My World And Welcome To It
2004-08-11, 8:30 a.m.

Well, this is more like it. I signed up here last night, filled with chocolatey snarky goodness and ready to roll, and THEIR SERVER WAS BUSY. Permanently. This morning chalks up Try # 2 for the inaugural entry, and thus being successful, proper introductions are in order.

C'est moi

Housewife, mom, chocoholic, coffee addict, Queen of All I Survey (which currently is laundry, dishes, and an exceptionally dirty floor). Add happily retired teacher to that list. Why so happy? I figured I would switch to a less-dangerous career, like, say, scouting for land mines. The problem wasn't the kids, but the dreck that spawned them. Now don't get me wrong, I encountered plenty of wonderful kids and wonderful parents who made each day a joy. That was negated by the half-sotted dolts who would stagger in, spleen in tow, spewing bile (partly leftover from the previous night's pharmaceutical expedition) that their kid wasn't doing well and it was therefore MY fault. Hello? Your child is repeating first grade and cannot write his name (despite intense individual instruction), but can handily identify a wide variety of illegal substances and obscene hand gestures, and it's MY doing? There's only so much treading one teacher can do in the shallow end of the gene pool, thankyouverymuch, before it's time to face facts. Not every kid is destined to win the Nobel Prize. Certainly not yours, pothead.

The hubby

Chemist, Engineer, Manager, techno music freak, and now, novice boat builder. Grand High Poobah and sole occupant of his own little universe, where clean underwear is supplied by the Laundry Fairy and he wields the authority to kick others off the computer at will. He is often sweet and attentive, exceptionally intelligent, and totally gullible. Take the above-mentioned boat, for instance. The website proclaimed that a person with minimal woodworking experience and basic tools could build the canoe in 8 hours with less than $150 in materials. He fell for it. Not only that, but he sucked in a good buddy as well with the promise of nautical hijinks. Being good boat builders, they made the important part first: the artillery. Aerosol-powered pvc cannons from which they plan to poink ping-pong balls across the water, blasted by the incalculable force of Aqua Net. Critical parts complete, they started on the boat; 3 months and nearly $600 later, it's about done. Pardon my observance, but it may have gone a bit more quickly and smoothly if they had READ THE FREAKING INSTRUCTIONS, but, being Manly Men, they had to wing it. Yeesh.

The daughter

Composed primarily of legs, stomach, rapidly growing feet, and attitude, about to turn 12 which automatically propels her to omnipotence. A walking, talking paradox, she has tea parties with her astonishing collection of Beanie Babies one moment, and agonizes over the correct color choice of socks to match her outfit the next. She ratchets between little girl and almighty teen like she's been shot from a particle accelerator, with me unprotected on the receiving end.

Oh, she just started learning how to play the viola. Pray for me.

Her greatest gift is an overdeveloped sense of justice combined with an uncanny argumentative streak, which she practices with relish at every given opportunity. She's a one-girl steamroller--repent now, all ye who oppress the underdog and play unfairly, lest ye become roadkill. If you're lucky, once you're toast, she'll color-coordinate your funeral.

The son

Red-headed spider monkey, short but gangly with stick-figure appendages and a brief but firm menu consisting entirely of carbs and cheese. He also "suffers" (as the experts say)from a form of autism called Asperger's. Puh-leeze. He "suffers" from Asperger's the way Bill Gates "suffers" from money. Sure he's a quirky lil guy, but he revels in it and the way it inspires others to bend to his will. If Mr. Spock were fused with all things Captain Underpants, you've encompassed him. Our incomparable school system is awesome and makes allowances for him, not to accommodate a disability but to promote his amazing abilities. He possesses his father's intelligence and logic, the ability to manipulate any loophole in a school assignment, and an extreme distaste for all things vegetable or non-Nintendo. True to autistic bluntness, he has no patience for ignorance or repetition or those he deems as less intelligent than he. In his own words of 9-year-old wisdom, "I have no room in my life for stupidity." Which, in his opinion, usually includes his sister.

And the war continues.

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