Kid 1, tearing into the house: What’s for dinner?

Me: Broiled chicken breasts, marinated in Italian dressing, salad, and ravioli.

Kid 1:

Me: Grrrr.

Kid 1: Are you going to actually like make some spaghetti sauce for ravioli?

Me: I don’t know.

Kid 1:

Me: GRRRR.  Here, I will make sauce.

***

Later, upstairs after I had gone upstairs and Kid 1 came to tell me that food was yummy, and she was sorry, and she was just having “low blood sugar.”

Gordon: You didn’t have to go upstairs.

Me: My feelings were hurt.  It’s your fault.

Gordon: ?

Me: Your genes ruined all my babies.

Gordon: Really?

Me: Yes! My kids were all sweet and polite and considerate until your genes got involved.

Gordon: You must have some kids I don’t know about.

Me, hitting him with a pillow: Your DNA, your fault.

Gordon: Aha.  Well, our daughter chocked somebody out at school today.

Me: What?

Gordon: Everybody in theater class wanted Kid 2 as an extra for their movies, so she had to wear scrubs.  Apparently she liked it. So she was walking around in scrubs and for some reason she ended up putting this boy into a choke hold and when people became concerned, she told them, “It’s okay, I’m a doctor.”

Me:

***

Before bed

Me: So did the boy actually do anything to her?

Gordon: I don’t think so.  She did it because she thought it was funny.

Me: That’s you. That’s pure you.

Gordon: It was pretty funny.

Me: Don’t come around me with your genes.

Gordon: Hehehe.

Me: I mean it.

]]> http://www.ilona-andrews.com/2012/02/03/on-genetics-unusual-properties-of/feed/ 64 http://www.ilona-andrews.com/2012/02/01/its-cool-cat-you-can-lay-by-me/ http://www.ilona-andrews.com/2012/02/01/its-cool-cat-you-can-lay-by-me/#comments Wed, 01 Feb 2012 15:02:17 +0000 Ilona http://www.ilona-andrews.com/?p=11212

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.

It is kind of cold and rainy now.  Kid 1 and I are starting to fade to our normal pale and looked for a tanning place only to be informed that she must be 16 and a half, even with parental permission, some new law.  Otherwise she has to have a note from a doctor stating that she has “tanorexia” and needs to bake in a coffin like device.  I am thinking about going without her, but she might notice and fuss at me.

Baby Trinity was dropped off at the groomer yesterday.  We have decided that even with bathing and brushing every other day her coat was just getting too tangled.  She looked a little ratty to be honest.  I was instructed, by my dread mistress,  to have her cut in the “Teddy Bear” fashion.  What came out was unlike any teddy bear I have ever seen.  It was more of a first time puppy cut.  I think she looks adorable, her owner was less pleased and Ilona could not stop laughing at the poor little thing.  Kid 2 is on my side with it and the other dogs were fascinated, they could not leave her alone, especially her big brother, who is very protective of her.

[Show as slideshow]

[View with PicLens]

.

Today we have to got to Best Buy and pick up the camera I broke, also look for phones for teens who have broken theirs.  My phone still works, but they have both managed, despite being purchased expensive cases, to crack their screens and otherwise completely destroy devices they claim to be unable to live without.  I am washing my hands of this one.  If Ilona wants to get them new ones, that’s on her.  Please excuse me for a moment whilst I slip into authentic frontier gibberish a la Blazing Saddles.  Tarnation, when I was a youngin we didn’t have not dagum fancy cellular telephones, I seen one once, it was in a bag in a rich fella’s car.  If we was away from the homestead and needed to make a call, well by God, we had dig in the pockets of our ripped and faded blue jeans and rummage around for a quarter, then hunt down a workin pay phone.  Children today is spoilt rotten with their fancy gadgets and elecetronic doohickies!  Rerrin!  Well I feel better now.

Fatal mistake.

There were cages.  In the cages were cats.  One cat looked really sad and lonely.  I looked at him for a long time and then told Gordon about it.  I told him the cat was $25.  He said, “Baby, if you like that cat, you can take him home.  I will buy him for you.”

[Show as slideshow]

[View with PicLens]

Kids named him Oliver.  He is four years old.  He is excruciatingly polite.  He hasn’t hissed, scratched, or expressed his displeasure in any other way.  His manners are flawless, even in canine company, he permits himself to be picked up, he likes to cuddle, and his only quirk at the moment seems to be that he feels the bathrooms are incredibly dangerous places and humans must be extracted out of them as soon as possible.

Also kids left for school, and now he is slightly freaked out.

Miss Salem is less than pleased with this situation.

[clear]

So far we had much hissing and now she progressed into icy ignoring and sneaking to his food dish to gobble up his food.

Gordon: I’ll give you a dollar, if you wash the dog.

Kid 1: Cool!

Present day

Gordon: I’ll give a dollar to whoever finds my glasses.

Kid 1, in a thick North Carolina hillbilly accent: Oh gorsh, Daaaddy, a whole dollar?  Why, I never had that kind of money.

#

Two days ago

Zombie Gordon: God $%^&*, $%^&*( cold, everything hurts.  Nose clogged.

Me: Let’s have some tea.   It will be okay.  How about some Advil Cold and Sinus? Please don’t infect me, I have to work.

Today

Me, Kid 1, and Kid 2 at breakfast table: Uuuuugh.   I feel awful.

Me: Kid 1, take this.  Kid 2, take this.  ::looking at Gordon:: You want anything?

Gordon, fresh as a daisy: Nope, I’m okay.

#

Me, emailing a particularly mock-worthy article to J: Look at this.

J: I can’t help but feel bad for this person.

Me, calling her.

J: Hello?

Me: Who are you and what have you done with my friend?

#

Me, complaining to J about edits: After two days, I think I finally made the stupid fight scene personal enough.

J, laughing: Oh no, did you have to explain what she was feeeeeeling?

Me: %$$^$.

#

I play a Sith warrior in Star Wars Online RPG.

Me, on Twitter: Dear Gmail, this here is a Sith light saber. Reconsider your new look or be destroyed. Hating you will only make me stronger.

#

Me, on Twitter, after explaining that I am really sick and the only way I can stay awake and working is by being mad.

Me: You know, there has got to be something to this Sith mentality, because right now I am functioning purely on hate.

Anne Sowards (our editor): FEAR LEADS TO ANGER. ANGER LEADS TO HATE. HATRED LEADS TO POWER. POWER LEADS TO VICTORY.

Me: Yes, master.

I am generally a very antisocial person.  Or at least I used to be.  I don’t really have speaking anxiety, for which I credit Russian education.  Over there, declarative reading, poetry and prose, is considered to be a talent and most Russian kids of my generation have recited poetry in class and often on stage.  If you can’t sing or play a musical instrument, you recite.

So, my social anxiety manifests itself in other ways.  A few days before an event, such as a formal dinner out or a signing, I start getting irritable and look for ways to weasel out of it. Strangely, I have no problems with going to dinner with friends or visiting to hang out and play cards.

I also get stressed out during the kids sleepovers, especially when our kids go somewhere else.

Apparently I’ve been cured of my anxiety.  We had four teenagers in the house for pretty much the entirety of the Christmas break.  Sometimes five.  I didn’t only survive, I actually didn’t put up any fights.  Sadly nobody offered to give me a Best Behavior medal.  I was pretty happy, actually, to have a bunch of kids over.  It seemed right for the holidays.

Birthday

This year both my father and Gordon’s aunt called me for my birthday.  My father always remembers it but doesn’t always call.  Gordon’s aunt never remembers it.  I usually get a card two months later, so I feel all special.

Gordon bought me The Relic, which is one of my favorite movies, Kid 2 bought me Gnomeo and Juliet (so I like anything even remotely Shakespearean, leave me alone), and Kid 1 gave me SWTOR, Star Wars The Old Republic Massive Multi-player Online Role-playing Game.  I promptly made a Sith warrior, Gordon made a Sith Inquisitor, so we could run around together, and we spent my birthday being evil.

Funnies

I was reading Shiloh Walker’s IF YOU HEAR HER – interesting romantic suspense, btw – and I got creeped out by the villain.  Usually I eat it up, but for some reason, I came to the part where there is a young woman who just got engaged and the villain grabbed her, and I just couldn’t take it that evening, which says volumes about Shiloh’s mastery of the creepy.  But anyway, here I was, in my bed with my Kindle Fire, looking for something to read.  Gordon is sick, so he had trouble sleeping and I wanted to stay awake out of solidarity.

I typed “something funny to read” into Google for the heck of it and came up with SPELLMAN FILES.  I read it in two nights and laughed hysterically into my pillow.

Here is my review from Goodreads.

A deeply hilarious book about Isabel Spellman, a PI in San Francisco, who works for her parents’ firm. The entire Spellman family is deeply weird but strangely functional. I loved it, the whole thing: the quirky anecdotes about the family, the list of ex-boyfriends, the younger sister addicted to surveillance.

One small warning: before you read this book, take the concept of plot, put it in a drawer in a closet, and don’t come back to it until you are done. It is a non-linear book, and it doesn’t have an ordinary crime-investigation-resolution progression. You just have to roll with it.

I really enjoyed it. As an aside, I really like Lisa Lutz’s website.  I can feel the redesign coming on.  :: listens to the screams of horror from the audience:: Aaaah, yes.  Your fear will make me stronger, for I am Sith, hahahahaha!

Well, I must work. 

http://sendables.jibjab.com/view/X9PqqDeUq8flEtLb

So yesterday was a crazy day.  We dashed in just under the deadline on some additional things for GUNMETAL MAGIC, then we went to Best Buys to drop off the broken camera, then we went shopping and shopping, then we went to the grocery store, then we had to pick up the teenagers, then we went to dinner…  We finally went to bed at midnight and had to chase children out of our bedroom because that’s where they decided to wrap the gifts.

I do not want to go anywhere anymore.  I am going to sit on my butt right here.  I am going to finish things and start on GUNMETAL edits.

Oh, I have to show you the awesome thingie Shiloh Walker sent me for Christmas!

How about them apples?  I will be the slow cooking queen of everything.

Did you know you can make chocolate cake in the slow cooker?  I didn’t know that either.

Speaking of cooking, I get the Food Network’s food magazine, and someone snagged the dessert recipe booklet from it.  It really irritated me for some odd reason.  It’s not like I would ever make the kiwi jellies, but I got really annoyed there for a couple of minutes, mostly because I kept flipping the pages trying to figure out where the recipes from the pictures went.

Clearly the holidays are getting to me. 

So how are your Christmas preparations going?

Me: It’s cold and raining.  You won’t like it.

Salem: Outside! Outside! Outside!

Me: Okay.

***

Two minutes later

Salem: Meeeow! Meow! Meeeeeow!! It’s cold and rainy!  I don’t like it.

Me, opening the door: Fine.

Salem: But I don’t know if I want to come in.

Me: Cat. I don’t have time for this.  I have to chop the beef for the slow cooker stew, write, and then clean up the guest room.  In or out.

Salem: Hmmm…

Me: Suit yourself.  ::moving to close the door::

Salem, mad dash inside: Meow! Meow! How dare you not stand there holding the door open while I make up my mind?  You filthy peasant.

Me: I’ll throw your furry butt right out, watch me.

Salem, running up the stairs:  Meeeow!  Kid 1 will hear about this, just you see!

]]> http://www.ilona-andrews.com/2011/12/15/meow/feed/ 73