Divine Secrets of the Nah-Blah Sisterhood

Just spent a fabulous weekend with my sisters, nieces, and mom down in St. Louis. We are such an abnormal bunch. I had each of my sisters pose in a cheesy senior picture photo and was laughing so hard at these I could barely keep my camera level. And so, for those of you who only know some of the insanity, here are my sisters (heavily medicated for your safety):

Beth - the oldest child and fits the bill in every way. Beth is a mixture of Oprah Winfrey (if she hadn't fallen into the hands of Eckert Tolle) and Elaine Benes from Seinfield. Her stories are dramatic and everything happens to her. A CPA partner by trade, it would be more fitting if she were on the stage. She also could take retail therapy to an Olympic sport level. She has matching shoes and accessories to every outfit and always looks like a million bucks. I'm pretty sure because of that, she must be adopted.

Lisa - the second oldest and brainy as they come as evidenced by the fact that she took multiple chemistry classes to become a pharmacist. She can remember the words to songs we had on records that haven't been played in 20 years. Need to know the name of the restaurant we ate in on family vacations from 1982? Ask Lisa. She also, however, inherited the worry gene from Mom. While Beth's kids were swinging from the high line wires, Lisa was the one fretting if her kids could somehow get under the pool cover and drown. We also tease her about her ability to graze all day long and still be so thin. I'm pretty sure because of that, she must be adopted.

Renee - the third oldest and artsy one of the family. She's still a killer volleyball player and now on the local school board as well as working part time as a nurse. Renee gets ideas to overhaul something and then you see nails and boards flying around while her husband turns a pale shade of green. She loves to throw things away and purge the clutter from her life. She's also the only one who didn't inherit the traditional deflated rear end like the rest of us. I'm pretty sure because of that, she must be adopted.

My brother would be number four in the family but because of that Y chromosome, he didn't get to come to St. Louis. Actually, we'd be fine if he did. He sent his wife Bethany instead and she braved the weekend as the only outlaw sister we have. You can't be faint of heart and roll with that many Type A personalities but Bethany takes it all in a stride. She's cheerful and artsy and up for any adventure...and very athletic. A former Division I college swimmer, she now works in marketing for a medical group.

Susan rings in as number five. My mom says Susan was the spastic kid who could throw a big temper tantrum. That phase seems to be over and now she runs a horse ranch with her husband. Quite a long way from her days when she worked in downtown Chicago and could rival Beth for retail therapy. Susan is the only one who inherited perfect body proportions. I'm pretty sure because of that, she must be adopted.

Mary comes in as number six. She's our nurturing mothering sister and may be a bit obsessed about vacuuming. She is adamant about her to do lists and sometimes misses her days as a cardiac nurse but right now is in the process of adopting child #5 from Ethiopia. Mary has this fantastic head of gorgeous curly hair - the best hair in the family as most of the rest of us struggle with mousy thin hair and male pattern baldness. I'm pretty sure because of that, she must be adopted.

Skip over me now to the baby Erin. Still merrily single and thriving in her missionary work in Mexico, Erin interacts with the most random people in the most random ways. She, like Beth, has the funniest things happen to her and her stories of language translation mistakes are hysterical. She was a star basketball player and people still talk about her role as Miss Hannigan in a high school production of "Annie". We tease her about her ability to live on about 25 cents a day. I'm pretty sure because of that, she must be adopted.

So there you have it! Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and an extra special one to spare. We're not quite right in the head but at least we have each other. Pass the Prozac.

Monkey Piles and Nekkid Barbies on the Loose

Last week saw the celebration of My Little Shorn Sheep (Kate) turning 5. It started when she got money in the mail from Grandma Ellie - which burned a hole in her pocket until she could turn around and use it to buy something from my "store" (toys and other things they can save up their allowance to buy). Until her birthday money came, Kate was dead broke because she had to pay Aunt Lisa for cutting up her guest sheets (hmmm...cutting Barbie hair, cutting her own hair, cutting sheets...are we seeing a pattern???)

Kate choose the Barbie pool - which held real water! It was only when I had several nekkid Barbies with ruined hair, several soaking wet human-sized towels, and water EVERYWHERE that I had to wonder what possessed me to pick that thing out on a garage sale.

On to the big party with friends! Kate invited seven friends over for a night of food and fun! What's not to love about mini-corn dogs, mac and cheese, chocolate cake, ice cream and grapes? Food of champions - or those looking to block a few vital vessels to the heart.

The kids played dress up, jumped on the trampoline for most of the evening, had big monkey piles of fun and mixed several colors of play-doh together, despite my pleas to the contrary. Rachel, Mary's daughter, got to stay overnight because she is a cousin so the fun lasted until 11 PM when three VERY sleepy girls were brought up to bed. I thought they would sleep in well the next morning, having gone to bed so late.

Fat chance. I guess the voice of the new My Little Pony remote-controlled scooter must have whispered to them in the early morning hours because I hear engine revving sounds and horn honking at O-Dark-Thirty. I banished the girls to the basement and crawled back in bed, desperately in need of more sleep. But none would come my way...at least not on a post-birthday party morning.

Eyes in the Backamyhead

My girls are amazed at my ability to detect when they are doing something they shouldn't be doing behind my back. I suppose some of it is a sixth sense you develop as a mother...like the sense to know when things are "too quiet" or to have laser precision hearing to pick up on the terse, whispered "Stop touching me or I'm telling Mom"s that are sniper-fired back and forth.

I tell the girls the reason I know is that I have Eyes in the Backamyhead! Someday, I'll tell them it's really because, due to the black microwave over my stove reflecting all that goes on behind me, I can see when they are picking, poking, kicking, making faces and muttering to each other.

The other day, Elisabeth was trying to style my hair (code word for painful brushing of my hair and ears, and several multicolored hair bands being put at the bottom of loosely twisted hair) when she pauses, puzzled, and turns around to face me.

"I don't see them, Mom!" she says with furrowed brow. "What don't you see?" I ask, thinking she is missing the last of the 3,298 hair bands she wants to use in my hair. "The eyes in the back of your head."

Whoops! And being the good, nurturing Christian Mother-of-the-Year (Still waiting on my crown and sash), I lie to her.

"Really?" I tell her, "Maybe you have to be a mom to see them. But never fear...they are there. And they develop x-ray vision when you turn 13."

Miserable Mom Mix-Up

Some things you hear as an adoptive mom just make you shake your head and laugh. My sister Renee and her husband adopted Grace from China several years ago. Grace is now 7 and quite a character. Renee sent me an email that said:

"Grace [said] to me one day when she wasn't happy with me (which happens often):

'I don't think you are the right mom for me. I think you adopted me just to make me miserable!'

(Grace's mom tries to repress snorting laughter)."

Hmmm...mounds of paperwork, mucho dinero, several red tape nightmares, heinously long flights with SARS masks on, all done so one little girl could leave behind an orphanage where she spent the majority of her waking hours in a walker - so much so that it took several years for her legs to unbow - and come into a extended family that loves her more than life itself and wouldn't trade her for all the tea in, well, China. I think she got EXACTLY the right mom. And it's our job as a mom to sometimes make our kids miserable;-) It's a right of parenthood, no?

Orange Spastic Hoopster

In one of my many attempts to keep from ending up in a pretty white sweater with funny sleeves this summer, I enrolled Squirrel #1 in an all day basketball camp for four days at the local college. It probably sounds like a lot for a 7-year-old to handle but my thought was "Hmmm...she's occupied all day, learning something useful, fed lunch, and will be tired by bedtime...all this for a mere $70...that's one cheap babysitter!"

No, I don't harbor hopes that she'll be the smash hit of the WNBA, and I hope others don't expect her to be the next Sheryl Swoops just because she is black. But she is a tomboy so she was non-plussed that she was in a group of all boys for her age bracket.

I went to pick her up the first day and I see she is scrimmaging. She's got a bright orange jersey on that is several sizes too large and she has to keep hiking it up to keep in on one shoulder. She sees me and waves, oblivious to the fact that she is supposed to be playing basketball. Her team runs down to the other end of the court and she is still dancing in the end zone (or whatever it's called in basketball...hey, I played six-on-six basketball in Iowa and it was only for one miserable 8th grade year so my sports knowledge is extremely limited).

I motion for her to run down to the other end. She finally turns around and realizes she needs to hustle. Her team of boys thinks that girls have cooties so she rarely, if ever, gets the ball passed to her but when she does, she doesn't attempt a basket, she just scoops the ball back outside the three point line again.

Four days later, she is excited that she knows how to pivot, bounce pass, and alternate swooping the ball between her legs. She has team pictures on the last day and at awards time, she is given a certificate for participation. She's thrilled, although a little saddened that she didn't make "Camper of the Day" any of the days. Beings that that honor required someone who paid attention and followed directions, she would have had a major uphill battle to win that one;-)

We get her team pictures back and Darren and I howled for a good 15 minutes with laughter at Elisabeth's face in the team picture. See for yourself:

Why Wild Animals Eat Their Young

I looked out my window tonight and saw a full moon...but I could have just as well have guessed based on the week I am having. As if the daily adventures of two ADHD squirrels isn't enough (and by ADHD, think of Mexican jumping beans on a caffeine bender), the week got more interesting when Kate fell off the see saw. I am not one of those hyper medical moms that rush their kid to the ER for every sniffle but I kept looking at her arm, testing her functionality, checking for inflammation and warmth, when I noticed it was hanging kind of funny.

Better safe than sorry, I put the two squirrels in the van and rushed to the local prompt care. Elisabeth doesn't do well in enclosed spaces when she has to sit still and be quiet longer than 2.3 milliseconds so she was bouncing around the exam room, getting into everything. When I told her to get off the doctor's spinning stool, she started to whine. I'm in a public place so I really can't discipline as normal (did I mention spanking is finally okay?!!!!), so I used my best threatening, under my breath voice to try to get her to chillax.

Finally, the doctor came in and examined Kate. He couldn't see a visible fracture but announced that Kate's forearm bone was "bowed". He gave us a referral to see an orthopedic doctor a few days later. Kate's arm was wrapped in a splint and we were sent home with instructions not to get it wet.

Right.

Despite my best plastic bag and tape job, Kate got it wet. And she got it wet again in the bathtub despite Husband's warnings for her to keep it on the edge of the tub. We went to to the ortho doctor today and he cut the splint and wrapping off, only to find leaves underneath the splint.

Wonderful.

He decided she should have a cast for four weeks and she picked hot pink. The nurse tried to get Kate to rate her pain but she didn't have a clue what she was supposed to be doing. Meanwhile, Elisabeth - again - was bouncing off the walls in the exam room (sigh).

Then off to the social security administration office to change their social security numbers and get cards with their names on them. We endured an interminable government office wait that made the DMV look like a McDonald's drive-thru. The squirrels decided they would hop across the waiting area while I was trying to get the forms filled out and information copied for the clerk.

Did I also mention that Kate cut her own hair? Not all of it....just a large chunk out of the left side...and down to the scalp. Too big an area to braid/cornrow around so amidst the weeping and gnashing of teeth, I had to cut the rest of her hair off. She looks like a little shorn sheep. Black hair takes FOREVER to grow so she will be my shorn sheep for a while. I should have known this was forthcoming when I saw several strands of blond Barbie hair in the basement that someone had cut off the dolls. But neither squirrel was 'fessing up despite both Husband and I warning them that punishment for lying was twice as bad as for cutting off Barbie hair.

So this is my week...and I am staring down the barrel of an eight and a half hour drive tomorrow and a week long stay in my hometown with two squirrels and no husband. After today, I understand why animals in the wild eat their young.

The Homicide of Punxsutawney Phil

At approximately 1400 hours 31st of July, a little-known blog writer was alerted to a potential homicide underneath her deck. Upon further investigation, two black, barking hairy suspects were seen cornering what the little-known blog writer was convinced was a badger. The "badger" was clicking and chomping its teeth while the two Barking Suspects were foaming at the mouth and taking turns nipping the Alleged Badger Victim.

The little-known blog writer shouted to her two cohorts - AKA Squirrel 1 and Squirrel 2 - to get her a broom and her mud boots. Outfitted in her mud boots and wielding a broom, the little-known blog writer made an attempt to roust the Alleged Badger Victim from its corner, only to have the Alleged Badger Victim start after the little-known blog writer. This convinced the little-known blog writer to let the two Barking Suspects handle this - it could now be labeled as self-defense - a justifiable homicide.

The two Barking Suspects eventually positioned themselves to chase the Alleged Badger Victim out of its corner, while Barking Suspect #1 (AKA Sasha) latched onto the Alleged Badger Victim's neck while Barking Suspect #2 (AKA Atticus) sunk his teeth into the spinal column. Both Barking Suspects raced around the lawn, hanging on for dear life until the Alleged Badger Victim gave up the ghost.

The little-known blog writer put a call in to Husband amidst the chaos to which he replied that it was probably not a badger but a ground hog. The little-known blog writer thought he said "Prairie Dog" and remembered hours of countless film reels she had to watch in elementary about stupid prairie dogs and shouted "It's not a ground hog. I know what a badger looks like."

[Note: Upon further Google searching, the little-known blog writer discovered that it was indeed a groundhog].

When the Barking Suspects finally dropped the Alleged GROUNDHOG Victim, the little-known blog writer was heard loudly praising the suspects for their good work. The W-county coroner was called in and the cause of death was determined to be multiple puncture wounds to the thoracic and cervical region.

The Barking Suspects were released on bail and dog treats. When interviewed, the little-known blog writer justified the homicide by saying: "Serves that stupid groundhog right! He always sees his shadow on Feb. 2 and we are stuck with six more weeks of winter."

Authorities are investigating. Expert witness Nelson, a hunting/trapping brother outlaw of the little-known blog writer, indicated that had this indeed been a badger, the story would have ended more like "Where the Red Fern Grows."