Seems like there was something I was forgetting….

Oh yeah—the much anticipated, full and mind-numbing recitation of my weekend. Sorry, no ninjas.

Anyway, Friday evening I got home and a particular wife and mother was beyond frazzled with uncooperative chilluns, making the prospects of cashing in on a post-Valentine’s Day date-without-the-kids-night grow dimmer by the moment. I managed to buttonhole a couple of the younger ones and began pleading with them to allow Daddy one small bit of joy by doing all in their power to make their loving Mommy very happy. “Because children,” (yes, you know what’s coming) “if Mama’s not happy, NO ONE’S happy. Capiche?” “Huh? Daddy, what does ‘cuh-PEESH’ mean?” “It means, ‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME that if my wife is not perky and movie-ready that Daddy will get the most supreme disappointment he has seen in the last 3 or 4 hours, which will be NOT THE LEAST BIG GOOD for anyone who can hear me talking right now?’”

They looked at each other, “Yes, sir?” Good answer.

So they started fighting over who had what game in whose Gameboy. ::sigh::

Got their seabag packed, finally, and smooshed them into the van and headed off down the hill to the wonderful land of Grandmama and Grandpapa. (In a not-the-least-bit-related story, 30 minutes after we went down the hill, this accident happened where we had just driven by. We use this route all the time, and Reba has already had a close call. ::shiver::) They pile out and we were off again, and THANK THE LORD Fun Wife was slowly returning. YES!

Got our popcorn and Cokes and settled in to watch Chicago.

Movie Review Time

Gangland Chicago, speakeasies, gunplay, women of questionable virtue—what more could you want?! It was a bit odd to watch, because the 1975-Fosse-ness of it really shines through, which in this case is not a bad thing at all, but still less like watching a new-for-2003 movie than watching Cabaret or The Pajama Game. As for the stars, Renee Zellweger is just about perfect as Roxie Hart, but needs desperately to gain some poundage. 10 or 20 all over. Please. On the other hand, Catherine Zeta-Jones is jusssst right, like a bowl of butter pecan ice cream with hot fudge sauce. And a darned fine hoofer, too. Richard Gere was in the movie, too, looking spiffy and I guess he was okay for all the girls to look at. Overall, give it an A, but with all the shooting and adulterating and hanging and mayhem and language, it’s NOT for little kids.

Got out and went across the parking lot to shop at Wal-Mart for something for Cat’s birthday and for once, managed not to spend huge hunks of dough—and got someone very happy again by finding the soundtrack to the movie we had just seen. Whatever it takes…

Saturday was horse-bothering lessons for the older three, with the added bonus of my sister tagging along. She came up from Mobile for a day or two, and for some reason decided that she wanted an alternate route to my house. “Just go the way you know!” “I don’t want to.” ::sigh:: Gave her very explicit instructions based entirely on right and left turns. No confusing signs, no landmarks, just turn left or right at the intersections. (I don’t remember the street names in my neighborhood, and since all the houses look alike, no use trying to give directions based on unique buildings.) 30 minutes later, she called and was lost at the foot of the hill. No amount of cajolery could convince her that if she would JUST FOLLOW THE DIRECTIONS she would wind up at our house, so I went and led her home. “Oh, well, where you said ‘turn right’, it just didn’t look like the right place.”

Logic.

Must. Not. Use. Logic.

“But if you don’t know what the neighborhood looks like, how can you say whether it looked right or wrong—just turn when you come to the ONLY FOUR WAY STOP ON THE ROUTE!”

“But that didn’t look right.” ::sigh::

Got the kids in the van, got Sis in the van, started out—“Can we stop and get something to drink?” This was from my sister, not my kids. My kids know better. “I want some Propel Fitness Water.” Hmm. Let’s see, lessons start in fifteen minutes, and we are exactly thirteen minutes out. ::sigh:: “Yeah, I reckon, but I don’t think the Main Street Exxon is gonna have your Propel Separate-Silly-People-From-Their-Money Water.” At least it gave me the opportunity to get some breakfast—all the kids had eaten, but poor Daddy still had not.

I’ll wait a moment for you to dry your tears.

There now, as I was saying, Exxon station and water. Walked in and lo and behold, there in the cooler were bottles and bottles of this junk. Whaddya know. Scooped up one and then proceeded to pick out my morning repast. Mmmm! Vienna sausage and crackers. Lest any of you think me a poor retarded redneck, I’ll have you know that Viennas have come a long way—they ARE still pronounced ‘VIE-inners,’ but our good friends at Hormel now have flavorful and satisfying selections such as the Jalapeno, the Smoked, and the Hot and Spicy! (Not that they advertise the fact that they even make this stuff—the only mention on their website is to say that these little tasty snacks have no gluten. Whew. And this definition.) I chose the meaty Smoke flavor, and the rich and juicy Hot and Spicy. And crackers? NO plain saltines for ME! No, as a refined connoisseur of flavor, the choice had to be Better Cheddars. Now THAT is Vie-inners and crackers for us swanky sorts.

Got to the barn with five seconds to spare and sat there for two hours shooting the breeze with my sister about nothing in particular, eating my food, and having great fun watching the kids try to steer their ponies. The weather kept threatening rain, and the horses had decided that they were about fed up with carrying folks, so they were very recalcitrant. Poor little Little Boy was having the worst of it with Fritz, one of the camp’s little Haflingers. All muscle, all stubborn. The horse, not Boy. They were all ready to head home after that was over. Which we did.

Home again, and time for housecleaning and childscrubbing, and then later on there was a quick trip to Target thrown in there, to shop for a wedding gift for one of the girls from church. We found The Good Space, right in front of the store and Reba disappeared inside while I tried my best to listen to the radio and ignore the border war in the back seats. After an agonizingly long wait, Reba came back with all sorts of stuff, even with what she went in to get in the first place, and then it was time to head home. Long, long day.

Sunday was cold and drizzly (but I’m not complaining, seeing as how folks a couple of hundred miles north got the worst of it) and it didn’t look like Middle Girl was going to get to go to soccer and Baby Girl was not going to get to do her pony riding. Which was fine by me. After church, we puttered around and got some lunch, and then got home where to my shock I found that Cat DID have horseback riding, which necessitated me yanking off her dress and pretty shoes (which she informed me that morning were too small) and put her in some sweats. I, on the other hand, had no time to change. Meaning I had to go to Funkyhorseland in my nice wool two-piece suit and wingtip shoes. Yes, thanks for asking, it was a very strange sight.

It misted off and on the entire time, so I sat in the van and read the paper—Prince Valiant and Dilbert were the highlights. Tot got finished and we headed back when she reminded me that her church shoes still hurt. I looked back at her—hair frizzled up from the rain, shirt dirty as a horse, pants covered with sandy mud, little lace up boots equally covered with mud—“Okay, let’s go to Wal-Mart!” So I in my suit and the little girl I scooped out of the dumpster went and found some very pretty black patent leather Mary Janes. “Ooooo, these is VERY pretty!” She was VERY proud—“Yes, well So. Are. YOU!” She giggled like a maniac. (Apple doesn’t fall far from the maniac tree, I suppose.)

Back home, found wife and other kids vanished without a trace, and figured out that not only was it not too wet for ponies, it likewise wasn’t too wet for soccer practice. They finally got back and after another quick change it was time to head back to church. (Boy, I’m getting tired just reading back over this.) Grabbed some supper, then it was time to get back to the house and collapse like Lil’ Abner on my bed.

So, that was my weekend! You are to be commended for staying all the way to the end, even without the contrivance of angry ninjas.

(And yes, the combined effects of popcorn and momentary freedom and movie and a slight chill in the air all had a most salutary effect on Miss Reba’s disposition.)
posted by Terry at 5:01:00 PM