I had a transcendent weekend. The children went on a trip with their father – it was to be a rollicking “dadventure” beginning with the Long Beach aquarium, with a (romantic) boat ride to Catalina, an overnight stay, and mommy getting her life back. I am ashamed to admit that my level of enjoyment of, and pleasure from life is inversely proportional to how much time I spend in the minutiae of parenthood. Please do not misread me; I love my kids! I may just by nature be too lazy and self-absorbed to enjoy the effort that’s required for the reward of all that astounding satisfaction. I mostly don’t care for effort in general, which is probably why I write; I don’t need to get dressed. So the only way my weekend could be improved, is if next time they take the dogs…
How I ended up with two kids and two dogs is still a little bit of a mystery to me. While there are many people (especially around here) that have small herds of children and upwards of fifteen rescue dogs, plus horses, goats, hamsters and probably a couple of little people thriving in the guest house, I am not someone who always prayed that one day I would grow up to have lots of responsibility. I’m not a “farm girl,” I never had visions of sprinkling chicken feed, while little fluffy Cornish hens roamed around my feet, clucking out “I love you” in Morse code. So the amount of brown stuff that has been created from the second animal I (unwisely) chose to adopt is not sitting well with me, no matter how cute his stupid face is. (And mark me when I tell you, this is not a bright animal.) Neither is his radioactive shit sitting well with our oceanfront balcony deck, which is covered in stains and smells not remotely like the ocean.
For someone who makes so much noise I am shockingly averse to the sounds of most others’. Whining, screaming, yelling, crying, and barking are amongst my least favorite sounds, and I believe Google will attest to the fact that I’m not alone on this. I hate car alarms and AM radio. Actually I hate FM radio as well, even though I once worked in breakfast radio and I understand that flogging all that laundry soap paid our salaries. I just hate noise interrupting my thoughts, even when my thoughts are self-abusive. I mean for fuck’s sake can I get a little peace and quiet so I can worry myself to death?
So this weekend was blissful, minus having to separate the dogs and at other times keep them out on the “poop-deck” together. And apparently the children had a wonderful time with dad, as evidenced by receiving the following beautiful images…
My seven- and eight-year old, frolicking with wild deer! How attuned to nature, how gentle yet authoritative, how advanced were these precious gifts from my womb?
Then I got this image…
That’s right, my children’s brilliant father, who closes multi-million dollar deals on the phone with complete competence, at the same time as perusing real estate contracts and checking football scores, did not consider that having his children rub up against deer might render one of their heads covered with ticks.
“What do you think they are?” he asked me, texting a picture wondering whether it was lice, fleas or some other alien pest, or perhaps a sign of the apocalypse?
“That’s why they call them deer ticks, sweetheart.” A quick Google search revealed that dousing the fuckers in antiseptic mouthwash would kill them, and the child’s head was covered my a hood, until daddy fetched all the necessary supplies, and could be spirited home to mommy, as this was her department. It was wonderful to see the kids again, even when they both tried a little boundary pushing that I shut down with the decisiveness of a bear trap snapping shut on a deer hoof. It is incredible how much easier it gets to set boundaries once yours have been respected for 48 hours…
The de-ticking was going quite well… until I got some in the kid’s ear, resulting in some of the blood-curdling shrieks I’d missed so much. But all was well once he had tasted some of the mouthwash, as now he was probably drunk and could feel no pain. I spent the evening catching up with my kids over the bonding activity of removing hundreds of ticks off one of their scalps with tweezers, then brushing each piece out with a fine toothcomb. They were watching “Total Drama” a reality send-up that is actually completely inappropriate for kids their age, and I believe may have been intended for twenty-something stoner dudes. On the plus side, it keeps them occupied, it’s funny and the racier stuff just sails right over their (infected) heads. Nevertheless the night actually ended up being quite beautiful, maybe because I got to play with real-live Barbie hair like I’d always wanted. Even though he has to take preventative antibiotics for Lyme disease that are quite strong, the kid wasn’t fazed…
“Yay! I’m the only one in the family who ever had Lyne Disease,” he declared this morning.
And I smiled, re-instated to my place in the family as the one who is needed, wanted and loved for comfort, expertise and specialized services that only their specific mommy can provide.
