I haven’t blogged in forever! And I have a totally legitimate excuse. One of my friends came to stay with me for ten whole glorious days, in an attempt to ease my distress at losing my husband to Sin City till mid-August, and we had a fantastic time. We watched Firefly, went to the beach, ate at Five Guys (yum, yum, yummy), took the kids to the Imaginarium, sat around and read summer lit, and had countless conversations about the relative triumphs and failures of our favorite television shows, the best one being a semi-hysterical Battlestar Galactica bash-fest during which we finally agreed that even the hilarious hot mess of the last season (One-Eyed Tigh and Caprica Six? Did anyone not laugh at that?) didn’t diminish the fact that it was still the best show on TV at the time. (She’s The TV Girl, in case you think we’re both too into television. I mean, we are, but at least she blogs about it, so that’s kind of a legitimate reason to watch so much of it. I have no excuses.)
There were some awkward moments, as there are bound to be when friends who haven’t seen each other in three years are suddenly stuck in a house together for ten days, but we managed to overcome most of them with the aid of chocolate. The worst catalyst for awkward moments was Charlotte, of course, who immediately decided that she didn’t like this stranger whom she was unable to charm into letting her get away with anything and everything, and then proceeded to refuse to call Andrea by her name for ten entire days, while also spitting on her, at her, and being as rude as only a three-year-old can be. (Yes, I punished her. No, it didn’t help.) I’m holding out hope that Andrea managed to keep in mind who Charlotte’s father is, and that she’ll eventually forgive the tiny Ogress. I actually think (hope?) they bonded a little bit on her last night, when Charlotte refused to sleep and I let her stay up and watch Firefly with us. Here’s a picture of Charlotte, circa 9 pm, totally thrilled that her refusal to sleep earned her hot chocolate and television:
Here are some more pictorial highlights of the last week and a half:
I got not one single picture of me and Andrea. Which is annoying. But that aside, the last ten days were wonderful. They really took my mind off the fact that my husband is across the dang country. I was so happy that Andrea came to visit.
And then she left.
And life hastily returned to normal. Too normal.
As if she wanted to remind me of what I have in store during the next three weeks, Charlotte spent yesterday afternoon in a flurry of mischief. She jammed a water bottle in the ice dispenser so that ice poured out all over the kitchen floor for two whole minutes until I figured out what that sound was. She poured a bag of animal crackers on the freshly-swept floor and jumped on them like an Italian kid set loose at a grape-stomping festival. She snuck into the refrigerator, swiped a stick of butter, hid in the cabinet and licked it like a popsicle until I realized that she was being much too quiet. She dressed her brother in skirts and then beat him with a sand shovel. She turned all the heads on her baby dolls backward in what I can only assume was a successful attempt to freak me the hell out. And then we had this lovely conversation during evening bathing time:
Charlotte: “Mommy, look, I found a rock!”
Me: “Let me see that.” (Takes “rock”, sniffs suspiciously, gags, throws “rock” in toilet, flushes, washes hands for ten minutes in boiling water, then re-scrubs everything and everyone in sight.) “That wasn’t a rock, Charlotte. That was poop. Where did you find that?”
Charlotte: “Liam was sitting on it.”
Me:*gags and washes hands again*
Charlotte: “It tasted like a rock.”
Yeah. Yesterday was awesome. I can’t wait to see what the next three weeks have in store for us. I’m sure I’ll face it with the same grace and dignity with which I faced yesterday, when I most emphatically did not call the Ogre in hysterics about our disgusting 3-year-old and then retreat into a chocolate-and-How-I-Met-Your-Mother-marathon once the little angels were finally tucked into bed.
But guess what? I don’t have any more visitors coming to see me, which means you’ll get to hear every excruciating detail.