The endless day...

OMG, I'm so tired, y'all.  I am wiped.  Utterly wiped.  And yet, I'm still plodding away on my feet, because I can't sit down yet.  I'm even typing this while standing at the counter in my kitchen.  

It's my own fault, really, but that doesn't make me feel any better.  Or less tired. 

Like an idiot, I volunteered for the Impossible Daughter's fifth grade field trip to the Bob Bullock Museum in Austin.  I didn't mind, at first.  But then, one of Miss Priss' friends had a slumber party, and I got to spend a little time with the girls that my daughter would be hanging with, and I realized that I was in Serious Trouble.  Because I was going to be expected to shepherd these kids around the museum and get them safely to the IMAX theater.  

Okay, so when I walked into the classroom this morning, my first thought was, "Dear Merlin in the Summerland, did these kids eat a bag of sugar each before they got here?"  They were climbing the walls, literally.  It was like walking into a wall of flailing sound!!  Fortunately, their teacher has a bellow like a wounded bull elephant, and was able to cut through the tumult quickly and settle them down.  I wasn't the only parent looking stunned.  It was even more stunning that our own offspring were contributing to the chaos!

Okay, so, we get everyone on the buses, get lunches sorted, and hit the trail.  Fortunately, there were enough parents that we only had to deal with two kids each.  But, my gods, I saw the museum on FAST FORWARD!!!!  The only way I could get them to look at anything was to ask THEM questions about the exhibits, like, what do you think they did with this?  Or, doesn't that metal head covering on that horse make it look like a sea dragon?  Do you think the horse could hear with the way the ear protectors are mounted?  At least then I could catch my breath while they puzzled over it.  Otherwise, I felt like a hen trying to keep up with ducklings!  OMG!!  They dragged me up THREE FLIGHTS OF STAIRS!!!  TWICE!!!  Oh, my knee is NEVER going to be the same, it's swollen and aching, and no, of course I didn't use the elevators because by the time I would have gotten to the different floors, the girls would have been long gone!!  It didn't help that they'd grab my hands, arms, shirt, or whatever they could reach to drag me along when they felt I was going too slow.  "Come ON, Mom!" my daughter would say huffily, and her friend would say, "Mrs. J!  Come on, we have to hurry!" and I'd say, "girls, believe me, the exhibits are not going to get up and walk away!!"

The IMAX was a relief.  It was good, too.  It was called "Hurricane" and was about the wetlands of Louisiana, and the buffer they had provided against hurricanes, and how human progress, and putting levees up and down the Mississippi had caused them to deteriorate, among other things.  Funny part was, the filmmakers had orignally gone to make this documentary primarily about the wetlands, but Hurricane Katrina happened in the middle of it, providing a grim example of exactly the point they were trying to make.  Of course, it was aimed at the kids, and a little too much like those film strips we had to watch in the seventies when I was a kid, except the soundtrack was much, much better.

After it was over, I found myself having to rescue one of the Impertinent Daughter's classmates.  They had a brief question and answer period before the film, and there were several schools in the auditorium with us.  Miss Priss' classmate, Katharine,  was sitting next to us and answered a question about what day today is (Texas Independence Day, for those of you who are interested), and was given an envelope with a gift certificate in it.  Thing is, there was a boy sitting two rows in front of her from another school, and he had answered the question, but incorrectly, and grew quite belligerant when he realized he wasn't going to get anything.  Well, duh, you didn't give the right answer!!  Anyhow, after the show was over, and we were leaving, the little dipwad actually cornered poor Katherine and was demanding that she give him "his" envelope with "his" gift certificate.  I gently took her by the shoulders, took her behind me and faced the kid, who was taller than me, by the way, and said, "I would like to speak to your teacher.  Now."

"I want my envelope!" he said belligerantly.  "It's MINE and I want it NOW!"

"I would like you to self-immolate," I didn't say.  Instead, I smiled sweetly, and he took a step back and started sweating.  Just in case y'all didn't know, I have a very scary smile when I'm pissed off.  "Why don't you get your teacher, and we'll just handle this little ol' problem, shall we?" I drawled in a sugary sweet voice that I borrowed from my Great Aunt Nell.

For some reason, he seemed to be in a great hurry to get away, and didn't come back.  Huh.  Imagine that.

We left not long after that to go eat lunch in a park and mosey our way home.  I discovered a few things.  Like, that my daughter and her friends are at the bath avoidance stage of their development.  What is up with that?? I saw so many greasy heads of hair in that class that I almost asked if they were in a contest to see who could go the longest without washing their hair before their moms self destructed!!  I've been having a VERY hard time getting the Impertinent Daughter to take showers, and when she does, I have to literally walk into the bathroom and say, "Oh, and by the way, wash your hair.  Now.  Tonight.  WITH shampoo!"  Now I understand why.  Because her friends are avoiding it, too.  Believe me, you didn't want to get too close to some of the boys in her class.  Phew!!  Hormones, and BO, not a happy combination.  

So, we eat, we get back to the school, and Miss Priss decides to go home with one of her friends.  Fine, I still have to pick up the Impossible Son, and I find myself looking forward to crashing on the couch while he watches Pokemon and Naruto.  Except, that isn't what happened.  The neighbors were home, and came banging on the door to see if he could play.  Except, he couldn't play at THEIR house, because they're having a garage sale.  They came HERE to play.  And, of course, our house looks like a tornado hit, and I'm not real fond of these particular kids, especially the oldest son who seems to have a special talent for pissing me off.

At Halloween, he said, "You got your hair cut?  It looks cute, except you look like a boy, and you should be careful, because women are going to think you're a really cute guy and find out you're really a girl and then they'll cry and be unhappy, or grossed out, because you're not a guy.  By the way, are your boobs real?"

I thought his dad was going to die.  He clapped a hand over his son's mouth and dragged him away, muttering something vague about his wife calling them in.  Except she wasn't home yet.

A couple of weeks ago, he said, "I thought I'd give you some friendly advice.  The Impossible Son probably wouldn't get so sick if you'd put, like, long pants on him, and long sleeved shirts when he goes outside.  And socks with his shoes.  Because he gets cold and that makes him get sick.  Just thought you should know.  Dress him up and he'll be... like... normal."

"I'll take that into consideration," I said dryly, resisting the urge to slap the reset button on the back of his head.

So, today, he walks into my kitchen while I'm loading the dishwasher, and he says, "Wow, new pants. They look nice.  Except they make your butt look HUGE.  You know, you should dress more like a girl.  You know, like, pretty and all that.  You'd be almost pretty if you would like, wear makeup, and maybe pink.  I bet your husband would think you were pretty if you wore makeup.  Or a dress.  If you wore a dress, he'd think you were HOT.  And maybe you would have more babies."

I should mention he has five brothers and sisters.

Today isn't over yet, is it?  Did I mention I lost six pounds today, just running up and down those stairs, and all over that museum?  Well, time for me to chase the Neighbor Boy From Hell out of the yard and back to his home.  And start defrosting something for dinner.  Oh, hell, forget dinner.  I don't want to stand for another second.  We're going out.  And that's final!!

Let's hope I don't fall face first into my entree and go to sleep!