Spontaneity, with a side order of sloth
2005-06-24, 11:21 a.m.

Last night we partook in one of life�s simple pleasures, spending time together doing absolutely nothing. Being black sheep and all, our family time has no sanctioned kiddy sporting events but is instead unorganized and spontaneously combustible. Son needed some aloneness in his room, but Hubby, Daughter, and I gravitated outdoors after dark, to breathe in the magnificent firefly display in our yard, marvel at constellations and the North Star, and unsuccessfully attempt to dislodge an unfamiliar cat from our neighbor�s roof. I tried to convince Daughter that a passing airplane was a blue and red twinkling comet, but instead of being amused, she took it as further serious scientific proof that she is indeed the child of a blithering idiot. No problem; maturational regression is my ultimate goal.

I tried and tried to get a photo of our firefly-studded trees, but my Kodack Craptomatic threw an apoplectic fit and captured nothing but dark, darker in fact than the actual yard, beyond the subject of the photo and into the soulless void of a nether realm. I really need a new camera.

The cat has jumped on the togetherness bandwagon, provided I�m in the bathroom. He throws himself loudly and piteously against the door until I let him in, then I get to enjoy renal failure while being used as a kitty jungle gym. It is impossible to go while being assaulted with purr purr PURR purr mew climb CLAW rub rub snuggle mew PURR. And all this is the prelude to the true demand, that I stand next to His Highness while he nibbles his kibble.

Daughter is yowling about too much closeness and togetherness, because her (Grandma�s) beautiful (antique heirloom do not EVER get rid of it) bed is SO huge, she and her friends have about 10 square inches in which to play. She�s right. Now comes the post-move self-bashing, because we sold her lovely daybed and mattress months ago, in full self-righteous mode that we wouldn�t need it and she would lurrrrve having her giant bed again. She used to adore it, when she had a proportionally giant bedroom in our old possessed house. Now that she has a normal-size bedroom, the not-so-normal-size bed engulfs it. So, it�s either transcend dimensions and make her room larger on the inside than it appears on the outside, or get her a twin bed. Then comes the fun of storing an heirloom four-poster-high-rise canopy bed, preserving it for future generations with bedrooms too small for it as well. By the way, Grandma doesn�t want to store it, either. �Heirloom� really means �I don�t want it back, but get rid of it and I will kill you.�

MIL is generally reasonable (but this is HER bed). My mother thinks everything she has ever owned is an heirloom. I am an only child. Do the math, partake of my misery, and buy me a warehouse.

And now for something completely different:

Standing atop the crumbling remnants of Cinderella�s castle, surveying the dreck of shuttered attractions and rides dismantled for scrap metal, the Southern Baptists ended their stunningly successful Disney boycott. Favorite quote: �For a boycott to be successful, it has to have both a beginning and an end.� An eight-year-old in monogrammed mouse ears was almost convinced by that statement, but thought better of it and got back in line for Space Mountain.

And in RAW XIV: CAPITOL SMACKDOWN, Ted �19 Proof� Kennedy argued that Donald �Let�s Rumble� Rumsfeld should be booted because of �Three strikes, you�re out�, while maintaining that since he himself is on strike # 457,291, which is technically not the number 3, he is therefore exempt.

The Supreme Court agreed and ordered in celebration that a city block of retirees should be given $50 and told to move elsewhere, so wealthy businessmen could raze their homes and erect a convention center in a city no one would visit anyway.

And now it is time for me to go ignore the dishes and laundry. Happy Friday.

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