One Week To Go
2005-12-18, 9:23 p.m.

We had a treat the latter half of the week in the form of our eldest nephew, who is so much like Hubby it�s downright scary. It also made him easy to entertain. Books + laptop + sunporch + food + sleep + videos from Megabuster + SOLITUDE = One Happy Camper. He goes to Appalachian State, just a couple of hours from us, and hitched a ride here with a fellow student from Knoxville. Hung out with us geezers from Wed. until catching a plane home to the Sunshine State at o�dark thirty Saturday morning. He�ll fly here after the holidays, when he will either ride back to campus with his buddy, or we will take him. If we can leave the kids with someone unsuspecting here, Hubby and I just might arrange for aliases and enroll, because we oh-so-did enjoy our college days, thankyewverymuch.

And now for something completely different:

Son met his ultimate nemesis last night, and it was neither his sister, nor a plate of vegetables. It came in the unassuming guise of an adorable three-year-old girl.

We were having a great time over at the Gurus� Christmas party, eating all the food that Son wouldn�t touch (quoth GroovyGuru to Son: �14 metric tons of ham and you brought over Hot Pockets?�), when Son popped out and informed all of us that the other guests� little girl was �a nightmare�. I�ll have a helping of mortal embarrassment with those carrots, thanks.

And what did the wee bairn do to torment Son so?

Flit.

Son requires his world and those in it to subscribe to a certain sense of order. There is a basic rhyme and reason to 11-year-old boys, to annoying older sisters, to visiting teenage cousins, to parental units, and even to the Evil Entity, school. But a tiny girl in pigtails was the neutrino in his atomic order, zipping through whatever barriers he made, carting off the Simpsons Operation game in mid-D�oh or engaging simultaneously in twelve activities in four different rooms. He could neither predict nor order the toddler mind, and it drove him out of his. Therefore, the only solution was to loudly and publicly complain about the little girl and embarrass Hubby and me to no end.

Guess I can cross �preschool teacher� off Son�s list of potential careers.

I can almost cross Christmas shopping off my mondo To Do list. Almost. Yesterday, foolish thing that I am, I went to Maul Mart for a few last-minute items. I was able to find a parking spot, after circumnavigating the globe three or four times:

I am a big enough idiot that I went back there today, AND to the mall. Showing my masochistic streak? Whip me, beat me, but don�t make me go back to the mall the last few days before Christmas. My constitution is far too delicate to take such abuse.

To make matters worse, since we�re leaving for SC on Thursday, now the car isn�t running right. Goodbye new kitchen linoleum, hello repair bill.

Merry Stressmas.

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