This weekend Otto and I were trying to spend some quality time with the children—by which I mean that we adults were holed up in the office, each working away on our separate computers, while the kids figured out new and exciting ways to throw bowling balls at each other on the Wii—when our internet connection… started. . . slooooooooooowiiiing. . . down. Wayyyy down. Like, “Dammit, Otto, stop uploading monster photos!” “Uh, I’m not uploading ANYTHING!” kind of slow-down.
So of course we called to report the problem and they had us do some transfer rate tests that proved that our DSL was now chugging along at approximately half the speed of dial-up. Awesome. They gave us an appointment for a technician to come out today.
Which meant I actually had to take a shower and get dressed, this morning. My life is HARD. Also: Today the connection is fine. Of course.
Anyway, I suppose the tech will be here eventually. You know, to look at me like I’m insane. And I’ll be all “Dude, really! This weekend it was SO SLOW! Also, I showered for you!”
Really, I understand that this is hardly a major tragedy. But the weekend as a whole was just kind of… aggravating.
First, we had some friends over on Friday afternoon. (No, that’s not the aggravating part.) Monkey and his pal decided to ride their bikes all over the lawn. Which is fine. What they also did (unbeknownst to us, at the time) was bring some of Monkey’s Bakugan outside, and because they are magnetic, they stuck a bunch of them on their bikes and rode around with them. Which was fine.
Until one of them fell off of his friend’s bike. Did I mention that they were riding around in the yard? The yard which is full of leaves?
We were shocked and delighted when Monkey didn’t have a full-scale meltdown with his friend here. He was very calm about the whole thing, assuring his friend he wasn’t mad, and that he was sure he’d be able to find it in the morning when the light was better. Really, we were ASTONISHED at how well he held it together.
Until the next day.
When it became apparent that said Bakugan was not going to be found—it’s red, as are half of the twelve gazillion leaves all over the grass—Monkey became inconsolable. It was a dragonoid! His favorite one! The second oldest one he has! And it’s probably cold and scared without him! (Extra points for anthropomorphizing a little plastic ball, I guess.) And WHY DID THIS HAPPEN to him! And he’ll NEVER BE HAPPY AGAIN! And we need to go to the store RIGHT NOW!
It was pitiful. And also made my eardrums bleed, which somewhat compromised my ability to maintain the whole “solicitous and understanding Mom” thing.
Monkey was later allowed to go play on the neighbors’ trampoline—something I’m not overly fond of him doing, for all sorts of reasons—as a bit of a bribe, I guess. I was hoping it would take his mind off of things. And it probably did… right up until he whacked his mouth on someone else’s head. Then life was utterly tragic, again.
Later that day, Chickadee was going to make us some soup for dinner. She was very excited about it. I offered to help, and she assured me that she could do it all herself. But I hung around in the kitchen while she peeled potatoes and she grudgingly allowed me to wash them for her. Then I tried to cut up the potatoes and she had a hissy fit, because SHE CAN DO IT HERSELF!
I explained that potatoes are pretty hard to cut, and she huffed and rolled her eyes and positioned herself in front of the cutting board. She prepared to slice the tiniest sliver off of the potato, and I suggested that—as we were gong to boil and them mash the potatoes, as this was potato soup—she instead cut the potato in half, and then into quarters. She repositioned the knife in the center of the potato.
WITH HER THUMB DIRECTLY BENEATH THE KNIFE.
I screamed to stop her, which started hysterics on her part, and once I explained the problem, she repositioned, started to cut into the potato, started losing her grip on the potato, and repositioned her hand… with her thumb directly beneath the knife, again.
I screamed again, and she melted into a puddle of tears, something about how I never let her do anything and she can do it if I just let her; and I replied that I was not actually going to allow her to CUT OFF HER THUMB to prove to me how capable she is, that’s just tough for her that I’m SO HORRIBLE THAT WAY.
And then Otto came into the kitchen and broke things up and sent us to our separate corners.
Eventually we got the soup made, and assembled and grilled cheese sandwiches to go with, and other than the part where I am the meanest most horrible mother on the planet and my daughter aged me ten years by repeatedly attempting to make herself an amputee, it was a delightful meal.
Oh, except for the part where Chickadee didn’t actually eat her soup. You know, the soup she’s had before. The soup whose recipe she picked out. The soup she made because that’s what she wanted for dinner.
When questioned, she said, “Well… I don’t really LIKE this soup.”
I will miss her terribly. (There’s not a judge in the world that would convict me.)
The best part, of course, came when the kids got on the phone with their father, later. I was in a different room, but I couldn’t help overhearing how Otto and I were SO MEAN to Chickadee while she SLAVED over the dinner she DIDN’T EVEN WANT, or how Monkey always gets VERY BADLY INJURED (points for choice of serious words, for sure) every time I MAKE HIM go play with the neighbors. DCFS didn’t show up on our doorstep, so I have to assume that my ex knew enough to take these tales of woe with a few grains of salt, but still. It’s always nice to be SO APPRECIATED.
Of course, last night after the kids went to bed, I made a batch of Chickadee’s favorite granola (for breakfast) and a batch of delicious squishy rolls (for Monkey, a.k.a. CarbBoy, to pack in lunches), and all was forgiven. I’m back in favor with the masses, again.