Category Archives: Bad Mood Dude

Texts from the School Fantasy Faire

cakewalkThese are highlights of the texts I sent to Guy while I endured my ninth annual Fantasy Faire (this year’s theme: A Pirate’s Life for Me!). Ye gods.

  • We finally won a cake at the cake walk! Daphne staked me tickets (rather, she staked me with tickets I bought for her) and we doubled down like mental patients for seven rounds. It cost like ten dollars in the end, but it’s a huge pirate ship so…win!
  • I ran into Dylan’s kindergarten teacher (the one who told me 7 years ago he was the single worst behaved student she’d had in 17 years of teaching) and told her that he won the district writing fair. She didn’t have to look so pleasantly surprised. I’m still mad at her.
  • We are all starving. When their dad asked early in the week if I wanted a dinner at the faire I thought he was preordering tix. Not as such.
  • Dylan just came by and I asked him for two tickets for a soda. He made a show of slapping them onto the picnic table and said “GO.”Then I asked him to watch my stuff while I got it. He sighed and said, “Look. You and I both know I’m not going to watch it so why don’t I just get you one.”Two minutes later he slammed it on the table in front of me and said, “Drink up, woman!”
  • Omg Daphne’s friend’s dad is dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow, and he and two other guys put on a show, fencing with real swords. They just took it off the blacktop where the chairs are and chased each other onto the slide and play structure. All the kids ran after them, crowding around and cheering, and all I could think was holy fuck those are real swords and someone is going to have them arrested.
  • Oh hells no, Daphne and her friends just got on this ride where they sit on stuffed, motorized animals and ride—for two laps only—around a tiny race track. I thought it was more of a ripoff until I saw how slow they go. It takes a while. I got a video of Daphne’s on a two foot tall panda, and her friends on a tiger and a bear. I do not have permission yet to post it but if I do you’ll be the first to know.
  • Oh goody, just fifty minutes to go til the end. STARVING.

I can already see where this Mothers Day is going

My son called from his room at 1:26 am, the ringing phone throwing my heart at the ceiling.

“Mom, I think I’m dying. I can’t fall asleep.” I think I’m dying, too. Of a heart attack. “I’ll be right down.”

I felt his forehead. “You’ve got a fever. I think you have what I have.” I gave him one his sister’s Tylenol her dad sent with her last night—she’d had a tooth repaired after a chip and it was sore. Oh my god, all my kids are old enough to have full-strength pain relievers. “Here, sit up and take this. It’s just the flu.”

“Did I get it from you?” he asked. I think if he’d had the strength that would have sounded almost accusatory.

“Not in the four hours you’ve been here. It takes longer than that to incubate. But thanks for thinking of me.”

I took one, too. When I woke up from a dream in which we all had fur and tails like mice and has no standing until we’d won a spar with the current tail-judo master, my neck was a girder and I was about a thousand degrees too hot. Besides, that mouse was really doing a job on my self-esteem because I couldn’t land a blow on his belly. Think Ripred from Gregor The Overlander.

On my way back to bed I heard a creak from Daphne’s bed and saw the light under her door. Oh, no. I opened up the Tylenol and shook out another pill.

Daphne was sitting up in bed, face flushed with a thousand-yard stare. Oh, goody.

“I knew it,” I said. “You didn’t look right when you went to bed.”

“Mom, I’ve been like this since midnight. I only slept two hours,”she said, as I felt her forehead.

“Yep, you’ve got it, too.” Earlier, I’d begged off from dinner out with their dad and them to celebrate Logan’s birthday. I was too glazed over to steer two tons of German engineering over the mountain pass. Hence their late-night arrival so they could wake here on Mothers Day.

I don’t think breakfast in bed is on the menu anymore. Limp, hot children maybe, but not a fresh, hot meal.

Did I mention Guy has it, too? He asked for the chocolate Hagen Daaz and a spoon as long as I was up. I handed it to him and picked up my iPad to write. I wasn’t interested in chocolate Hagen Daaz. I really must be dying.

3:40 am: the first child starts driving the porcelain bus. Just waiting to see who’s next.

Mid- hurl: “Happy—blergh—Mothers Day.”

I am scrambling like crazy to get my book finished and off to the publisher, which explains the dearth of writing here. I’m so worn out mentally that I can’t even think of an original way to describe it. This is from an earlier post, and sadly, still true:

I feel like each chapter is being peeled off my skin in one continuous strip, so long that I think I can’t possibly function with that much laid bare. Each chapter leaves me drained and melancholy, which is really weird, because when I begin I’m all wired and excited and have the clearest vision of what will help others going through divorce.

Hopefully things will be back to normal soon. In the meantime, there’s three thousand posts and ten years of material in the archives! Go crazy! (I did.)

The Games. Of Stuff.

It seems that all the sagas around here are the Games This and Game of That. I’ve read all four Game of Thrones book and the three Hunger Games books, and now we are working our way through the first season of HBO’s Game of Thrones.

Only…how did they cram two thousand pages of high drama into the first six episodes? I mean, trim here, cut there, but criminy! Make [dashing character] gay rather than include a whole subset of plots? How can you pass over [her] and [him] and all their shenanigans? (There will be no spoilers here; I slogged my way through the series and so will you.)

Between discs three and four I was circling the living room, shouting in a ridiculous Seven Kingdoms accent, “He’s not GAY, he’s well LIKED! He throws parties! He dresses well! But he’s not gay! And his friend? Is HANDSOME, not his bloody boy toy! If they’re going to compress the rot out of this story, what’s going to be left for the next season? It starts in two days! Seven Hells!”

Guy, laughing, pulled me to him and said, “Come here and give me a kiss. This is why I love you.”

He folded his arms around me and smiled into my hair.

“Because you’re insane.”

Really, Presidents Day?

I just spent the last half hour with tweezers, nail clippers, a needle, and finally a razor blade, digging a quarter-inch of No. 2 pencil lead it of my foot.

And then cleaning more blood than you’d think could come out of a person’s heel off the carpet. This is why no one should have carpet in the bathroom, people! God I can’t wait until we no longer have to rent.

I’ve had a quiet day without the kids, doing laundry, writing, cleaning out the closet, carefully staying AWAY from anything harmful. So, just now, I grabbed a glass of wine, some cheese and crackers, and my book, ,slid over on the sofa to the sweet spot, and YEEEOOOWCH!

It figures, I get the only sharpened pencil in the entire house shoved into the side of my heel. no one EVER has a sharpened pencil… Though I do seem to recall that the youngest did his homework in here last week, and there was a brief episode involving defacing and stabbing a math worksheet… He must have had to sharpen it after that, I tell ya. There were holes in a cushion were one thing, but I didn’t look under the coffee table.

This has been brought to you by the Roberts Holiday Curse.