When I was pregnant with the Monkey, there were times when I questioned my sanity.

Am I REALLY having a third child?

What am I DOING?

Hello… is anyone listening to me?

Because, let’s face it, when you have a child after the first one, not much attention is paid to the Mom anymore. Instead, everything turns to staring at the Mom’s belly, and doing a double take at the age of child # 1 or child # 2. Or both.

So when I announced that I was pregnant with # 3, my mother tsked, shaking her head, and said “well … “

And that was it.

The Monkey has proven to be … a challenge? Dare I say it?

Since she started growing in my belly, I knew that this one was different. She was smaller, she wasn’t sitting in the right place, and no matter how many times the doctor inflicted excrutiating pain on my body tried to keep me from having a c-section, that child wasn’t moving. She insisted on doing things her way.

And she couldn’t be quiet when she entered this world. Sure, I wasn’t expecting the child to not make a sound. But I wasn’t expecting the child to earn the nickname “bullhorn” within the first few seconds of her life.

That bullhorn has turned itself up about 10,000 notches.

No shit.

This afternoon, as Queen and I were done casing her township road (that I said was finished but it took Ace and the Queen close to an hour picking up the 33 beer cans that were being thrown from the car directly in front of them), I called the Queen’s advisor to report that, save a few items (yeah…. 33 is a few, people), the road was clean.

In the backseat, there seemed to be a war. A war over the paper that had the map on it for the road. A war that erupted into screams of rage, screams of pain, and physical altercation. And that was just from the Monkey.

And not only did she scream at that point in time, she screamed all. the. way. home.

This child has a temper that is unmatched. Literally.

When we arrived home, I told her to go to her room.

She went.

And threw the Barbie car against the door.

I promptly entered the room, sat her on her bed, and had a long, stern talk with her. I informed her that she was NEVER EVER EVER to scream like that in my van. She was NEVER EVER EVER to throw things in her room, or anywhere for that matter.

She looked at me with those big brown eyes, tears welling up, and said she was sorry.

And I had this vision: this was probably how things went down at Hitler’s house when he was four. Only instead of a Barbie car, it was a tank.

Queen’s 4H group is a VERY active group. VERY, VERY active. To the point of being overwhelmed active.

When I was in 4H, we did things, sure. But my Mom was the advisor, and really … we didn’t do a lot of service projects. And it could have been different then.

The Queen’s group has a service project at the get go: cleaning up a county road.

YAY!

And this is to offset the payment of dues and the payment of up to two project books. That cost all of $ 5.00.

And guess who has procrastinated to the very last minute. And guess what is in the forecast for today?

Beautiful.

So I am going to go out and case the road to see how bad it is.

Of course, the reason we are cleaning it is so they can get in and mow.

So this is all tall grass that needs to be cut down.

And in the country, there are ticks.

And I got to hear a very disgruntled mother recount the weekend activity of picking not one, but THREE ticks off her small child’s body.

Of course, the country folk don’t bat an eyelash.

Us city folk, OTOH, cringe and run in the opposite direction.

I am hoping that the map doesn’t lie, and it really IS a very short road.

And I also don’t want my child to be a 4H pariah.

Last week, our pastor thought it would be an excellent idea to honor the servicemen and women of our town … fire, police, and the mayor.

Remember …the WHINY mayor.

I wanted SOOOO badly to run up to him during church and say “hey … about that flooding…” but I was a good person and didn’t even say a thing.

One of the thoughts that SOMEone had …don’t know who … was to have a person playing the bagpipes play Amazing Grace while walking up and down the aisles.

I mean … when we do something at our church, it is over the top.

I knew the person who was ‘piping, and there is that warmup period when that first air goes in. It always cracks me up (there was a time that this man was playing at a wedding, and he let out the worst starting sound that it gave my Dad the giggles).

So he starts playing and walking down the aisles.

There was this noise… this certain noise. I didn’t know what it was. It kind of sounded like someone who had special needs, or … something.

I leaned over to my choir friend, who was giggling. I said “WHO is that?” and she said “I think the appropriate question is WHAT is that? That, my friend, is the service dog.”

A lady has a service dog who comes into the 10:30 service every Sunday.

And sure enough, the dog was “singing” his version of Amazing Grace.

Like I said. Over the top. But I loved the fact that it was a dog that put it there.

The Queen has suffered from migraines in the past. Ace suffers from an occasional one, as well.

Friend Robin gets them awful bad. My sister also gets them, as did my paternal grandmother. They are the types who had/have to go into a dark room with a trashcan.

Last night before choir, I was feeling fine. I was laughing and talking, and really enjoying the fact that KinderChoir was finished for the year.

I had contemplated skipping choir. But like a dutiful soldier, I trudged off to sing.

I sat down (in the alto section … finally.. I have liberated myself from being a soprano). I opened my music. And then I started seeing this wavy funky line in my field of vision.

Because of my long history of eye issues, I thought I was dealing with either a retina or vitreous detachment. But this was… different.

I started to feel “off.” Not right. I couldn’t concentrate. I was certain that I was having some sort of stroke. I was certain that I would vow to stick to my Weight Watchers plan this time. I was making all sorts of bargains.

In other words… I was freaking the eff out.

I leaned over and told my section leader that I wasn’t feeling well, thinking I was getting a migraine. So I tried to leave without drawing too much attention to myself. I got to the door, opened it, and proceeded to drop every piece of sheet music in my hand.

Finally getting that cleaned up, I started to think I shouldn’t be driving home. But I threw caution to the wind. I started to notice that my vision field in my right eye wasn’t right. I thought for sure that I was suffering from a retina detachment. I moved my hand around in my peripheral vision, and noticed that I was starting to lose some of it.

I picked up the phone. I started to call my eye dr’s office. Then I told myself to get. a. grip.

I would go home and ask the resident migraine experts.

Sure enough, Queen told me that was how her migraines started, and that she did start to lose some vision when she got them. Ace’s are a bit different … he never reports loss of vision.

So I have self-diagnosed this as an ocular migraine. It makes perfect sense.

But I guess since I made all those bargains, I now have to (1) stick to Weight Watchers until I drop all of my weight, (2) clean my house every day, (3) tithe every week, (4) and be nicer to Ace.

I might try for one of out of four.

Sunday, we had a soccer game for the Queen. I was the parent mainly in attendance because it was my “turn.” Ace was there for a little while before he had to take off with Boy Wonder for his game.

When we were on our way home from dinner, Ace asked if I had heard the comment made to Queen’s “pseudo” soccer coach.

You see, it seems that her “pseudo” soccer coach got himself into a “little” trouble with the law. His name appeared in the daily docket a month or so ago for possession of drug paraphernalia. Just a minor inconvenience, really. I mean… shoot. I won’t even get into all of it. Let’s just say this: he doesn’t get to be the “official” coach. So he stands on the parents’ side and screams his head off.

And I think someone tipped him off from the other teams that we have played because out appears one of the soccer “officials” on Sunday’s game to get papers signed. Something about the new coach needing an assistant coach, and could she get these papers signed and cross-referenced and all that … i.e., I’m on to you, pseudocoach. And I’m keeping my hairy eyeball on you the entire time.

So anyway… pseudocoach … or should I call him coach by proxy? Drug dude? Nah… that’s mean. So he’s over there, screaming his head off at the girls (who won 8-0 … really they didn’t need THAT much screaming) and Ace says that a man from the other team, who had a baby, said “hey man… I’ve got a baby down here who is trying to sleep.” Pseudocoach apologizes, moves over one person, and starts up again.

Now, when you take a baby to a soccer game, and that baby falls asleep, do you really have the right to shush everyone up around you? And this field is notorious for having at least three planes fly over it a game, and LifeFlight has to come and distract the kids for at least 10 minutes a game every weekend. And there’s also the traffic.

So really… asking someone (who, yes, is screaming his ever-loving head off) to be quiet during a soccer game is a tad ridiculous, no?

But then… maybe he was placed there by the soccer official to foil pseudocoach’s plans.

I wouldn’t put it past her at all.

This weekend, we had a nice little mother/daughter banquet thingy at our church. I had to be there because (1) my mother likes to go and (2) I had to sing.

I should have just said “because I want to take my girls there.” But I’m a bad mom. We all know that.

Anyway, here’s how the convos went between myself, Mini Martha, and the Mominator.

Mominator and Me:

I asked your sister if she wanted to go that banquet at church. She didn’t sound too committed to the idea, so I went ahead and asked The Golden Child (this is my niece … MM’s daughter).

Wow, I can’t believe that you committed cardinal sin # 205, mother.

What’s that?

You asked The Golden Child WITHOUT going through Mini Martha. You breached some sort of protocol there, I think.

Oh well… I find that I get an answer if I ask her.

Well, I find that I get an answer, then she goes to her mother, and then her mother tells me that The Golden Child doesn’t want to do whatever it is I asked her.

Well, The Golden Child thought it sounded like a great idea, so I think they will be going. I’m buying their tickets for them.

I think I would wait.

Nah. Throwing caution to the wind here. I’ll buy six tickets.

A week or so goes by, and the Mominator asks me if I had talked to Mini Martha about going. I told her that I had, in passing, and, in passing, MM gave me the standard MM answer: I’m not sure if I will or not. Depends on what X is doing or what Y is doing (X is the Hunter and Y is The Golden Child). So this time it was “it depends on what The Golden Child wants to do.” Because you know, a 24 year old child who is already a mother herself should still dictate your schedule.

We wind the week down, and MM hasn’t committed one way or another, but The Golden Child has come down with some sort of ick. So I knew she was out of the running.

The Mominator had her nose out of joint because MM hadn’t committed to the banquet. I told the Mominator that I would be surprised if MM went. The Mominator told me that she would just wait until MM called her to tell her one way or another.

I spoke with MM yesterday afternoon, and she said that she still wasn’t sure if she was going. This was … oh … 4. The banquet started at 5. She never once said no she wasn’t going to be there.

We show up at the banquet, MM is not in attendance, and the Mominator has her panties cranked up in a wad over the whole thing.

Well, I guess me buying a ticket certainly didn’t create an obligation for her to come, right?

I didn’t want to answer, so I just looked in the other direction and said “hey I think I see Mr. Rogers over there.”

She didn’t let it drop. She made a few more comments.

The evening wore on, and then we went home. Then on my way home from church this morning, MM calls me to ask me a question.

Then SHE brings up the banquet.

You know, mom never called me yesterday to remind me of that banquet. I totally forgot about it until I left The Golden Child’s house.

Really? Wow.

I mean, she could have said SOMEthing to me, couldn’t she? She never called me at all!

Wow.

Did she say anything to you about it?

Hey… is that Mr. Rogers over there?

Oy.

Here comes that bus again. And I’m driving it .. yet again.

Last night, we were practicing for Sunday’s services. We had just gotten off a marathon prayer session in choir, and honestly, I was all prayed out. Really I was. I had a LONG day yesterday of running around in my van, taking one kid here, taking one kid there, waiting for and listening to a contractor talk about how expensive siding really is, picking one kid up, taking one kid to lunch, going to the grocery, making cookies, picking another kid up, picking the last kid up, taking one to practice … man … just listing it makes me tired.

So I was ready to go home last night at nine. And I was thrilled when I learned that we are only on mike for two songs, and we didn’t even work on sound last night, which would have taken much longer. So I was ready to flee.

Then our pastor has to bring us all together for the prayer huddle.

He mentioned the prayer topic about feeling like you are in over your head.

Then we started.

One of the altos who isn’t even on team this week started praying for our accompanist. Apparently, she is under some stress in her life.

But this is how it went: I see a vivid image. Of a lake and she’s out in the middle of it. She is having a hard time keeping afloat, and You throw her a life buoy … and Your throw is perfect. And she catches it, and I can see all of her stresses in life just melt away when she realizes that she is safe.

Ok. Very nice. A little … cheesy .. but it gets the point across.

All the while, the director is standing there saying “beautiful picture … beautiful picture.”

Then her husband chimes in … and I also see an image. An image of a lighthouse…

Ok. This is when it started to get a little ridiculous for me.

Just a tad.

And then … I couldn’t help it. But I started to envision a PBS television show with Bob Ross.

And his voice replaced the voice of the husband standing next to me.

And around that lighthouse, I’ll paint a happy little tree where happy little squirrels can live. And I’ll paint some mountains behind that lake and that lighthouse…

All the while, my director is still mumbling “beautiful picture…”

Beep beep. Whose house will I be stopping at next?

Friday night, the girls and I ran over to Hobby Lobby to finish up the Monkey’s bug costume.

We were on our way home and on a county road that is in between two residential areas. Technically, it is “around” a residential area, but for flip’s sake, it is outside the city limits. And it has always been 55 mph.

Well, ok. It WAS 55 mph. Like …oh … seven years ago?

Now, it is 35.

But you can’t take the 55 out of me.

I was happily tooling along at 52 mph, talking with the girls about the incoming inlaws. And then I see him. In the other lane. And I physically cringe. And I realize that I am not wearing my seatbelt.

And sure enough, I look in my rearview mirror and I see the car behind the sheriff’s deputy put their brake lights on, and I see his lights on his car go on.

Busted.

WIth my girls in the car.

So I dutifully scramble for my seatbelt, get it pulled on … non-chalantly … and I pull over onto a side street in a subdivision. I had my driver’s license and proof of insurance card out before he reached the car.

He sauntered up, and I had no idea who he was, but he was younger than I. I gave him everything he needed. He asked me if I had any idea why he pulled me over. Well, of course I did and I said “probably because I was speeding.” And he agreed. He asked me if I owned the van. I said yes, and then he asked me if Ace was my husband.

Yes, he is.

And then he asked me if my name was X. But he used my maiden name.

And I said … well, I haven’t been called that for a while, but yes, that is me.

And he said “ok. You have yourself a good night, but be careful.”

And then it dawned on me: I went to school with him. He was 10 years younger than I, but he had my Mom as his teacher throughout the years.

And I thanked my lucky stars that I went to a school that only had 350 kids in it, K-12. There were times I cursed it.

But Friday night, it truly was a blessing.

As we were pulling away, Queen informed me that I said shit and damn.

I told her she was lucky because it could have been a lot worse.

A lot worse.

When Ace said that his parents would be driving up in their Infiniti to “see if they could get the check engine light to turn off,” a pit opened up in my stomach.

I just KNEW something was not right about that logic.

I mean, you have a perfectly wonderful SUV …. almost brand new … yes, a gas guzzler but no lights have popped up on its dashboard that I know of. Wouldn’t you want to take the more reliable car on a 7 hour trip? Driving the not-so-reliable car that barely gets any use just doesn’t make much sense to me.

And on top of that, not only did it have a check engine light, they were also taking it in to have a new part put on it.

Hmmmmm…..

And sure enough, although they made it all the way up here, when we went to get a bite to eat Friday night, there was transmission fluid all over the parking lot next to their car.

So they got their payback.

They had to drive around in Ace’s 1996 Geo Prizm that has … oh … 170,000 miles on it.

From an Infiniti to a Geo.

Good times.

But lest you think I make fun of someone in their plight, you should have seen me styling my way to church on Sunday morning in Big Red, my Dad’s big Ford pickup truck.

I slid out of it, hopefully unnoticed, until I saw one of my choir friends waving at me. I sheepishly waved back.

Karma.

So they had to wait around until yesterday afternoon to get the RIGHT part put back on their car because their dealership put the wrong one on. But the dealer here didn’t want to “get involved” in a fight with the other dealer about the fact that there was a problem with the first part.

So … it was a different weekend with juxtapositioning cars around to get them a working car and to get us another mode of transportation. Luckily I have parents who have three cars and we live in the same town.

Wow… what a totally boring post.

I guess that is life.  

I didn’t realize the weight that would be lifted off my shoulders at roughly 10:50 yesterday morning, but what a weight it was.

KinderChoir had performed and they. were. finished!

No more bugs. No more singing about bugs. No more talking about bugs.

They were sick of it, so imagine how all my adults felt about it?

And it never ceases to amaze me that we have that one person … one who shows up for almost every practice, who just doesn’t show the last three rehearsals or the performance. And it wasn’t that the mother wasn’t informed every step of the way.

Oh well. And we had our scare of not having two of our kids show, but they did … at 10:27. For a 10:30 service.

But you will have one of those in every bunch, I am afraid.

Everyone looked darling. We had a smattering of ladybugs, a few bees, some lightning bugs, a butterfly, and a grasshopper.

Wednesday night is the last night until after Labor Day!!! We eat, we party, we watch puppets, and we FINISH!!!!! WOO HOO!!!!!

We didn’t have any crying … on stage. We did have some beforehand. From a five year old.

And we also had a mother make the wise decision that her child just was not ready to stand for the whole 10 minutes it took to sing and not make a spectacle of herself. When her grandmother informed me that she wouldn’t be there, I think I heard a collective sigh of relief.

But all in all, they were darling. They were singing. And they didn’t fall down. Too many times.