It's What All the Kids Are Doing

Well, it was bound to happen. Every time I drive my kids to school wearing my pajamas and no make-up, I think, “Gee, I hope I don’t miss carpool or else I’ll have to walk inside in my p.j.’s.” And, you know how some mornings you just wake up looking better than others? Well, this was not one of those mornings.

Thanks to the stupid, little, hybrid car in front of me going 30-miles-per-hour in a 45 zone, this morning I paraded myself through a throng of smartly-dressed ladies on their way to Bible study while wearing my red and white striped Old Navy pajama bottoms and looking like death warmed over, frozen, and then re-heated.

At least I was wearing a bra today. That’s something.

I suppose I could blame myself for not leaving the house earlier, but I like me. I’d rather focus my anger toward someone else. Plus, people who drive hybrids annoy me. Save the planet on your own time and get out of my way -- I have places to go and ozone to destroy. Oh, and my stuffed and mounted baby seal is ready at the taxidermist.

Tra-la-la.

Yesterday, my children invented a new game. I wish I could say that it was brilliant and worthy of a quick trademark and immediate release just in time for Christmas. But, well, it’s not.

I was in the kitchen preparing some very yummy potato soup, which is extremely time-consuming, but totally worth it. L and Z were playing together in the den. Which is to say, they were teasing and baiting each other, wrestling around and alternating between laughing and crying, “Mom! He/she hit/bit/slapped/kicked/insulted/maimed me!” Typical afternoon.

They were hungry and I was only halfway through the peeling and cubing of 5 pounds of potatoes, so I offered them some grapes. After only a few minutes I heard, “Mom! These grapes have seeds in them!”

What? I never even looked at the bag because why would I think the grapes had seeds? Why the heck do they even sell grapes with seeds anymore? Is anyone buying bags of seeded grapes and going home and planting them in their back yard?

So, the seed announcement was followed by, “Mom! Z just spit the grapes out all over the carpet!”

Great. “Bring the grapes back in the kitchen, guys!”

Silence.

“Guys?”

The next sound I heard was the sound of all the grapes being dumped out on the floor.

“Hey! Pick those up, L! Z! Are you still there?”

Then I heard laughter and L said, “Okay, my turn!”

I put down my potato peeler and went to investigate. As I walked into the living room, I saw L standing at the top of the nine-foot ladder and Z standing underneath it.

(Side bar: Since we are still in the middle of Christmas decorating, the ladder is still in the middle of the living room. Z has a stone bruise on his heel from climbing to the top and using a long piece of rope garland to repel back down. The last time, he repelled just a bit too hard.)

Anyway, I arrived just in time to see L dump the entire bowl of grapes down onto her waiting brother’s head. And he laughed because, apparently, that is what he knew she was going to do and he was okay with that.

“What on earth are you doing?” I asked, surprised. Though I really don’t know why I bother with surprise anymore.

L informed me, “We made up a new game.”

“What is it called?”

Z piped up with, “The Grapes Dumping on My Head Game!”

L gave him a withering look. “No, Z, it’s not.” Then she turned to me. “It’s The Grape Dropping Game, Mom.”

Oh, well, that sounds much better. “What are the rules?”

“There are no rules.”

“Well, how do you know who wins?”

“We’re all winners, Mom.”

“Yeah…if you’re a Socialist.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Pick up the grapes. And, Z, get down off the ladder.”

He protested, “But it’s my turn!”

“Fine. But if you fall, L is driving you to the hospital this time. I have to finish my soup.”

And they say too much TV hinders the imagination.