The tempest of hilarity, drama, and emergency that is Kid 2 is difficult to describe. It really has to be experienced. In the same way one experiences a tornado, for example. Or a typhoon.
This is a kid who works exceptionally hard, but only on something she loves to do or on something that has dire consequences. She combines the utterly female fashion sense with her father’s crude humor. I blame Gordon for this, as he is laboring under assumption that he is a raising a teenage boy.
She also inherited his love of messing with people.

She has also granted permission for this post. She says it’s funny. It wasn’t very funny at the time.
The weekend before last, we had some friends stay over at out house: Ericka, whom we first met in Georgia, and Ying, whom you probably know as one of the Moderators of Doom on the forum. This is kind of unusual for us, because Gordon and I are both very mindful of our real life privacy, and when we have guests over, we’re never sure if we’re entertaining enough.
So it was a big deal and preparations were made. House had been scrubbed from top to bottom, guest bedroom has been cleaned, sheets were freshly laundered, and children had been warned that we wanted the visit to go smoothly. Kid 2 took it to heart and said, “What if I go and sleep over at Lissa’s house?”
(This is not the friend’s real name, but I am not sure her mother would approve of me putting it into the post.)
Since Lissa is Kid 2′s best friend, and they migrate from our house to hers and back every weekend, permission was granted.
We picked up our friends from the airport and took them to County Line, because it’s Texas barbeque and when people come to Austin, you have to take them to County Line or the Salt Lick. We’re new to the area, but we aren’t heathens. The barbeque was a big success. We drove home and settled on the upstairs couch.
Cell phone rings. Kid 1 picks it up.
“What? What?!”
Oh no.
Kid 1 appears, thrusts the phone at me, and says, “Mom, Kid 2 needs to talk to you.”
I can tell by her face that it’s not good.
Me: Yes?
Kid 2 in a very loud but super-calm-and-reasonable voice, which could probably be heard by our neighbors across the street: Mom, could you please come to Lissa’s house. The policeman won’t let me leave until he speaks to you, because I’ve been detained.
Me: Why are you detained?
Kid 2: People were smoking drugs on the playground, but I’ve been searched and I don’t have anything. Please come and get me so I don’t get arrested.
Me: Do not say anything to the cop, we’ll be there in 5 minutes.
Ying has opened her eyes really wide and Ericka, who is used to us, is trying hard not to crack up.
Me to Gordon: We need to leave now.
We excuse ourselves, jump into the car, and race across the mile and three quarters that separates us from Lissa’s house. Lissa lives in a town-home development, and there are speed bumps every twenty five feet. Small children are darting into the path of the vehicle. We’re not sure where the playground is. We’re maneuvering between the house at a breathtaking three miles per hour, because of the speed bumps and I’m grinding my teeth.
Phone rings.
Me: Yes?
Kid 2: You just passed us.
Me: Stay on the phone with me.
We turn around, make a left, and finally see a group of children surrounding a tall cop. Everyone is waving at us. We park.
I look at Kid 2: big eyes, pale, mouth pressed closed – my kid is seriously freaked out. Lissa is next to her, and she’s on the verge of crying.
Gordon: Go to the car.
Kid 2: Dad…
Gordon: Car. Now.
Kid 2 scrambles to the car.
The cop introduces himself and he couldn’t be nicer. Apparently there is a new street drug out there called spice. It’s a very potent synthetic cannabis. A boy at the playground decided that he wanted to smoke some. Except the name of the drug is a bit confusing and he raided his parent’s spice cabinet for it. Because that’s where spices are.
Me: What was he smoking?
Cop, making a valiant effort to keep a straight face: Oregano.
Apparently the boy made such a huge deal out of his spice smoking, that someone called in the cavalry. The police descended upon playground, children were made to turn out their pockets, the Ziploc baggie with offending oregano was confiscated. Everybody’s parents were called.
Cop: We just wanted to make sure that you know the intent to get high was there.
We thank him, get into the car, and drive the heck out of there at three miles per hour.
Kid 2, in a tiny freaked out voice: He knew Kevin’s name. The cops get called here all the time. They keep a car here.
Me: Are you okay?
Kid 2: Yes. Am I in trouble?
Gordon: Why didn’t you and Lissa split when he started smoking that shit?
Kid 2: Because we’re dumb.
A short lecture on dangers of drugs and bad friend followed and Kid 2 was taken home. She was shell-shocked for the rest of the day and ended it wrapped in a blanket next to us on the couch.
I need to redye my hair. I think all the dye has evaporated from it under the stress and half of my head is grey now.
And that’s how you do weekends with guests at our house.