Of Carnivals, Hurricanes, and Empty Wallets
2004-09-18, 5:36 p.m.

Saturday�s fortune, brought to you by the X-Files:

Trust no one.

Of course not. The alien tracking device implanted in my hypothalamus might give me away.

***************************************

So, last night was the school carnival, and fortunately I am still just anonymous enough at Son�s school to have evaded Carnival Priestess and her minions that were lurking in the vicinities. It was not a happy time for me, wandering past the cafeteria and gym and rugrats in jumbled lines emanating from elementary classrooms.

I had a migraine.

Courtesy of the hurricane that bullied his way from the Gulf Coast, the corresponding low pressure set off a round of Axis torture earlier in the week that had me spilling classified information to anyone within earshot. It refused to abate for Friday evening, so I loaded up on Tylenol and prayed for a temporary reprieve from the enemy prison. I got furloughed long enough to ply Son, Daughter, and the Juniors Guru with tickets and admonitions to remain together and herded them off to the games.

Then, there she was, a member of the Allied Forces radiating from the crowd: my friend and neighbor, Very Intelligent Woman. She had sent her sons off armed with tickets and a sugar rush and invited me to join her in the auction. And what an auction it was! It confirmed my suspicion that Son does indeedy now attend school with the Nouveau Riche. The silent auction offerings ranged from Quirky Fun (a night of babysitting by the principal and 4 fast food meals, 3 friends and a movie at the librarian�s house) to Relatively Expensive (Dollywood Tickets, restaurant gift certificates). Bidding remained modest, under $100 on average, still far too much for my checkbook which had just been depleted by buying mass quantities of carnival tickets. The real goodies were displayed on the stage for the live auction, and my pounding brain boggled at the fare. These were the What-Freaking-Millionaire-Donated-This-Stuff-To-The-School kinds of goodie baskets. One basket contained, in part, a really nice horse tire swing (locally made, big bucks), stuffed horses, horse-themed DVD�s, video rental certificates, horse care items and treats, and a week of horse riding camp during Spring break. Another �basket� had a weekend�s use of a brand-new VERY expensive sporty Nissan, two 45-yard line tickets to a sought-after UT football game, and a hefty gift certificate from a chain eatery for all the tailgate fixin�s. It went on and on. I endured the throng long enough to witness the average bidding shoot well past the $300 mark within the first 20 seconds, and did not subject myself to the final figures. My wallet was writhing in agony and my head was following suit: time to scout out a quieter foxhole to ride out the remainder of the battle. Very Intelligent Woman kindly offered to bid for me on anything of interest, but as I do not currently qualify for a home equity loan, I was forced to decline.

The Universe does very nasty things to migraine sufferers, such as alter the laws of physics so that hallways lengthen rather than shorten with every step. With every passing second, too, the temperature seemed to rise several degrees. I made it outside to the now hurricane-less cool air just as the building began to lean at a rather odd angle. In addition to the fresh air, there was the pleasure of watching small children attempt to assassinate the principal at the dunking booth. The principal is a peach of a guy, a true kid-lover and boisterous inspiration, with whom I had the pleasure of working several years ago. His happy taunting couldn�t disguise the fact that these small children were out for blood, vicious little creatures, full of snow cones and brownies and hot dogs and ready to propel their dislike of all things homework with full intensity on the sitting king of ducks in the watery cage. War is hell. Since the Universe now had a different target to needle, the migraine began to wane, the school righted itself, and one glance at the clock showed me it was time to go.

I shepherded all four children, now ticket-depleted and happily tired, to the car, and then dropped off Guru Junior at his home. Guru III remained with us to spend the night so Son could continue his advance birthday celebration. I stuffed them in the back where Son and Guru III connected themselves to the Nintendo life support, coming off it every so often to root in Daughter�s toys and set up a full-scale Polly Pocket village scuffle. I folded myself neatly on the recliner and reveled in back-to-back episodes of �Stargate SG-1�. Ivan had headed out the back door to annoy folks farther north, and my migraine trailed steadily along.

To top off the happy ending, my children concurred with Guru III at 10pm that they were �bushed�, and got ready for bed with minimal prodding. We were all tucked in and tuckered out by 11:00. Life is good.

last - next