Where Is My Helicopter Hat, Anyway?

There has been a rash of crime in our neighbourhood-- hooligans and miscreants spray painting such phrases as, "Be The Change You Want To See In The World" (which was spread down several garages, since it's so long) and "Give Peace a Chance" and the like.

At first, I was outraged that someone or several someones, would take spray paint to write their messages on strangers' homes in the middle of the night. Then I started thinking about what kind of reality would drive a person to commit such a crime. Who would just run around doing such a thing? Who?

I've watched enough C.S.I. commercials to know how to work a crime scene-- so I went to my glassed in room, put on my white lab coat and blue latex-free gloves and set to work. I watched my centrifuge spin around with techno music playing loudly in the background, I pipette'd some test tubes, I even went so far as to click things on the computer. I'm telling you, I know who did it-- and you won't believe me.

According to the evidence I have gathered, all we have to do is look for a gang of young mommies and daddies on parental leave. Skeptical?

Proof #1
Clearly, someone who is up in the middle of the night does not have a job to go to in the morning, OR doesn't have a vocation they have to be lucid for, in the morning. I know this because I'm often up in the middle of the night now that Kiddo #2 is trying to cut all his molars at the same time.  I know for a fact that I am NOT going to any sort of paid job when I've been through a 'nuit blanche' no matter how much fun I'm having.  Clearly, the person or persons responsible for these crimes is also used to being up all night, and not having to function on all levels the next day.  Sounds like a new parent to me.

Proof #2
The slogans are all of an upbeat, positive nature, despite the use of spray paint. Only a person who has had their knees hugged on their way out the door to an important business dinner only to find a big peanut butter and jam kiss on their thighs as a result, could do that.  Before becoming a parent, I did not know how to smile on the outside (sincerely, and honestly) and have a running stream of swear words flowing in my brain at the same time. I didn't know it was humanly possible to absolutely adore something that could rip your heart out at the same time.

Proof #3
As well, there are lots of things that parents do, thinking they're teaching a very valuable lesson to their children, that end in an epic fail. I submit that this act of sunny vandalism was just one of those times.

For example, tonight on our way for dinner, Kiddo #1 asked why the flags in our town are at half-mast. She didn't use that term, though, because she didn't know there was a term. In fact, Husband and I were speculating for whom the flags were lowered when Kiddo #1 said, "That's sad. It's sad when someone dies."  Husband said, "Yes, that's true. That's how come the flags are lowered. It shows that the people there also feel sad about it." Then, out of nowhere, Super Mom flew in with a gigantic lesson on the term "Half-Mast."  

Did you know, for example, that some countries only put their flag down the exact length of one flag so as to leave space for the invisible flag of death that presides over us all? Did you know the British Royal flag is NEVER at half-mast, since the monarchy is forever, so it wouldn't make sense for death to be higher than the monarchy. It was scandalous that flags were at half-mast when Elvis Presley died, even though he was a world wide super star and respected by everyone (I don't actually know that, but judging by the number of Velvet Elvis pictures that are still around, I'll buy into that idea), but he wasn't a member of any sort of government or a police officer or a soldier killed in the line of duty. Yet everyone lowered their flags in respect.

Husband told me afterward that if I hadn't been right beside him, he would've bet the kids' inheritance that I had been reading straight from Wikipedia, I was so thorough.  Actually, about 5 minutes into my lesson, I astounded myself with my various flag knowledge. I had no idea I knew so much about flag protocol.

In fact, it really would have been impressive if, after I spouted off that amazing information, my daughter had said, "Wow" or "Neat-o" or anything except what she did say, which was, "Mother, look at that rainbow! It's beautiful."

I looked and looked. No rainbow. "Where honey?" "Right in front of you." she replied. When I looked all around in front of me, I realized she had been staring at a rainbow she'd invented so that she didn't have to listen to my boring story. Nice.  It was the Emperor's New Clothes and here I was strutting around naked.

I, deflated, looked at my husband and said, "She didn't listen to a word, did she?" He, being ever supportive and understanding said, "I love you." and then, "I was watchin' that rainbow, too!"

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes.  Just as the lesson on flag hoisting was simply noise, how to properly quote Ghandi when writing on a garage was also lost on the babies at 3am.  Although, I do profess, wrong as it is, I was impressed that the graffiti was spelled correctly with proper punctuation and correct use of quotation marks.

Proof #4
Whoever did this, did it late at night and aren't used to being awake at that time. Judging from the shaky writing on the garage doors, the writers had recently had coffee.  Being the investigator I am, I walked over to the recycle bin near the bus stop and found three empty coffee cups with the same time stamp of 3am and a sleepy face drawn on the lids. Only a parent would be drinking coffee at 3am and care enough about the future to put the empty cup in the recycle bin, as opposed to the trash bin.  Plus, there's an all night coffee shop just up the street from my house and the woman that works that shift always draws sleepy smiley faces on the lids when you get coffee after midnight. Trust me. I've been there.

Proof #5
Right, which brings me to the next round of proof that this is no juvenile delinquent spray painting this stuff-- the quotes are from Ghandi and Lennon, not random swears and drunken stupidity. It's not like the idiots wrote what could be misconstrued as L'il Wayne lyrics about bitches and hoes. No, this destruction was polite and positive.  Go ahead, give peace a chance. And while you're at it, be the change you want to see in the world. No bitches here.

Proof #6
But the most compelling evidence that this is a gang of exhausted parents was found in the bushes, across from the vandalized homes on the other side of the street.  I found both a soother (paci? suckie? binky?) and a copy of Goodnight Moon from the library. Most sleuths might have overlooked this place when collecting evidence, but I'm super, wicked smart.  See, I figured it was the best spot for a parent to take out baby and show him or her the entire phrase across the four garage doors.  Great teachable moment with great intentions.

And then, David Caruso appeared out of nowhere without his sunglasses on, so I knew he was about to say something witty and on-the-mark just before putting the shades on. So exciting!
"Unfortunately, Elizabeth, what makes sense at 3am seldom does in the harsh light of day."  Yeeeooooooow!
Thanks, David.

I was just about to crack this case wide open when I got a call on my glove-phone from Chief Quimby. Apparently Dr. Claw has some crazy looking henchmen up to no good in the amusement park across town-- the very same amusement park I was going to take my niece today. It'll be great-- I'll take her, and our dog, and solve a mystery while riding a roller coaster.  In the meantime, be the change you want to see in the world. And try peas.

Wait. That last part wasn't quite right.



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5 Minutes Can Change Everything

It was a long day. I signed up to go on Kiddo #1's first field trip; I'd never been to an apple orchard, but had romantic notions of cute pictures and frolicking amongst the trees and whatnot, so I signed the form.

I was given a group of 3 little girls, one of which was my own daughter, and I brought Kiddo#2 along, too. Everything was fun and frolicky (?) and the kids all had fun. And I, a teacher, a professional kid-minder, was the only volunteer who (temporarily) lost a child. Sigh.

So, as I said, it was a long day.

I got home, tired and having half an asthma attack from the hay barn we all played in (I have a randomly severe allergy to dust and, as luck would have it, the kids all played in the super dusty hay barn. It was fun and frolicky (? I don’t know. It’s colicky from colic, so shouldn’t it be frolicky from frolic?) so I had to be in the middle of it all taking pictures. But it made me tired from the breathing difficulties.

When I went to take Kiddo #1 home (I let her ride the bus back from the orchard to school with her friends-- I remember that being the best part of a field trip) she cried because she couldn't ride the bus home, too, which made it a longer day.

And Kiddo #2 had gone the entire day without more than a 45 minute nap twice (he's a power sleeper normally). And, frankly, I'd gone the entire day without a nap (I'm also a power sleeper normally). So, yes, it was a long day.

I got home with Kiddo #1 still kinda weepy from not taking the bus, but excited at the same time because she found, and brought home in her hand on the bus, 6 lady bugs which were transferred to one of her lunch box containers and which were now buzzing around my car because "I have to open it Momma-- there's one that isn't moving and I need to see if it's dead."

It wasn't dead, in case you care. None of the other five were, either, and they are now finding wonderful places to hibernate in my pit of a car. Lucky duckies.

So it was a long day. And I didn't have any sort of dinner plans or ideas or, as it turns out, food. But I couldn't quite get to any of that because Kiddo #2 was crying-- when he teethes he gets ferocious sores on his bum (Kiddo #1 did, too.) and I'd thought we could put him and Kiddo #1 in a bath with Epsom salts to fix his bum and to just get the hay and debris off both of them before bedtime.

I looked in my bathroom and remembered that we were out of Epsom salts. I nixed the bath for now and decided I'd send Hubby out for salts after dinner. Dinner. Yes. Frickin' dinner.

Pouring Cheerios into four bowls, I declared dinner prepared and went to snuggle the kiddos. Hubby came home. We ate. It was a long, tiring day for everyone. 

 And then, Hubby realized he needed contact lens solution so he could play his first Volleyball game later that night. And then, Hubby realized we're out of dog food (which is probably why the dog was holding her dish and pointing to the cavern of emptiness all this time, but I was too tired to figure it out). 

So he said, "Uh, Wifey, can you go get me some contact lens solution? Oh, and we're out of dog food."
And I said, "Seriously? I've had the longest day of my life. Can you please go get it? Oh and we need Epsom salts so the kids can have a bath."
And he said, "Well, sure. What kind of dog food do we get?" I looked at him and realized that I had no idea. I just get the bag with the dog on it and the aquamarine colour. I couldn't even tell him the first letter of the name. Frick. Well played, husband, well played.

I rolled my corpse into the standing position and smiled and said, "Ok. I'll get the stuff. You stay with the kids." The dialogue rolling through my head was not smiley or nice, but I was tired and when I'm tired I feel like the whole world needs to kiss my booty a little bit, and perhaps could light on fire and be hit by a big bus.

I've learned it's best to just think those things, though.

I said, "Well, can you unload and load the disher and then check on the pump for the pond? It's not working but it's plugged in. I think it's a shorted wire thing." Bwah haa haa. He couldn't say no because I was going out to get his stuff. Winner declared!

So, I went to the bulk food store and got some Epsom salts. I also walked every aisle and got some candy for a Thanksgiving craft I'm making this weekend. Then I meandered to the pet store and found the dog food bag. And, as I was giving them my phone number for their frequent buyer program, it occurred to me that I could've sent Hubby in here with my cell number and they could've looked up what we buy. Sigh.

Then I sauntered to Walmart and walked semi-quickly through that store to find the contact lens solution. I say semi-quickly because if you walk at a slow pace, you will be there for several hours. And there were roughly 10 thousand families there trying to buy Kleenex (or something for their crying, screaming children) and I didn't want to spend the night listening to that.

After about an hour, I drove home and brought in the things we needed. I came around the corner and began dumping Epsom salts into my giant bowl (I add essential oils to them so they smell wonderful). Husband came around the corner holding Kiddo #2 and looking frazzled.

"You ok?"
His eye bugged out of his head, which I took for a negative response.
"What happened?"
"Well, you may have noticed the dishes have been unloaded and loaded."
"Yes." What did he want? An award? (ok, I was still a little bitter apparently)
"Well, after I did that, the baby was sleeping, so I decided to go outside and check on the pump. I fiddled around with the plug and, yep, there's something wrong with the wiring like you thought."

"Ok. What do you think I should do? Should we get a whole new pump or try to fix it?" I was busily adding lavender and lemongrass drops to the salts and stirring them together.
"Oh wait. I wasn't finished." I looked up; his eyes got big again. "I was out there for all of 5 minutes, and when I came in, the baby was crying."
"Ok."
"Well, he was doing that "I've been left alone and my feelings are hurt" cry that he does, so I went in and changed his diaper and his butt is raw."
"Yep, that's why I'm sitting here mixing the Epsom salts."
"Well, then he started really screaming when I tried to put more cream on his butt."
"Yeah. He gets all wound up sometimes."
"Well, I finally got the new diaper on and came to the kitchen to get him some milk."
"Uh-huh."
"Well, I'm pouring the milk and I hear "Daaaaadddy? Daaaaaad?" over and over again. So I set the baby on the floor and go to find Kiddo #1."
"Ok."
"You will never guess what I found."
"Um. Did she have a giant spider in her hand that she found somewhere and wanted you to get her a container to put it in?"
"Nope."
"Am I on the right track?"
"Nope."
"Ok. Was her video done and she wanted a different one?"
"Nope."
"Was she looking for Pinkie Poodle?"
"Nope. She'd shit her pants."

"Whaa-haaat?" I started to giggle. Husband cracked a smile and said, "Yep, not only had she shit her pants, but when I came around the corner, she'd filled the bowl, too. And she was calling me for help because she knew she couldn't move because of the mess in her tights and panties."

I was on the floor doubled over in laughter. I mean, crying, can't breathe laughter. The vision of my husband, trying to fix the pond pump only to come in and have everything unravel in a matter of 5 minutes, for some reason, was KILLING me. I was even doing that Old Man wheezy laugh-turns-to-cough laugh. Hysterical.

“Oh no. She must be sick from the long, tiring day.” (she never, ever has accidents, least of all this kind, unless she’s got a flu bug lurking around.) 

And, on a side note, it’s nice to read how loving I sound when I read those words, because when I said them, I was in the middle of laughing my butt off so they didn’t sound very sincere at the time, despite the intention. 

Husband nods and proceeds with his story.

"And, as I'm trying to figure out what to do next, the baby starts screaming in the kitchen. So I said, "Kiddo #1, try and get yourself cleaned up while I get Brother some milk and I'll be right back." I got the baby some milk and put him in his high chair and returned to find Kiddo #1 standing over the toilet, not quite clean because she couldn't really reach parts of the problem, but now she's out of toilet paper and every last square of it is also in the toilet bowl." Now I'm laughing like a fire engine.

"When, my darling, was the last time YOU had to reach into a toilet bowl full to the brim?" Oh that's it. I can't handle it. Now I'm howling. I'm leaning on the kitchen counter for support. The tears are dripping down my face and ... legs (That's new. How novel. Another bonus from Motherhood methinks).

Instant Karma is all I can think about. That's what you get for not knowing what type of dog food we buy, Husband! Hardy har har!

But, 24 hours later (with several of those 24 hours spent sleeping), and I think it was something else. I was so pissy about having to go out to get dog food, contact lens solution and Epsom salts, but I think instead of instant karmic retribution unfolding on my Husband (which isn’t the way karma works anyway), I think it really was the universe conspiring to make sure I got the heck out of the house and away from this mess before it happened. The universe could sense that if I'd been there for all this, I would have first, looked for hidden cameras and second, packed a carry-on suitcase for Mexico that very minute.

I think it happened for Husband because his telling of the story would make both of us laugh at the insanity of the situation; after the long tiring week we had, laughter was exactly what the Doctor ordered. Once we got everyone bathed (in wonderful smelling Epsom salts) and into bed, Husband and I looked at each other and started laughing again. Husband got into his Volleyball gear and went out to relieve some frustrations and I snuggled into bed to play Plants Vs. Zombies on my iPod.  I giggled, replaying the story in my head, while the game loaded and promptly fell asleep. 

Like I said, it was a long, tiring day. 

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