Mamalicious!

So, Tech Boo and I are together for a couple of weeks with four of our girls (ages 4 1/2, 9 1/2, 9 1/2, and almost-12).  I’m not exaggerating when I say that, on average, we only manage to sneak in about 17 seconds of alone time each day (not counting when we are in the car or running errands…during which time they call us constantly).

So last night, we finally resorted to trickery.  While the girls ate their dinner, we went out and got our favorite food (sushi) take-out, and snuck back into the house while they were out back on the deck and in the backyard playing.  We even used the key (instead of the key fob) to lock the car so it wouldn’t beep and alert the  troops to our arrival.

We grabbed some Coronas from the frig, and bolted upstairs to the bedroom.  It’s funny how children will change your definition of romance.  Nearly two years ago B. K. (before kids), when we led secret dating lives, romance was dressed to the nines for a seven-course dinner on Mt. Washington with a great view of the fireworks over the river after a Pirates victory.  Today, it’s sushi on a bath towel, and Coronas (lime forgotten), me in a tank top and flip-flops.

We enjoyed 9 sweet minutes before the first child discovered us.  At this point, I don’t even remember which one it was.  It really doesn’t matter; they all seem to have sensors implanted that go off whenever we are in range but not in sight.

So, some child appears, ostensibly because she needs a kiss.  She gets a kiss, and then decides she needs a kiss from the other parent as well.  Well, at this point, a second child arrives just in time to see her parent being kissed by a child that is not blood-related.  She retaliates by kissing the other parent (this would be much easier to explain if I could recall which kid did what, but at a certain point, they become four interchangeable Interruptions).  Well, then it’s on: all four girls bumrush us, some kind of manic kiss-off ensues.  We manage to scrape them off of us (and keep the soy sauce from spilling everywhere), but then they turn on each other, and it’s an all-out steel cage match (minus the steel cage).  To hell with stereotypes about sugar and spice; I wouldn’t want to run into any of these little women in a dark alley.  There’s all manner of throat-chopping, head locks, and kicking.  Lots of kicking.

“I take kung-fu!”

“Yeah?  Me too!  Kee-ya!”

Sensei Steve and Shifu Dennard would be ever so proud, ladies.

While they are entangled and trash-talking, Tech Boo and I are sharing a brain.  We quietly gather the remnants of our dinner and our bottles, and slip out of the room.  We are standing in the living room when we hear, “Hey!  They got away!”

A stampede ensues down the stairs, and we pull one final weapon from our arsenal: Just as the girls have us in view, we give each other a big old smack on the lips.

The results are immediate.  Bodies begin falling down the stairs, groans of agony and pleas of “Noooooooooo!” can be heard around the land.

“You’re killing us!  You’re killing us with the kissing!”

“Kissing is the reason that we can’t have world peace!”

“It’s the reason the economy is so bad!”  A kid can comprehend this, but George Bush can’t.  *smh*

“It’s the reason gas prices are so high!”

“Kissing is the reason we are still in Iraq!”

Wait a minute…since when are they up on current affairs?

“And you’re drinking BEER too!”

More writhing and clutching of throats.

“Drinking and making out!”

Tech Boo and I, simultaneously: “We were NOT making out.”

“Then what were you doing?”

“That was a kiss.  A peck on the lips.”

“Oh.  Then…what’s making out?”  They all want to know.

Dang.  We walked right into that one.

“That’s a conversation for another time.”

Thankfully, they are happy to return to their dramatics:

“Kissing is why we are still slaves to the white man.”

Okay, Tech Boo and I officially lose it at this point.

“Kissing is the reason my teeth didn’t grow in right!”

“Kissing is the reason our environment is ruined!”

And on and on…We realize that this won’t end unless we bring out the big guns.

“Who wants to get ice cream?”

“ME!!!!!!!!!!!”

So then it’s another 45 minutes to figure out who’s riding in which car with which parent-driver (we don’t have one car which can fit everybody).

Of course by the time we get to Baskin-Robbins they are closed, closed early in fact because of “computer upgrades.”

The girls get all droopy.  Someone makes a plea for Coldstone, and of course they all are talking at once.  We make them sit on a bench and wait until we decide what to do.  We walk a few feet away and pretend to mull over whether or not we should go somewhere else, or just go home.  From behind us, we hear laughter.  The girls have attracted a small crowd of folks coming out of the adjacent California Tortilla.  The four of them are sitting on the bench, arms overhead to form halos, humming like cherubim.

We tell them that we are going to go to Friendly’s.

“It worked!  See I told you they’d like that!”

“Hey, I thought of the halos!”

“Well, I thought of the singing.”

“What…ever.”

And now I know why we never saw the Bradys go anywhere together besides the Grand Canyon and Hawaii.  Smaller outings just aren’t worth it.  Speaking of which, on the drive back home, we passed a Winnebago lot that got the girls all excited.  Next summer, we hope to drive cross country (and see Amurrrica).  They can’t wait.

Pray for us.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 8th, 2008 at 9:44 am and is filed under Bush has Blood on His Hands, Fun Times, It's...Whatever., Love 101, Mama-hood, Offspring, This and that. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.