A Near Death Experience

Sweat threatened to pour down my face as I made my way through the parking lot. I'm always over-dressed for the weather in the summer. It's an occupational hazard, of sorts. I assumed that since the mercury was pushing 90 degrees, my adventure down the office supply aisle at Wal-Mart would be a quick one. I mean, who else is trying to buy crayons this time of year?

One hint . . . CRAZY PEOPLE.

As I made my way past the pens and towards the Crayola stuff, a little girl with bright blond hair stepped in front of me. Suddenly, there were five more just like her moving at light speed down the aisle. Trailing behind was a woman who looked to be ten years younger than me, but I have to assume she was actually the mother of the six nearly identical humans who now stood between me and my precious crayons. I have to assume she was the mother because I heard the eerily-similar-in-appearance-but-clearly-of-varying-ages kids call her, "Mom." It was clever of me to piece that all together, wasn't it?

The oldest of the not-twins looked to be teetering on the edge of teenage angst as she pointed to what appeared to be the group's motivation for cutting me off--the 24 packs of Crayola crayons. I was there to buy as many as possible as they are only 25 cents and I needed them for Do Good Day. There were easily two dozen boxes just sitting there waiting for me to snatch them up, but the Blond Brigade stood in my way, threatening to scoop up MY crayons before I could.

And they did. Blond Kid #3 grabbed every last box and tossed them over my head and into the cart his mom was pushing.

I might have cussed them out.

In my head.

But maybe a little bit out loud.

Once I regained my wits and stopped spewing four-letter words, I realized that I should be sprinting towards the barely stocked school supply aisle before the Blond Brigade stole all of my stuff from there, too. I've always thought it was ridiculous that school supplies start popping up before the last of the fireworks burns out, but for once, I was going to make use of that silly aisle. I knew it wouldn't be even close to fully stocked because, c'mon, this was Wal-Mart. The only thing well-stocked about a PA Wal-Mart is that one super narrow aisle filled with breakables that you absolutely must navigate with a huge cart and a meandering toddler with noodly arms.

I dodged and I weaved, I ducked and I hopped, and somehow, I managed to find myself surrounded by boxes of notebooks and pens and pencils in such in just a matter of moments. I quickly glanced around, now on high-alert and willing to get a little aggressive. I had learned my lesson, after all. It was a game of first come/first served, and I was determined to win.

As I turned my head left to right, a bright light suddenly shone down directly on the green box of my dreams. As the chorus of angels broke out into song, I was pulled towards the box, it's strong gravitational pull too much for me to resist.

There sat an entire case of crayons.

Panic suddenly set in as I realized there were now at least a dozen people standing in the aisle with me. Some of them seemed to have dressed especially for school supply hunting season as they donned camouflage and Kevlar vests and probably carried knives. I lunged for the case of crayons, just narrowly beating a feisty looking brunette to them.

As I hugged the case close to my chest, The Feisty Mom began sizing me up. I'm pretty sure she was trying to decide whether to cut me or shoot me. "Are you going to buy all of those?" she asked, her voice cracking with disapproval.

"Um, yeah. I need them for a charity project," I replied. It was mostly the truth. Not a single box of those crayons is staying in this house, anyway.

The Feisty Mom glared at me, surely trying to use her mind to manipulate me.

I turned and ran as fast as I could, narrowly dodging the mental bullets she shot at my back. "But, MOOOOOM. I need crayons for school," I heard her son call out.

IN JULY, PEOPLE.

I'm really very sorry, young man, but you will survive if you don't have all of your school supplies purchased two months before school starts. I realize your mom can't wait to get your butt out of the house every day, but C'MON. A box of crayons really doesn't justify homicide. Not in July, anyway.

If this is what back-to-school shopping is like, I might have to procure every supply Alexis will need for the rest of her life now. I don't think I can survive school supply battleground every single year.

This is My Life

As Alexis and I blew into the kitchen, I glanced over at the saltwater tank. The light was still off, which meant we were ahead of schedule. I let out a little, "HUZZAH!" as I rushed to grab Alexis her shoes, toss her breakfast into a bowl, and find our way out the door. I was on a mission to be on time, or even early. Considering I am perpetually late, it was asking a bit much. But the light was still off!

I skipped feeding the fish since their house was still dark and started shooing all the cats and dogs down into the basement. Do not pity the four-legged beasts for spending their days in our dungeon. It's fully finished and affords them more space than they had at our old house. In fact, you could fit the entire place down there and have a little room to spare.

I turned around just in time to see Alexis taking her shoes back off. She had only worn them for a second, so with a sigh, I asked, "Why are you taking your shoes off?"

"Because my socks are on the wrong feet," she replied in a tone that implied "DUH!"

She slooooooowly swapped the very-much-so-identical socks from one foot to the other, put her shoes back on, and then proclaimed that she needed to find her purse.

"We're going to be late, Alexis. Get your purse after school," I told her.

That went over well. Real well. I'd like to thank the 80135 random strangers who have told her she looks cute carrying a purse for just how well that went. I'd also like to thank the Academy because somehow it's their fault that Alexis is such a good actress. If you had seen her in that moment, you would have thought her best friend had punched her in the face.

I sighed again as I walked over to the family room where I knew she had left her purse. She was lucky I hadn't thrown it away since I have zero tolerance for her leaving her crap in the family room. She knew it because she happily exclaimed, "Thank you! You're the best momma ever!"

I started to shoo her down the stairs and then realized the kitten had found her way back upstairs. I scurried after her as Alexis slowly descended the stairs. With everybody finally in the basement, I closed the door at the top of the stairs and made my way down.

We were still running ahead of schedule, even with the attempted jail break by the cat and Alexis' various attempts to derail me.

And then we weren't ahead of schedule anymore.

It started with Alexis opening the door and Cody running outside. He has gotten it into his head that he should only enter the house when he will be rewarded with treats. He will stand outside that door for hours starting straight at you so that you know he hears you, but defiantly refusing to actually listen.

I walked over to the dog treat jar and jingled it, knowing full well he wouldn't be willing to risk staying outside once he heard that noise. He came running in just as I said, "SUCKA! Have a nice day, you little meat head." I rushed through the door, locking it behind me.

Alexis stood patiently by the car, waiting for me to let her in. I opened her door and asked her to put her seatbelt on while I piled our stuff in the front seat. She, of course, agreed to do so, but then got distracted by shiny lip gloss and totally forgot she was given any sort of instructions. I finally got her buckled in and quickly surveyed the yard to make sure Powder, our fat-old-man of a cat, hadn't escaped. He's not allowed to be an outdoor cat, but after 14 years, that fact has yet to make it through to his tiny little brain.

I didn't see him anywhere, so I buckled up and started to pull out of the driveway. Just as I was about to pull out of the driveway, the bright white blob of a cat appeared from behind the grill. I slammed the car into park and grabbed the house key, intent on tossing him back inside.

Powder caught sight of me before I even got close enough to yell at him. Proving that he knows better than to try to escape, he ran as fast as his blubbery belly would let him for the door. I opened it just wide enough for him to squeeze through, but then Cody decided it was all a big invitation for him to go back outside.

Again with the treat trick to get him back in. And . . . again with the damn cat escaping out the door.

Finally, ten minutes later, everybody who was supposed to be inside was inside and everybody who was supposed to be in the car was in the car.  Except, Alexis had decided to take her seatbelt back off, so I had to start that process all over again.

At that point, we were tracking about fifteen minutes late.

And then we ran into a jack-knifed truck in the middle of a country road. There was no way around it, so we had to sit and wait for the driver to figure out that he really couldn't make that turn. It was certainly for the best as the road he was trying to go down doesn't have even a single house on it and is a dead end.

And THAT is how I managed to be ready to get out the door on time, but still managed to be half an hour late.

If only it wasn't the same freakin' story every. single. morning.

It's a Matter of Semantics

Somehow we took a left turn at Phobiaville and a right turn at Insect City and wound up with a kid who is scared of bugs. She was not born fearing tiny things with more legs than her; it's something Alexis has learned from the people around her.

But not me.

I don't like bugs AT ALL, but unless there is a centipede crawling on my face, you won't hear me scream. I like to silently move very quickly away from bugs, all nonchalant and cool so as to not alert them that I am worthy of torture. NEVER let a bug see you sweat. It's like the universal sign for FOLLOW HER AND CRAWL ON HER AND SUCK HER BLOOD UNTIL SHE DIIIIIIES.

Anyway.

Alexis learned to be afraid of bees at school. I've worked hard to kick that little phobia to the curb, mostly because I plant a lot of perennials that attract bees. Bees are my friend.

Alexis learned to be afraid of every other insect on planet Earth from her friends in the neighborhood. If you spot her off in the distance waving her arms wildly as she screams at the top of her lungs, no worries. She's just reacting to a microscopic something or other that may or may not actually be there.

It's fantastic.

Today I was preparing to dump some sand into the giant hole in the ground when I noticed this little guy:

He/she seemed to be very near death and was just sitting on that little clump of sand, so I picked it up, thinking it was a good chance for Alexis to see a bug that wouldn't attack her face.

Knowing that only certain bugs are on the Acceptable List, I called over to Alexis, "Hey, look! I found a dragonfly!" Yes, I lie to my kid. Sometimes.

She hesitated and then came over to get a better look at the "dragonfly." She studied it carefully, oohing and aahing at how pretty it was and how it was black and gold, just like the Steelers. She calmly walked around the table where I was keeping the little bug so she could watch as I took a couple of photographs.

A few seconds later, Mr. Husband walked out of the house, glanced over at what we were doing, and said, "Oh, you found a mayfly."

Alexis replied, "No, it's a dragonfly."

I tried to shoot Mr. Husband a Shut Your Trap face, but it apparently flew right over his head as he corrected the Tiny Bugophobe. "No, that's a mayfly," he repeated.

And that was the last time I saw Alexis anywhere near the mayfly. With a scream and a shiver, she ran for the hills and never once glanced back.

There was probably a giant herd of mayflies chasing her.