Wild Kingdom

Castle Row has been over-run with rodents. They're everywhere! Well, there's one less now, but I had nothing to do with that.

I was sitting on the couch in the living room, reading the (heavy sigh) last of my new Anita Blake novels when I was pulled away from the supernatural. A squirrel was peering at me through the picture window.

OK. It wasn't really looking at me. I happened to be in its range of vision, and it was apparently just scanning the yard for the three other fluffy-tailed rats that were scampering about. And then, two chipmunks joined in the fun.

We've seen a bunny in the back yard, but like the rodents, he/she is usually a blip. They catch sight of us and they scram.

Today it was rats gone wild. I don't know if they'd sensed the start of squirrel season or what. They were everywhere you looked, both in our yard and the neighbors'. At one point, I counted four in our yard (not counting the 'munks), two next door and I saw more than one in yards down and across the street.

One of them was trying out one of my lawn chairs. Others were jumping from trees to the roof to window boxes to Alison's favorite brick wall and just hanging in the yard. It was a little spooky to tell you the truth, but then again I was deep into a book that was heavy on vampires, shapeshifters, and a vampy necromancer.

They weren't approaching the door, so I shook my head and went back to the book.

I was brought back out of it by a squirrel that just would not shut up. I look up. A gray cat has joined in the mix. Oh, no. The cat had crashed the party. I swear to you that the squirrel was trying to warn the chipmunk to go to cover. The cat was not giving up.

In my hands, I had a fairly compelling chapter, full of two rouge vampires and a werewolf needing rescue from torture. The werewolf's calvary, sadly, proved more effective than the chipmunk's.

Ali was at the kitchen counter at the laptop. I called to her thinking she needed to see nature in action. She ran outside and caught a glimpse of the cat trotting home with dinner still wiggling in her mouth. The rodo-cide silenced the squirrel chatter.

"Ick," said Ali.

"Yeah, well, I guess it's dinner time for that cat," I said.

She paused for just a few seconds. "Can I have some Ramen?" she asked.

Murder, apparently, does not diminish Alison's appetite. I think she's been reading my books behind my back...

In less bloodthirsty news, Sleepover Part Deux was fun. The kids bounced until they were just exhausted. We relaxed with Harry Potter before they went out to sleep in the tent. Jeff had decorated with glow sticks so it wasn't scary at all and once they'd gotten settled, we didn't hear from them until after 8 a.m.

Best excerpts from Sleepovers 1 and 2:

I'm at the kitchen counter drinking coffee and reading the paper when Alison comes up with a half-gallon container of milk with maybe a quarter cup of milk left in it.

"Mo-om. I wanted a drink of this and Drew grabbed it and took a big swig!"

I smile, thinking of growing up with six brothers and sisters. "Do you want a cup?" I ask.

"No thanks. It's got Drew slobber all over it now," she said, stalking off.

Note to Amer: If you punish him for this, I will SMACK you. Hard.

***
I was in the garage, gathering tools to trim bushes and trees when Alison tracked me down and asked if I'd help her turn on the fan in her room. She had a can of Febreze in her hand.

"Why do you need the fan on?" I ask.

"Alex stunk up my room with his burps. I sprayed the fan with Febreze and now I want to blow all the stink away."

Sssst

We've launched the first of two sleepovers this weekend. Tonight it's Alex Ogden. Tomorrow it's Team Tokash.

All was going well until we went out the door to dinner. Jeff is playing poker, so it's just me and the kids.

"Mommy, is it true that parents give you stuff and not the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy?"

She's 8. I've been expecting this. But I wasn't ready.

"What?" I say.

"My mom said," Alex jumped in. "She said the parents give you stuff. We don't believe in anything anymore. Except Santa Claus."

I sensed an out.

"Why do you still believe in Santa Claus?"

"Well because last Christmas I got a D-Rex. It's a robot. And I know my mom would not have spent that kind of money," Alex said.

At this point, we're in the car and I'm pondering my next move. Ali and Alex are strapped in the back sitting next to each other rather than leaving the middle open. I think it's kind of sweet.

"Mom, I think you have something on your shirt," Alison said.

"I'm approaching the stop sign at the end of our street. I glance at my right shoulder. And scream, scream, scream to all that's holy because there's a snake on my shoulder. Had I not been braking I would have driven right into my neighbor's front porch.

I realized -- not instantly, because if it were instantly I would have recognized the piece of reptilian plastic her friend Dominic had just given her that afternoon -- that it was not a real snake. But I couldn't stop screaming.

I wasn't the only one sounding like a broken record.

"Oh, mom. I'm really sorry. I'm sorry. I wanted to see if you were really afraid of them like you said," Alison kept saying from the back seat. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Alex kept saying, "Oh, man, Ali. I don't think you should have done that. I don't think you should have done that."

And then, from the rotten red head, "Am I in trouble?"

I stopped screaming. I didn't punish her. I think we were all punished enough. Plus, I think all of our ears are still ringing. They're next door right now getting some early bouncing in on my next-door neighbor's daughter's birthday entertainment. I might just let them sleep there.

Here's hoping that Sleepover No. 2 will be less exciting...

PhotoShoot Sunday

The photo portion of the PhotoShoot comes from our Labor Day trip where Alison spent her time dressing up and going out on the town with her cousins while Jeff and I did other stuff. Ali had her hair straightened -- she really liked it and thought it was fun to dress up and wear high heels ("Have you ever walked in high heels for two hours, Mom?! It is painful.")

She's with Rachael and Aleasha in the top photo. Older sis Rebecca is included below. They're Jaime's girls, Donna's granddaughters.

By the time she returned to us, just in time for fireworks, it had started to sprinkle and her curls came right back.

Because I'm still uninspired (and I have another Anita Blake book calling my name) I leave you with samples from conversations this week.

Jeff hosted his fantasy football draft Tuesday night. Ali and I were debating whether we'd hang out at home or go out during the event.

"Eight boys and two girls? I say we go out!" Alison said.

So out we went.

***

In the car, Ali was discussing her hope to be a ninja for Halloween this year. She wants only her eyes to show and she'll go around karate chopping anyone who gets in her way - Hai-yah!

"Did you run that by your Aunt Donna?" I asked. "I'm not sure she's ever done a ninja. Aren't you at least a little bit concerned?"

"Nope," she said.

"Why not?"

"Well she hasn't had one problem with any of my costumes yet," says the girl who never sees the process, just the fabulous finished work.

***

Jeff had cooked out and I hadn't made it all the way back to the grill to put up the grill utensils. They'd made it only as far as the table on the sun porch.

So when I sat down in my chair out there to read the other day and displaced Carrot, the VIP LPS (very important pet; Littlest Pet Shop variety) as I snuggled in, the stuffed rabbit ended up on the table on top of the utensils.

I was deep into vampire lore when I hear Alison gasp. "Mom! What were you thinking?!"

"Huh?" I tear myself away to find her clutching Carrot against her chest.

"Mom. Carrot is a rabbit. You put him on top of a spatula and tongs. She thinks you're going to cook her.

Friends to the end

Amy Tokash (she of the tongue)has a million "mother of the year" stories designed to prove her severe lack of mothering skills. To them all, I offer this as proof that she's a huge liar.

Amy usually shares the weekly PhotoShoot with Jenna and Drew. Jenna's reaction to seeing Ali in her new glasses last week was to exclaim "they're purple!" as if that would be a shock to anyone...(Ali and Jenna have shared a love of the color purple since before they were born, I think.)

When the kids heard Alison's tale of woe about her classmate's initial reaction to her new look, they reacted like little lions protecting their fellow cub. Amer took the opportunity to talk to them about what true friends are and how it's not nice to make fun of people.

Yeah, yeah, yeah: I know it's a life lesson both Amy and I (and most of you) could all spend some time relearning, but in our defense we hardly ever laugh at people so they can hear...

Anyway, Amer used Jenna's experience this summer when a friend poked fun at her and hurt her feelings when she was trying to speak clearly around a retainer-like device. Like Ali, Jenna had been excited to get the device and was thinking it was cool until the little brat laughed at her.

I didn't know about any of this until Thursday night when the mail arrived and in it was a purple envelope addressed to Ali Cat Reed.

"I know who that's from! I wonder what Miss Amy is sending me," said Ali, who has been faithfully wearing her new specs. She's not thrilled about them, but they're becoming as familiar to her as her hair tie.

She opened the envelope and looked up at me, eyes filling with tears."Mo--om!" she wailed. "You showed them my picture."

I sat down with her, pulled her into my lap and opened the card back up."What are you talking about? Honey, I never meant to embarrass you. Let's see what it says."

She started giggling as she finished the first sentence from Jenna. Drew's reference to smacking anyone who makes fun of her "in the kisser" nearly put her on the floor.

Her embarrassment was gone as if it had never been.

Amy said the card came to be when they were all at Target and Drew, God bless him, suggested they buy Ali and card to make her feel better. She'd left the kids alone to write their own messages.

Not bad for a 3rd and 5th grader -- if you don't mind a dash violence with your heapin' helpin of love. I'm from the country: It's a seasoning we'd miss if it were to disappear from the recipe.

I love those kids. And in my book, Amer is definitely at the top of my list of contenders for Mother of the Year.

I can see clearly now...

The inevitable has come to Alison Reed. Cursed with sight-challenged parents and a gene pool rife with poor vision, she failed her first "real" eye exam last week.

The folks at Downtown Eye Care have been taking care of me since I moved to Indianapolis, and Jeff since he married me and thus secured good health insurance, so I knew they'd be good with Alison. She'd had vision tests in day care and at school, but this was her first visit with a professional.

She was a little leery of some of the fancy equipment, and I don't think realized how poorly she was reporting the little letters when she sat in the big chair. Dr. Habig kept telling me how healthy her eyes were and he even had me doubting whether she was ready for glasses. So finally, I said, "Are you saying she doesn't need them yet?"

"Oh she needs 'em," he said. "Her eyes are healthy; she just can't see well."

Alison had a great time shopping for frames and was excited about getting her glasses. But when she told some kids at school that she was going to get them, her arch-enemy (name withheld to protect the catholic guilty) laughed at her.

Quick as that -- before they'd even arrived -- she didn't want to wear the glasses.

When they arrived, I picked her up early from school, and she was excited again. Lori, the senior optician, is really enthusiastic, and her energy level helped. On the way home we played the game of "can you read the letters on that sign" and Ali was intrigued by the idea of her improved vision.

Nearly everyone I know who had glasses as a kid remembers that moment when they put on their specs and realized that trees had individual leaves. It's kind of a strange discovery because even people in new subdivisions know of trees and leaves, but that's the first discovery newly speced people seem to make.

I was outed when my brother and I were playing the A-B-C game coming home from Linton one day. I couldn't see the letters on the trestle that used to cross the highway near Midland. I was in 5th grade and I'd never found a vowel on that old train car bridge, but I was so used to not seeing well that it never came up in conversation before. I think I had doubted David's discovery of a much-needed letter and may have called him a cheater.

Everyone else in the car could see the letters, but I insisted they weren't there. I was bespectacled a few weeks later. Brownish octagonal wire frames. Every year my lenses got thicker. In high school Jeff Miller dubbed me Fearless Fly because of my huge plastic frames. (Believe it or not, that was one of the least horrible of my nicknames...)

Anyway, I've been watching Ali like a hawk, thinking if we correct her vision quicker, she might not need the Coke bottle lenses that I have. She doesn't have to wear her glasses all the time; just when she reads and does classwork.

Jeff made a big deal of the glasses, and we talked a lot about putting them in her case and not losing them, and being careful with them. She seemed OK with wearing them again when we set off for school the first day she had them.

I asked her how it went as we drove home that afternoon. "Not so good, Mom," she said, sadly.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I put them and everyone at my table laughed at me. One kid said they made me look idiotic. One asked me if they were mine and when I said, 'yes,' she said, 'take them off!'" Ali reported.

She said she took them off and put them in her desk and never took them out again.

"I sit close to the board, Mom, it's OK. I don't really need them," she said.

My immediate reaction was to go right back to the school and knock a few 3rd graders around, but I don't want to be that Mom. Plus, most of the kids in her class were already gone for the day. I tried to be reasonable, not go overboard with soothing her bruised ego.

I also tried to remember that Alison sometimes has a flair for the dramatic. I asked if her teacher had heard any of the comments. Ali said no.

I quizzed her a little more, and it was clear that she believes the class thinks she looks bad in the glasses. Never mind that Dominic (who still pines for her love) wears glasses and that at least half a dozen of her classmates wear them. It's a new look for her, and it's getting a reaction.

When I met her teacher, Miss Lawson, at back-to-school night, she wasn't aware that Ali even had glasses.

So I'm pretty sure whatever has really happened, it's been a limited event. Miss Lawson is aware of the need to wear them now, and I'm pretty sure if the class erupts into titters, that she'll smack 'em down. (Jeff made me promise not to enlist help from the teacher or address the little brats myself, and I haven't. But I want to.)

I think she looks cute in them, Team Ogden gave her a boost when they saw them, too, and I'm going to have her watch this great segment on CBS Sunday Morning . What nice timing...

We've had a good weekend. Alex came over Friday for a sleepover and they tested out the bunk bed.

Saturday, Karin came to get him. When she told him it was time to go, both Ali and Alex hesitated like they always do. Usually when they leave each other they trade a toy or two. Karin told Alex, "You can take one thing, so look around this whole house and decide what that one thing is."

He glanced around the family room. "I choose her," he said.

So they had a second sleepover at the Ogdens last night.

Glasses or no glasses, Alex is Alison's good friend. I love that boy.

Addicts R Us

I'm battling addiction today. It's the day after my birthday. I was blessed with everything on my list, calls and emails from more friends and family than I deserve and and more: the entire collection of Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake series. I'd asked for it, but didn't expect to get all 16 books. I also snagged new music and the first season of True Blood.

I've not yet seen True Blood, but I have the collection of the books it was based on. (Yes, I read them obsessively.) Two of my office friends are loyal to the HBO version. They've been as anxious as I have for me to actually get a peek at the live action version.

So my trouble wasn't whether to serve an addiction. It was which one to serve.

Yesterday it was an easy choice. I wasn't near a DVD player so True Blood stayed in the package. Plus, it was daylight and we were celebrating the passage of my youth with John, Lisa, Lynn and the rest of Team Vielee at Lynn's lake house. I'd read most of the first Blake book by noon, when we got in the car.

I want to savor the books, not read myself silly (like I did with Twilight and Harry Potter) so I drove down to the lake rather than read in the car. We were serenaded by Billy Currington and Kenny Chesney.

While Ali played with the kids, including three from next door, I finished the book at the lake -- in my defense, Lisa had a book, too. We had a good time, great dinner, fantastic wine and some unexpected fireworks.

This morning, Jeff had a marathon fantasy football meeting, and Alison was thrilled to spend her time with her books, computer and TV. We'd gotten home too late for me to watch True Blood last night, but I didn't want Alison to wander in to see the graphic footage Brooke and Jenni have been promising me. So I was forced to finish the second Blake book.

I tore myself away from it to feed Ali, grocery shop and do a tiny bit of office work. She and I biked to NorthSide News, which means I've now added the NY Times to the mix of literary drugs.

Worse, my compulsions have been passed down. Alison was so engrossed in Scooby Doo even the bribe of a fresh donut couldn't get her to go with me to Kroger. She had done her chores already, and even finished her homework early with not having to be forced, so I let it slide. I did force her to bike with me to the newsstand.

I'd asked her if she'd bike longer. It was cool, but a nice day.

"Sorry, Mom. I really want to get back to Scooby Doo," she said.

So I took a deep breath, set both the book and newspaper aside; left the DVDs alone on the table and went to check email, Facebook and to record this blog.

Jeff has yet to move from his seat. That's not really true. He moved from my PC to his Mac. On her mad dash back to the TV, Alison grabbed a banana and is still hanging out with Scooby.

We're all addicts. Maybe I should give up the books and just search for a cure.

Imagine what we could do if we could use our obsessive focuses for good. As long as we're not using it for evil, I'll let it go...

For now, I have a book or newspaper to read...

Does anybody really know what time it is?

Among the many issues I have with my mother is that she made me be in the school band.

I wasn't musically gifted, and the hand-me-down instrument thrust into my unwilling hands was my sister Donna's clarinet. Mom made each of her five daughters play in the band. Diana had the trumpet. Nancy got the trombone. Debbie: the flute. The boys somehow got a pass.

The clarinet's nickname is the licorice stick. I don't like licorice. And my first band instructor hated my older sister, Nancy, who was in high school and tormented him in class and out. I remember him as tall and thin and consistently impatient and cranky. I don't remember his name.

Nancy and a friend really didn't like him. They once tossed trash into his yard in the dead of night. I never knew why. I just remember thinking that he took out his anger for her out on me. It's possible I remember it wrong and that he was a fine instructor who maybe just didn't like ungifted musicians. All I know is I didn't really take to his fundamentals, and never fully embraced the instrument. Which is really funny if you consider some of my other talents.....

Anyway, I could have lived with the clarinet and maybe even advanced in the chair position, but as I aged band grew from a class within the school day to marching band and concerts, which required after hours practice.

That first instructor had been replaced by a team of others; Shakamak just didn't attract long-lasting music teachers. My annoyance with the actual music took a back seat to a new issue: nine times out of 10, my my mother would forget to pick me up from practice. I'd be that kid sprawled along the sidewalk waiting and waiting until finally the last adult standing would take pity on me and ask if I had a ride home.

I always swore that among my parenting missteps, failing to pick Ali up on time would not be among them.

So there I was, toiling like a demon at work today, Day 1 of third grade.

The day had not started well. I had a ton of work to do at the day job, and Alison had first woken at 4:44 a.m. After that, she had a nightmare and I was in her room from about 5 a.m. on. The alarm by my bed was set for 6:30 as usual. I wake past 7 when Jeff comes in to wake us up. He'd turned off the alarm because, well, because he was sleepy. We made it to school in time, but it just wasn't the start I'd planned.

In the midst of work frustration, I was also fretting a bit about being able to leave on time so I wouldn't leave her as the last kid standing at AfterCare. It's open til 6 p.m. but I like to get her by 5:30.

Anyway, it was 1:30 p.m. when my cell phone rang. The display said CKS (Christ the King School) was calling. How odd, I think.

Then I'm informed that there's no AfterCare today. And it was early dismissal. School had ended at 1 p.m. I'm downtown. CKS is not.

As I sped north, passing cars right and left, cursing at slow drivers and fast lights, I had flash backs about those long hours spent outside Shakamak Middle and High Schools. I'd sit there, ticked off and embarrassed, waiting for that dusty Impala to arrive. After what would seem like days, it would swing into the parking lot, full of Avon bags destined for cosmetic-starved housewives in rural Indiana; powered by a surly mother of 7, who may or may not have felt as bad as I did.

It was awful. Probably contributed to my out-of-tune band career. But that which does not kill us makes us stronger, right? Maybe it just makes you bitter. I don't know.

Regardless, I get to CKS, and Ali is waiting on bench inside in the a/c. Miss Becky is smiling at the door, impressed I hope at my arrival time. "Don't worry about it. There's always one. This year it's you!" she said.

If she'd hoped to make me feel better, she failed spectacularly.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," I said, rushing through the door. "I didn't know there wasn't After Care."

Alison put down her Geronimo Stilton book and smiled up at me. "It's fine, Mom. I didn't know either," she said.

She honestly wasn't troubled. And Becky said she'd been a model citizen. It would have been prime time for her to wheedle her way to an ice cream cone or new Pokemon pack, but she didn't even ask. We headed back to work and she was a dream there, too.

At one point I looked over at her quiet little self and said, "Alison, did you know you're my favorite daughter?"

She didn't look up. She just said what she always says when I utter that phrase: "Mom. I'm your only daughter."

I told her of the only other time I'd failed to get to her on time. I was in a meeting with the governor and it had gone long. Ali was maybe 4-months-old, and I was new to Day Care. Someone in the meeting mentioned the time and I yelped. She was just across the street, but the meeting was still going strong. My friend Cindy, the governor's scheduler and AKA Aunt Cindy, offered to get her for me.

Apparently Alison was expecting me and nobody else but me. Cindy told me later that she'd screamed the whole walk back and that she would NEVER pick her up for me again.

A few hours after I told Ali that story, she asked me about it again. "Mommy, did Aunt Cindy really say she'd never pick me up again when I cried so much?"

"Yup," I said.

Crushed, she said, "Not ever?"

I reminded her that it was Aunt Cindy. She had quickly forgiven her, even though she had cried like a little baby.

"But I was a baby!" Alison protested.

"Exactly," I said.

I'm probably never going to make Alison continue on with an extra-curricular activity she doesn't like, and I hope I never screw up about pick-up time again.

While she took her neglect well today, I have to wonder if there's a three strikes rule for parental pick up.