All That Glitters Is Not Just A Disco Ball

I am about to tell you a rather involved story. Much like the promise of the Grandfather at the beginning of The Princess Bride, this has something for everyone.

Glitter!

Good furniture!

Ducks!

Sleuthing!

Break-ups!

Meetings!

Make-ups!

Clues!

Sorry, no fencing, fighting, torture, or revenge, although you might disagree with me on those by the time you finish reading this.

Our story starts with me calling the psychiatrist's office first thing in the morning, managing to wrangle a last-minute med-check appointment for Large Fry. We were completely OUT of her ADHD medicine after that morning's dose, and that's a bad thing all the way around. So, even though it really messed up the day, I grabbed the appointment and Hubby worked from home for the rest of the afternoon so that Large and I could drive to see her doctor for a whole ten minutes.

We got home just about 4:15, I think, and I got Large Fry started on her homework while I started picking up the living room. I had painted my toenails in there about a week before, and my little basket of nail polish and stuff was still in there, simply because I hadn't gotten around to putting it away yet.

Oops.

Innyhoo, Hubby had youth staff meeting scheduled for being at our house in about two hours' time. This was the impetus for the living room cleanup, although that's typically the cleanest and most orderly room in the house. (Despite its name, we don't live there. That honor goes to the den.) As I'm stacking papers and the kids' workbooks from summer and papers they've managed to strew around. (I'm pretty sure they had help there. Feline help.) And that's when my oversized, recovery location from numerous surgeries, cozy chair-and-a-half caught my eye.

Which, I must admit, is something I didn't expect it to do. Not in the way it did, anyway.

Sparkly!

Was that glitter?!

I looked closer.

It sure was.

Glitter nail polish, no less. I touched the seafoam green glitter streak that you can't really see all that well.

It was still wet.

I immediately hollered for children to represent. Specifically, the two youngest.

When they appeared, I pointed at the chair. "Who painted my chair with glitter nail polish?"

Wide, innocent eyes blinked back at me. Both twins vowed they hadn't done it.

I knew, since the one polish clump was still wet minutes before, Large Fry could not have been responsible. She had been with me, and had not gone into the living room since we'd gotten home. Still, better to ask rather than let the twins feel like I hadn't done due diligence in questioning. I called Large Fry up and asked her the same question.

She also said it wasn't her.

I dismissed her, and skewered the twins with a glare. "Which one of you painted the chair with glitter polish?"

Medium gave me a guileless gaze, and said, "Not me."

Small gave me a suspiciously hesitate shake of the head before saying, "Not me."

"It had to be one of you! It couldn't have been Large Fry; this was still wet, and she was with me when this was done. Who did this?"

Both still expressed their undying innocence. I gave them the hairy eyeball individually, trying to determine who was guilty.

By this time, Hubby arrived on the scene. I showed him the chair. "It could not have been Large," I stressed, "so one of them is not telling the truth."

"How do you know it wasn't Large?" he asked.

"Because it was still wet when I found it, and she was with me until we got  home and hasn't been in here."

Hubby nodded; it was hard to argue with that.

He started asking questions. I was more than happy to let him take over the inquisition.

The twins both continued to deny guilt. I was pretty sure I knew who the guilty party was.

He sent them up to their room to think.

About then, I had what would prove to be a brilliant brainstorm. "Wait!" The twins stopped at the foot of the stairs. "Take off your socks!"

Small Fry toed off her socks, and so did Medium. I bent over to check their toenails and the insides of their socks. Small's toes were clean, as were her socks. I sent her upstairs.

Medium tucked her left foot up on the step behind her before I looked at her feet. Her right toes were clean. Sadness swamped me. "Show me your left foot."

She wouldn't move it, so I tugged it free.

Her left toes were covered in a very thin coat of purple polish. I looked inside her socks, although I wasn't surprised there was no polish on the insides. The one she used is terribly thin and would have dried fast as a result. I handed her the socks and sent her upstairs, too.

Then I dropped into the loveseat in the living room, across from Hubby on the couch.

"So, who was it?"

I sighed. "Medium." I had been so sure it was Small. Both she and Large Fry have fairly obvious tells when they lie. It was extremely disheartening to discover that Medium could lie suavely, almost guilelessly, and make eye contact while doing so. "She had polish on her toes."

"Do you trust me to handle this?"

I flicked my gaze to Hubby's. "Sure." I hadn't gotten anywhere before by myself, and the kids will respond better to him during discipline because he's often calmer.

He went to the stairs and called for Small Fry. She came down and sat with him on the couch while I watched.

He gently went through his questions again. She reiterated her innocence, which I now knew to be the truth, despite her restlessness and refusal to meet his eyes.

"Thank you for telling me the truth," Hubby said seriously, making sure to connect with her gaze. Then he gave her a hug and told her she could go play.

He walked to the stairs. "Medium, come here please!" Nothing in his tone sounded different from when he had called for Small. Kudos to him.

Medium came down and sat on the couch with him, too. His questions were essentially the same.

She still insisted that she hadn't used the nail polish on the oversized chair.

Hubby didn't question her for long, and he did the same thing. He thanked her for her honesty.

That was when Medium teared up and started talking about how her friends at school say that she can't disagree with her dad, or she'll get in trouble. Or that she can't say her dad's wrong, because he'll get mad at her. Hubby reminded her that he isn't her friends' dads. Just because her friends say their fathers are like that doesn't mean that he is, and she knows he isn't like that. He asked her why this was making her cry. She said she was scared.

"I think," Hubby said gently, "that maybe you want to tell me the truth now. Maybe that's why you're sad."

Medium shook her head, and talked some more about what her friends at school were saying about how you're supposed to act around your dad.

It took another twenty minutes of gentle pushing before Medium finally collapsed into Hubby's chest and confessed that she was the one who had gotten into my nail polish basket and painted her toes and the chair.

Hubby sent her back upstairs after we'd both hugged her, so that we could discuss punishment. We determined she was going to lose several privileges, along with being able to have me paint her nails again any time soon. And if I could find a way to clean it off the chair, she would have to help me do that.

He called her back down again, and Medium came slowly into the living room, holding a stuffed Rex from Toy Story.

Odd. Usually she would have her duck.

We explained the consequences of her actions. She nodded. "Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Rexy is my new best friend."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Duckie and I broke up. He's not my favorite anymore. Rexy is."

I managed to keep my eyes from bugging out. They broke up? Never thought I'd hear that description. My heart clenched; I know someday she'll outgrow Duckie, but she's only seven, and I don't want her rushing that decision. I held my tongue, though, and let Hubby handle it, even though it made me want to cry.

Hubby nodded sagely. "I'm sorry to hear that you and Duckie broke up. I know how much you love him."

"Duckie said I was too mean. He doesn't want to be my best friend anymore. So we broke up."

"I'm glad that you have a new best friend in Rexy, though."

Medium did not seem pleased by his responses. "I'm going to do everything with Rexy now, not Duckie."

Hubby nodded, and Medium frowned.

"You know what I think?" Hubby said.

Medium shook her head.

"I think you're hurt because Mommy and Daddy caught you in a lie and punished you, and now you're trying to make me feel bad because you don't want to have Duckie anymore."

"Nuh-uh! I just love Rexy more now. He's my new favorite!"

"Okay. Well, it's good that you and Rexy are best friends."

Shortly after that, Medium went back to her room to play, and I got up to go fix something for a very quick dinner. I had planned to have it ready by now, so that we could eat before the meeting, but it was now going to be very, very tight...and the kids would probably be eating while we met.

Hubby chuckled quietly. "I don't think she was thrilled that I wasn't more hurt by her break-up with Duckie."

Youth staff members began to arrive as I dished up the kids' plates. I got them settled in the den, eating and watching TV, then I fixed a plate for myself and joined in on the meeting.

After about 45 minutes, Medium appeared in the living room doorway. "Mommy?"

"What, honey?"

"Can you help Duckie and me get back together?"

I caught the smiles from Hubby, Mitzy, and Chicken Little (they were there for the meeting) as I excused myself to go mend a relationship. I dropped my plate and silverware in the kitchen and sat down in the dining room with Medium and Duckie.

I held Duckie in my left hand, and looked at Medium. "Duckie, Medium is sorry that she's been so mean and that she's only wanted things her own way. Will you forgive her?" I made his little head bob. "She wants you to be her best friend again. She loves you. Will you get back together with her?" My finger bobbed his head again.

I turned to look more at Medium, and made Duckie dive into her neck and snuggle. Her eyes shone with unshed tears and delight, and she hugged him close. "There you go," I whispered. "Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks for helping Duckie an' me get back together, Mommy." She hopped down from the chair and headed back into the den.

I went back to the meeting, which I have to tell you was very anticlimactic after helping my daughter and her best friend make up.

(Incidentally, I wrote this post to have a published date for when it happened, September 15th, but didn't write it until about six weeks after the fact. My chair still sparkles.)

We Will Remember

I wonder if the intensity of emotion surrounding this day will ever really go away.

Sometimes, I hope it does.

The rest of the time, I hope it never changes.

I drove around today, and the flags flying at half-mast yanked hard at my heart.

My children know nothing of this day's significance. They do not know what flags flying at half-mast mean. They don't know of a world that predates Homeland Security. They were born into a country forever changed by the events 13 years ago.

Hubby and I watched a Nova special on Netflix earlier this week, about the construction of the new One World Trade Center building, the 9/11 Memorial museum, and the actual Memorial itself. Fascinating stuff (available on Netflix), and I highly recommend watching it.

Some day, my children will see these places. In hushed tones, we will explain what happened in Somerset (not too far from us, actually), at the Pentagon, in New York City. We will tell the stories. We will trace the names engraved. We will tell of those who went in when everyone else walked out. We will say that heroes didn't just come on two feet; on this day, there were four-footed heroes as well. We will carefully discuss why evil men chose to take such horrible actions, how they hoped to wound our country so deeply that we would fall, how they did not succeed. We will counter that with the truth of the American spirit, how we banded together, how we fought back by fighting for survivors. We will speak of a love for fellow men so great that others gave their lives, willingly.

We will not forget.

We will teach them to not forget, even though this day doesn't have the same emotional impact for them that it does for us.

We will remember. We will honor the fallen. We will pray for those who still grieve.

We will remember.

First Day of School!

Large Fry, 4th Grade

Medium Fry, 2nd Grade

Small Fry, 2nd Grade

Grab your hankies. Medium brings The Feels.

After church this morning, the Fries requested to go to their favorite restaurant, GVD. I didn't really want to go, since I could feel trouble brewing in my joints (91% humidity and I don't get along), but neither did a Wendy's run appeal to me. I relented, and we drove to GVD.

The usual Sunday-afternoon bustle greeted us, and the teenage host went to find a table for us while we waited. And that's when it happened.

Medium leaned into me and looked up into my face. "When are you going to have a baby?"

Darn it, that question always pops up at unexpected times. I looked into my little girl's earnest face. This wasn't the time or place to discuss our infertility, or the reality of my hysterectomy a year and a half ago. I stroked my hand down her cheek, hoping I hid the huge lump of emotion I had to swallow, and gently held her chin. "I don't need to have a baby. I have you."

She beamed at me.

"You're my baby. You and your sisters." They weren't paying attention to the conversation, but still...

"When I grow up," Medium said thoughtfully, "I'm going to be a mommy just like you. I'm gonna find kids whose parents don't take good care of them, and I'll take care of them instead."

About then, the young host returned and led us to our table.

As we walked, Medium continued, "And I'm going to be the best mom ever, just like you."

*sniffle*

There is wailing and gnashing of teeth. And stomping.

The last few days have been really busy.

Medium has been complaining in the last month or so that she "can't" read. Well, that's not true. She can. She's the best reader of all three Fries. It didn't take much questioning to realize that it's not that she is incapable of reading...it's that she can't see well enough to read.

We saw her pediatric ophthalmologist on Wednesday afternoon. It's an hour and a half drive.(Astonishingly, pediatric ophthalmologists are not everywhere, especially in towns of only about 5500.)

Medium

Medium has a condition called exotropia, which is especially prominent in her left eye (less so in her right), which worsens when she's tired or overwhelmed. Her rather sudden nearsightedness—from 20/20 in both eyes back in February or March, at her annual exam, to 20/50 and 20/60 now—has made the exotropia worse. She's having to expend way more energy to read and force her eyes to focus even more. So, her ocular muscles are getting tired a lot faster. The exotropia is why we sought out a pediatric ophthalmologist in the first place.

Her specialist explained that she's just barely nearsighted, but she's going to give her a slightly stronger glasses prescription to help force her eyes to align better. Gotcha.

So after running back to back to back on Wednesday for Medium's appointment, Large Fry's open house at the Sub-Middle School, and 2nd-grade orientations (the twins are in separate classes this year), yesterday we took the Fries for their before-school haircuts. (And one for Hubby, too.)

After lunch, we stopped off at my eye doctor's. We could fill Medium's glasses prescription there.

Large

As I said, it's been busy...and we have my eye doctor's appointment today, plus shopping for new sneakers for the kids.

I know they're subconsciously worried about school.

But things have gotten out of hand lately, and I was determine to nip any unpleasantness in the bud this morning.

They all did their chores before I would let them watch tv or play on the computer or play outside. Medium got settled on the computer for her allotted time, and Large and Small decided to watch tv.

About forty minutes ago, I heard Small screeching at her sister: "Gimme the clicker!" She hollered that at least five times. Then I heard Large: "I'm not done yet!"

I shouted for both of them to come to me.

Small

When I asked why they were screaming at each other, Large launched into an explanation, blaming Small, that would have made a politician proud of her verbal evasive maneuvers, had I not stopped her and reiterated my question. The truth came out: it was Small's turn to pick, but Large didn't want to give up control of the clicker, so she had started whatever program they'd been watching on Netflix a second time, so she could go through the credits and stop, so the next time they watch it, they wouldn't "have to watch them."

I told them to go turn off the tv.

By this time, Medium's computer time was up. She wanted to know if she could watch tv. Yes, I said. She could...but Small and Large could not.

"So it's Amish Summer?" Large asked.

"For you and Small, yes."

Large stormed upstairs, shut herself in her room, and wailed.

"Can I go play outside?" Small asked.

"Yes. But you have to stay in our yard, and you can't go next door." If she can't be nice to her sister, I'm not going to trust her to be nice to her friends.

About then, I heard stomping and thrashing coming from Large's room.

I called her to the stairs. "Why are you behaving like this?"

"Because it's Amish Summer for Small and me!" she wailed.

"Do you know why?"

She shook her head. I called Small to join us.

In short order, I explained why they had lost privileges: Large had deliberately kept the clicker from Small when it was Small's turn to choose, and then she'd screamed at Small. Small should have asked Large nicely for the clicker, rather than demanding it at the top of her lungs multiple times. Small should have listened when Large explained what she was doing...but Large, really, credits are not that long, and Large should not have set the show up to skip the credits just to keep clicker possession longer. The end.

Large went back to her room then, and Small went outside.

I think Large has stopped sniffling.

I am not looking forward to shoe shopping this afternoon, that's for sure. I hope lunch helps.

The Countdown Has Begun

This morning, Hubby, the Fries, and I all journeyed over to the Sub-Middle School.

Large Fry starts fourth grade there in exactly a week, and she was very scared about having a new school. Fortunately for all of us, one of the ladies in our church, Ms. Vee, teaches at the SMS, and had agreed to give us an abbreviated tour ahead of time. Despite the unscheduled waxing of the lobby floors today, we were still able to get in and look around.

Ms. Vee led us straight to the Red hall, which is where Large's classrooms will be. Large will even get a locker this year. She'll switch between two classrooms, which are right next door to each other.

The school building itself is fairly new. The gymnasium is full-sized and HUGE. Ms. Vee showed us where the art room and computer lab were, as well as the playground area. She explained that, for the first couple of days, all the fourth graders are funneled into the cafeteria as they arrive, and the teachers will lead them back to their classrooms. The end-of-the-day procedures will remain the same all year: walkers and parent pick-up students are released first, then the first group of bus students, and then the last group of bus students. Any students riding buses will go to either the cafeteria or the gym, and find their bus number, and then they're dismissed by buses (this way nobody misses the bus). Large will be riding the bus this year for the first time since first grade.

Large seemed much more at ease after our tour, even though we couldn't see all of the school because of the floor maintenance.

I am feeling better about her new school, but still feeling weird about all this. I don't know that I'm ready for her to be in fourth grade. Hubby laughed at me when we first arrived, because I looked so glum and bereft as I got out of the van.

I'm not so sure I'm ready for the twins to be in second grade, either. They are in different classes this year...another first. Medium has Mrs. Greek, and Small has Large's second-grade teacher.

Heaven help me. They keep growing up.

Migraine Salute. But now with hilarity!

I wasn't feeling well this morning (a holdover from not feeling well Friday night and all day yesterday), so I skipped church this morning. Since PeeJay is on vacation this week, and Hubby has to preach, I knew it meant the entire female Fry & Co. contingent would be staying home.

I moseyed downstairs in search of something to eat that actually sounded good. I was finally sitting down to eat, and had the kids doing the chores they were supposed to do yesterday, when Large Fry popped into the room.

Wearing, I should point out, a pink shirt with little brown terriers scattered all over it, heavy cotton winter stockings, and a pink tutu with large, shiny sequins. Oh, and white socks with orange cuffs. She's being a ballerina today.

"Mommy, I found a whisker..." She held up a short, coal-black whisker. Koa's. (She's the only one with all-black whiskers.)

"Then throw it away," I instructed. Really, I thought. Do I need to be consulted for this?

"Oh." Large sounded a big dejected. "I thought we could use it for the eye things."

She left the room as I closed my eyes and tried to avoid a literal facepalm.

Large had wanted to use Koa's shed whisker as a false eyelash.