There was a time in my life—a long time, actually—when I thought I would have a houseful of children. Then I realized I was neither independently wealthy nor particularly patient, so I figured 3 or 4 kids would be plenty. And then, y’know, life happened, and I ended up with two kids and the realization that I am perfectly content with the size of my family. (Well, okay, some days I’m perfectly content and some days I am willing to sell the children for puppies or parts or even just to make the noise stop.)
So this is to say that I have no regrets about the state of my life or the size of my family. On the other hand, I packed up Chickadee and we flew out here to Kira‘s house, and I am positively marinating in pack-o-teens and lots of kill-me-dead-with-the-adorableness of watching said teens cater to Sophia (who is FOUR and a BIG GIRL), and there is a not tiny part of me which thinks that having an entire houseful of rowdy children would be really, really awesome.
Kira and I have been friends for coming up on a decade, now, and this is the first time our children have met, which is just weird because my kids know Kira and Kira’s kids know me. (I’m bummed that Monkey isn’t here, but he is still off being manly with Otto.) I think it took about half a day for Kira’s boys and Chickie to fall into an easy pattern of competing to see who could be the most obnoxious to each other (it turns out that my 15-year-old and Kira’s nearly-15-year-old may actually be sharing a brain, which is both frightening and FANTASTIC), and suddenly I can picture what life would be like if we formed a commune. It would be loud, mind you, but very entertaining.
Plus, you know that getting to spend all of this time with one of my dearest friends while our children swirl around us having deep intellectual discussions (things like “I’m going to throw this bacon at you” or “something is really wrong with your hair, you know?”) is such a treat, I can’t even express how happy it makes me. We are forever trying to figure out how we can work out a commune, but there’s this whole complication of her family wanting to stay here in Colorado and my family wanting to stay here in Georgia and also our husbands thinking we’re insane. So.
Yesterday was Raphael’s 12th birthday, so we got to participate in a full day of revelry that ended with a late-night baseball game wherein we alternated between watching Sophia trot around and place Chickie’s fedora on various people and wondering aloud if the umpire needed glasses. (Hey, it was Raphi’s birthday and their team got a lot of questionable calls. I’m just saying.) Today so far we have managed to eke out an entire morning of entertainment in watching the children torment each other while eating breakfast. It’s kind of magical.
So the only drawbacks I can really see here are that 1) part of Colorado is on fire, so the air smells rather… crispy… and 2) there are a lot of moths here.
Oh, I know, it seems silly that I would be bothered by moths when I recently allowed my insane child to keep a cockroach in a cup for a day, and honestly, when Kira first warned me that it was “miller moth season” here, I thought her warning was rather silly. Because MOTHS. Who cares? Moths are harmless and aren’t, y’know, roaches. Sure, we came into the house, and there were a few moths flitting around, but Kira has CHICKENS and apparently chickens think moths are uber-tasty. So someone will catch a rogue moth in the house and run outside to feed it to the chickens, which is delightful in a creepy sort of way. That is not the part that’s terrifying, though. The terrifying thing happened last night.
We were done with the baseball game and had returned to Kira’s van, triumphant. We had survived the game! The wind had been blowing about 40 miles an hour for the whole thing, and it was late, and it had been a very full day, and we were ready to go home and sleeeeeeeeep. Kira and Chickie got Sophia’s carseat straps buckled, then they both got into their seats, and Kira turned the key to start the van. As the engine roared to life, air streamed through the circulation vents, and a SWARM OF MOTHS rose up from where the windshield meets the dashboard.
Because I am a grown-up and good in a crisis, the moths rose up and I SCREAMED. Yes. Then I tried to open my window to shoo the moths out, but because I am unfamiliar with Kira’s van and also because I was freaking out, I simply locked the doors, instead. (Smart!) This was the beginning of a full two minutes of all of us laughing and screaming and trying to deal with Mothageddon so that we could actually start driving and get home. Because WHERE DID THEY COME FROM?? And why were they dive-bombing us? AND MAKE IT STOP. The only person unperturbed by this festival of furry wings was Sophia, possibly because she was busy using Chickie’s iPod to play a game.
Maybe you had to be there, but it was… well, probably not my finest moment. But funny.
I have no idea what we’re going to do today, but I’ve decided that if we’re going anywhere, I’m bringing a vacuum cleaner with us in the van. Just in case. Although my daughter and Kira’s daughter both just had some Nutella toast together here in the kitchen, and I think it’s likely we may be spending the rest of the day scraping Nutella off of Sophia.
In summary: Greatest. Trip. Ever.