My sister got married. She had the girls in the wedding as flower girls. As I suspect is the case with most girls, they thought this was freaking awesome. And I suppose if you are a girl getting your hair done in a special wedding style, wearing a brand new dress, getting shiny new shoes and getting to drop rose petals along the path the bride will walk is pretty cool.
My nephew decided to stage a mutiny the morning of the wedding. My folks were driving him down to our hotel so he could swim with the girls when he let them know that he decided not to be in the wedding. None of that ring bearer crap for him. Except nobody acknowledged his mutiny. Like movie fans and Speed Racer. So if you stage a mutiny and said mutiny is ignored by those being mutinied against, does the mutiny actually occur?
No. It doesn’t. He was in the wedding. And he appeared to enjoy it.
Anyway it was fun. The reception was a mix of country, hair metal, margaritas and beer. Plus two people were injured. One required stitches. But that’s what you get when you do the reverse centipede on concrete. No, it wasn’t me. But I did get a nice ankle fold trying to match Riley’s sweet air fiddle with some awesome dance moves to John Denver’s Thank God I’m a Country Boy. Luckily I get to go on vacation next week with a blackish purply bruise from the sole of my foot to about 2 inches above my ankle. It looks like Idaho. Ever ride home in a car for 10 hours trying to keep your ankle elevated while holding ice on it? Ever try it when you’re 41? The range of motion in my left hip was at its genetic limit.
The ride out to Colorado didn’t seem easier at the time but it was. We weren’t even out of our city limits and Kinsey says, “My head hurts. My tummy hurts. How much longer?”
We make it to the interstate and Bails lets us know that she can’t sleep with all the “noise.” It’s 6:30 in the morning and she’s the only kid in the world who isn’t put to sleep by the hum of tires on the highway.
About five minutes after that, Riley asks, “Hey, Mom and Dad, can we start watching movies now?”
Seriously, we’ve been in the car for about 15 minutes. Maybe 20. Kinsey is car sick. Bailey is whining. And Riley is bored.
We responded with strict orders for extreme radio silence. No sound. At least 12 inch boundary zones between each kid.
Strangely, it worked. They all fell asleep. Blessed, blessed sleep. And stayed asleep as we went through a line of thunderstorms. Which allowed Mom to admire the magic of Rain-X. “Oooooooo…this rain-x is amazing.”
Otherwise the trip went pretty much to form. The girls argued over the barbies…err…I mean the Live Dolls they brought along. If their arguments over the dolls’ clothes are an accurate depiction of future arguments over clothes, well, I’m going to need to an escape hatch. Or a rip cord. Or simply some strategy on how to flee the scene.
Last thing, we’re having some conversations about next summer when Riley will be home everyday and Kinz and Bails will be joining her for either 2 or 3 days a week. We haven’t decided. But Rye will be 12 and a-half next summer and she’s already inherently responsible. But the discussion about the girls being home alone sort meandered along until Rye was asking questions about being home alone and having friends over. Which led us to a discussion about what happens when teenagers are home alone and they invite a few friends over….and those friends tell a few people…and those friends tell some more people and then you end up with this:
So we’re explaining some of the dangers of unsupervised teenagers in your house.
Dad: What happens is they bring over things they shouldn’t.
Bailey: What? You mean like guns?
Mom: No. Well, I hope not. But that’s not what we meant.
Mom: And then they start doing things they shouldn’t be doing.
Riley: You mean like drinking colorful pop on the carpet?
You sometimes its nice to know you’re soon to be 6th grader hasn’t been completely corrupted by TV and the behavior of older kids…