middle carried on this hilarious conversation with her father, but really not bad.

So the car is truly quite a safe vehicle to drive, but the realization that she herself is also tooling down the highway at 65 m.p.h. along with the car and doesn't automatically stop when the car might do so abruptly was a bit sobering.

Hence, death basket.

But I was on some really good pain-relieving drugs and didn't maintain enough presence of mind (or consciousness for long enough) to actually write the post then.

The surgery I had was to basically resolve some of my right ankle issues, stemming from severe post-traumatic arthritis due to this accident ten years ago. The surgeon went in and cleaned out the joint, performed a microfracture, and inserted donor juvenile cartilage to help stabilize what had been removed from the bone (eaten away by arthritis, probably). Spiffy, eh? I was very fortunate that the joint did not require a fusion. Thus, home, and six weeks non-weight-bearing and recuperating on the hide-a-bed in the den, since I have to have one-floor living for a bit. I'm walking again, and have progressed to just needing my cane and I'm pretty much full-weight-bearing now, at 9 weeks or so post-op, but I still tire easily and stairs are challenging.

Oldest

Today, however, was the first day of school, and everyone else is out shopping for the stuff they MUST HAVE before they go out tomorrow. (I can't drive, either. It's all very exciting.) Hubby has been working third shift since the end of February, after he got promoted to supervisor at his job, so I let him sleep as long as I could. Because, you know, we need all of the binders. And all of the looseleaf paper. And all of the notebooks. And pencils. And pens.

So I'm writing a bit of an update now.

Middle

Oldest is doing combination schooling this year. It's her freshman year of high school (how did we get this old?), and she's going to morning classes at the high school proper and finishing out the rest of her classes in the district's cyber program. It's a blend that seems to suit her needs for this year best, and she got really excited about the idea when the teacher in charge of cyber at the high school brought it up to us as a possibility for her. She got a little nervous today when one of her classes turned out to be bigger than she anticipated, but overall, I think it was a good first day of school for her.

Youngest

Middle is in 7th grade this year, and is really looking forward to this coming school year. Her band uniform is one of the ones that has special gold embroidery outlining the initial on it (because she's one of the better players); she's in jazz band too, I believe, transferring from last year; and she auditioned for Oopsies, the select singing group, at the end of last year--and made it. First practice is after school on Monday, and she can hardly wait. She came home with a folder full of papers for me to sign today. Yay, Mom-homework. First day of school, every year, without fail.

Youngest is also in 7th grade this year. She's on the same team of teachers that Middle is, and we had to do some fancy arranging to make sure they didn't share all the same classes, because--as anyone who's followed this blog for long knows--they might be twins, but they are definitely individuals, and it works best to keep them in separate classes. She likes all of her teachers so far, and a couple of them were Oldest's teachers in the past, so Youngest was passing on greetings when she came home today. She also brought me a folder full of stuff to sign.

When did they all get so big?

Looks like it's going to be a good year.