That’s Just Wrong

Yesterday, I wrote about a car-jacking that had taken place near our community and specifically about the measures taken to apprehend the suspect (Cop Talk 101); measures which included full-on use of every available law enforcement officer within a twenty mile radius of our town, two helicopters patrolling overhead for six hours, the services of two tracking dogs and the use of the Reverse 911 phone system to alert the residents of our fair city as to the possible danger lurking outside their doors.

Can you imagine the cost involved in such efforts?

Well, let me tell you; somewhere in the neighborhood of $30,000. 00. That’s thirty thousand dollars. American. US currency. Thirty-thousand.

Guess who pays that bill, generally speaking? We do. The tax payers. It’s a price that we are willing to pay for a sense of security and well-being within the walls of our homes.

We get a deal this time, though. This time the entire bill is going to the supposed "victim" of the alleged "car-jacking"; a teenager who, you’ll never guess; made the whole thing up.

Uh-huh.

I am outraged.

Thirty-thousand, schmirty-thousand, I missed my weekly Jacuzzi bath, people!

You can't put a price on that.

Danger Will Robinson! Danger!

For living in such a small, safe community, my weekend was unusually fraught with peril. Actual peril.

Friday, Hugh and I purchased a new flat screen television to replace the television that had been with us since the early years of our marriage. Upon finalizing the purchase, Hugh loaded the new television into the back of the Tahoe and sent me merrily on my way back to work while he drove in the opposite direction to deliver cabinets to a nearby housing development.

By the time I got home at the end of the day, I had completely forgotten about the rather huge box in the back of the car and was therefore quite shocked when I opened the rear door only to have the behemoth television box leap out of the rear cargo area clearly intent on doing me harm.

I narrowly avoided being crushed by my new electronics, is what I am saying. See? Peril. In my own garage.

Saturday, I attended a fancy-pants charity event at the local golf course where I discovered, to my horror, that my modeling service would include walking down a circular staircase while wearing four inch heels. And, skin tight dresses. Dresses with trains.

And, four inch heels; did I mention the four inch heels?

People. Walking while chewing gum has been my undoing on more occasions than I like to admit so you can imagine the anxiety produced by this particular task but; I did it. I’m not saying I did it well but, I did it. Panicking the entire fucking time, I assure you.

All that peril pales in comparison to my Sunday morning shopping trip with The Girl, though.

How could a holiday shopping spree with a pre-pubescent girl be at all perilous, you ask?

You try shopping with a pre-pubescent girl who is all kinds of jacked up on the Starbucks sometimes, my friend, and then ask that question. I dare you.

Because, if I thought my daughter talked a lot before the Grande peppermint mocha (and, I did), the volume and rapidity of conversation that followed its consumption was enough to blow my mind.

Pre-pubescent girls + Caffeine = a combination not to be trifled with.

Try it sometime. At your peril.

Speaking of pre-pubescence and things fraught with peril, this morning, The Girl mistook the pattern in her underwear for a blood smear and freaked the fuck right out. We are talking shower scene from Carrie freak-out, here. It took me a good minute to calm her down enough to realize-and to laugh at-her mistake.

On an aside, I hope to God she is at home when she does eventually start her period because that type of reaction happening in school would scar every sixth-grade boy for life. Some of the girls, too, probably. Hell, I’m an adult and I’m scarred.

And, I digress.

Anyway, last night we capped off the Weekend o’ Peril with a virtual lock-down of our small community when a carjacker from a town to the North of us ended up on our streets after the car ran out of gas. The owner of the car, who had been along for the ride, was unhurt and able to give a pretty good description of the carjacker as well as to indicate the direction he took off in. So, of course, the entire local police department, sheriff’s department, a tracking dog and two helicopters were dispatched to hunt him down.

Like an episode of COPS, minus the soundtrack.

And, I would say that it was exciting but it wasn’t, really.

In fact, it was a total buzz-kill for me since Hugh enthusiastically volunteered was required to join the manhunt and I was forced to forgo my usual Sunday night soak in the Jacuzzi tub.

I mean, I could have taken the bath, I suppose but; I was just the teensy-tinsiest bit afraid that the car-jacker would choose our house to break into and, I theorized, if that happened he would naturally try to steal my new television set.

People, I did not escape death at the hands of that electronic bitch just to hand it over to the first thug who comes along; I was fully prepared to beat him bloody with a four inch heel while screaming like a pre-pubescent girl who just saw blood in her panties for the first time if that was what it took to protect that television set from harm.

I mean, there is peril and then there are priorities.

Thus endeth the Weekend o' Peril.

Friday, Glorious, Friday!

This week has been gruesome and I am happy to be rid of it.

I’ll be happy to be done with its next five brothers as well. That’s right! Only five more weeks of working for da man! Then, I can drop all pretense of political correctness and say exactly what I like without first running it by the tiny censor inside my brain*. My mouth is looking forward to having free reign and my brain censor; she is tired and looking forward to a vacation. Tahiti, perhaps.

On a related and rather sad note, do you know what it takes for me to lose all respect for another human being whom I had previously held in very high regard? That person making a nasty slur against the intelligence of another person whom I happen to respect a great deal. Just one bitter, nasty statement is enough to undo eight years of respect. Wow. Who knew?

Moving on.

I don’t have any big plans for the weekend. I am modeling at a charity fashion show Saturday night. The event takes place at the country club of one of our nicer golf courses so it should be fancy, if not fun.

(which reminds me; I should probably break out the hair dye and deal with the silver streak in my hair, skunk is probably not the best look for the runway. )

The rest of my time will be taken up with the usual mundane household chores as well as some scrapbooking. The excitement, it is overwhelming.

Of course, I’ll take doing mundane household chores over tromping through political bullshit, any day.

*To clarify: the censor, she is tiny; my brain? Huge. Like, seriously, yoooge.
I'm just sayin'.

As Long As She Doesn't Drink the Kool-Aid

Yesterday The Girl called me from school to tell me that she had joined the band. Her tone of voice was a twee bit defensive; better suited to declaring that she had joined a cult than a program included in the school curriculum. It was almost as though she was worried that, upon hearing her declaration, I would immediately forbid her doing it.

And, you know, hire deprogrammers to throw her ass in a windowless van right in front of all her classmates.

Ok, that would be cool.

And, I digress.

So, I am not a musical person but, as I may have mentioned (ten or twenty times), I participated in band when I was in High School and it was a great experience so; I have no idea why she might suspect that I would be anything but pleased.

Kids, they are weird.

Anyway, I asked her what instrument she was thinking of playing and braced myself for her response (drums? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather join that cult, hon?). To my relief, she thought that the flute would be her chosen instrument and I heartily approve. For one thing, I can actually see her playing the flute.

In fact, was she ever called upon to represent an animated instrument in a Disney cartoon; she could totally be a flute. She is long and thin, delicate and, you know, able to screech at a pitch that a flute would have no difficulty in producing.

What? You don’t assign animated characters to people you see in everyday life? You have never, for example, while trapped in an endless ballet class; envisioned your child’s ballet instructor as a purple hippopotamus in a hot pink tutu as she led the class in a demi-plié series at the barre? No?

You lack imagination, my friends.

(Also, in the interest of full disclosure I should mention that my son is a dead ringer for Mowgli, the jungle boy which, hello, Man-Cub, like, duh! Also, my father is totally Baloo. Not that he knows that, but, there ya go. Oh. I guess he knows it now. Hi, Dad!)

Anyway.

Yeah, The Girl is joining the band. I hope she has a talent for the flute and an interest in sticking with band throughout her school years.

Because I am totally looking forward to chaperoning band trips; I know what goes on on those trips.

Back at Work

Blech.

That is all.

I Have Seen the Future and I Am Scared

Friday afternoon, The Girl attended her first Middle School dance. She and her friends had been looking forward to this rite of passage for weeks; borrowing clothing from one another and brutally dissecting each other’s dance moves, hoping to stamp out any sign of dorkiness.

The Girl was particularly concerned with the correct way to slow dance because- you might want to sit down for this- she has a boyfriend. I’m sorry I did not tell you sooner, internet but, it is a recent development, which, by the way, has proven somewhat stressful to the child’s father. Me, on the other hand? I am totally fine with it because I am Cool Mom, la, la, la,…no problems here.

Luckily, the boy in question is the son of a friend and Hugh has coached him in wrestling for several years. In addition, according to my husband, the boy is terrified of him. I think it is ridiculous to take pleasure in a young boy’s fear but am willing to overlook it, under the circumstances.

Anyway, Friday afternoon The Girl called to ask if I would drive over to the school to take pictures of her and her friends. I strongly suspected that she wanted a picture of her and the boy so I went. For the record, the child did not appear to be in the least bit intimidated by me; posing obediently and politely for a picture with The Girl, in fact, it was all so sweet; I thought I might be developing a cavity right there.

She is growing up so fast.

Also, isn't he dreamy?

But, let's get to the scary part.

Yesterday I took The Girl and her best friend to the mall for some early Christmas shopping. The girls wanted to go to Hot Topic so we did and, lord gawd almighty, I am scarred for life, people. The thought of my sweet precious baby shopping at that store on a regular basis shakes me to the very core of my being. I mean, I know I joke around about her eventually turning Goth and all that but, Christ on a cracker, if that really happens; my soul will shrivel and die.

On the other hand, at least I will know where to shop so, Christmas and birthdays will be a breeze.

Halloween Recap
I cannot believe the Annual Stay at Home Mother Project is almost over; the days have gone by so quickly.

Tuesday was taken up with work at the store as well as what has come to be known as The Great Pie Fiasco of 2007. Why? Allow me to illustrate:

A. Not enough volunteers to sort and organize the pies.

B. Too many parents who neglected to follow the procedure for picking up their child’s pie order, instead grabbing whatever they happened to see and,

C. Not enough supervision of the whole process.

Also, remember when I said that I was expecting about three thousand pies? I was a bit off; the kids sold a total of 52, 000 pies. Not kidding, fifty-two thousand pies. Moreover, we had to unload them from the refrigerated truck in which they arrived so, my arms are still sore. Oh, and I broke a nail. I know! Tragedy!

Of course, as the major fundraiser done by our school, it was totally worth it, broken nail and all. Because, 52,000 pies=major money for field trips and playground equipment and after all, it's all about the children.

(Please remind me of that when I am making excuses not to volunteer for the Great Pie Fiasco 2008, kay? Thanks!)

On a different note, yesterday’s pre-school costume contest proved just as agonizing as I had feared; the sheer number of costumes was amazing and the variety astounding. Thank goodness, we had plenty of free cookies with which to comfort the kids (parents) who failed to win prizes.

After the costume contest, I went to the Man-Cub’s classroom party, armed with two and a half dozen pumpkin fudge swirl cupcakes frosted with dark chocolate. The cupcakes were a huge hit with the kids but my favorite part of the party, personally, was watching the costume parade, especially when the teachers paraded in their costumes.

The third grade teachers dressed as the characters from Alice in Wonderland complete with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, the Queen of Hearts, Alice and the Cheshire Cat.

The Fifth grade teachers chose The Wizard of Oz , including the Tin Woodman, the Cowardly Lion, Dorothy, the Scarecrow and a flying monkey. A flying monkey, people! Awesome!

The second grade teachers dressed as the characters from Little Red Riding Hood and the first and fourth grade teachers garnered loud boos from the children (parents) for failing to dress up at all.

After the party, the Cub and I reverse Trick-or-Treated at the hardware store; handing out the last of our cupcakes before heading home to make dinner before Jana and the kids arrived. For the record, this was the best Halloween dinner that I have ever made.

For obvious reasons.

After dinner we Trick-or-Treated around the neighborhood and attended the local haunted house, which had been postponed from the night before due to a small fire in the building (note to teenagers decorating for a haunted house; never leave flammable materials on a heat register).

The kids enjoyed the experience and, by the time we got back to the house they were more than happy to sort through their candy and relax while the adults spent some quality time handing out candy to the remaining Trick-or-Treaters who, by the way, declared Hugh’s decorations the best they had ever seen.

I have no doubt.

Another Halloween successfully completed.

(Click on photos for larger view)