Ah, September! That transitional month between hair-frizzing humidity and a few more BONUS Indian Summer hair-frizzing humid days, until, finally, autumn arrives with all its glorious color, rain, rain and more rain. And glorious color. And sweaters! I love sweaters. In glorious colors.
School's officially in full swing. The first sign is it's already time to check up on the kids to make sure they've turned in homework assignments or failed tests. Because here we have something called "Infinite Campus," better known as "The Parental Spy Network." Every day or two the teachers update your child's progress, filling in what scores s/he has gotten on various assignments, and also homework that's missing or late.
The second sign is my voice is already hoarse from having to yell at my daughter to GET OUT OF THE FREAKING BED BEFORE YOU MISS THE BUS!!!!!!!!!! Which she's done, oh, every day but maybe two so far this semester. Which means I've have to drive her and her brother (Why should he bother trying if his sister's getting a later ride, anyway? And I actually don't mean that sarcastically. Yes, that happens. Sometimes.), bolt home to shower and dress for work, wake up child number three, drag him by the arm to get him to his closet, gather up all the things I'd have gathered up the night before if I had any bit of sense, drive him to school, then drive myself to work. I usually arrive at work fifteen or twenty minutes early, time I use to put on the make up I didn't have time to do before I left home.
I've also (since yesterday) been hard at work rehabbing my knee by my very own self. I'm proud to say after yesterday's half hour on the elliptical machine my knee did swell up like a ripe melon, but an evening of elevating and icing returned it to mere punishing pain and agony. And this morning, it's better! So maybe I'll consider keeping up this exercise stuff. Though I'd much rather nap.
If you've been here lately you've probably gotten the hint I'm in "de-sty the house" mode. Home Goods (owned by TJ Maxx, the crappy discount clothes company, did you know that?) should send me a thank you letter from its corporate headquarters, I've bought so much from them. There are the baskets, the painting, the print… And from Target? Lamps, curtains, various and sundry cleaning goods, and two new mops – one of which is a sponge mop I used to wash the walls and kitchen cabinets (GENIUS!).
My daughter walked into the kitchen when I was washing a wall and asked, "Is that legal?" But then, this is the kid with a yard-deep layer of clothing on her bedroom floor. Oh, did I say on HER bedroom floor? Because she was cleaning her room and transferred Mt. Washmore to OUR BEDROOM FLOOR.
Yesterday I ordered her to DO HER OWN FREAKING LAUNDRY. She replied, "I have been!" Reader, she's done one load. And that one's still sitting in the dryer after three days.
So yesterday, on my way out the door to go to the gym I told her, "The washer's empty; throw in a load of your clothes." Her reply? "I'M DOING HOMEWORK!" My carefully considered response, "IT'LL TAKE FIVE MINUTES OUT OF YOUR PRECIOUS TIME!!" Her: "NO, IT'LL TAKE, LIKE, FIFTEEN MINUTES!!!"
In other news, a new family moved into the house behind us, the one that's been on the market for at least two years, if not three. They have this ADORABLE little girl, who's already bonded with the little girl in the house next door to them. The two are joined at the hip, and are in LOVE with our older dog Taffy. They stand in our back yard and call "Taffy dog!," and think it's so cute when she rolls over on her back for a tummy rub. They also think it's funny to hear her bark when they ring our doorbell. Every two minutes.
They're not quite as cute anymore.
A couple days ago they came to our front door, shoeless and freaking cute as all get out, one of them holding a play $ 20 bill in her hands. They kept pushing the other forward saying, "YOU ask!" Then, "No, YOU ask for me!" before they finally said, "Never mind…" and left. Reader, I'm pretty sure they were going to ask to buy Taffy with their play $ 20 bill.
That's so cute it makes my ovaries hurt. My 44-year old, I will never bear another child, ovaries. Then they ring the doorbell again and that feeling quickly passes.