April 2006

The good thing about having a website that documents your life is that you can go back and read about things that you would have otherwise forgotten if you didn’t write about them. For example, when my husband moans that we never go anywhere or do anything and I start to believe him because I have a hard time remembering what I ate for breakfast much less where we went two months ago, I can search this site and see that in the past year we have been to many places and done many things. And then I can point them all out to him and he can say, "Oh."

But sometimes, writing about my family on this site is like walking around with a big black "L" for Loser on my forehead because it’s totally apparent that I just can’t pass this mothering course that I’ve been taking for 14 years.

Which brings me to my latest edition of The Adventures of Bree and Bailey.

This week is spring break and the girls are grounded because of the less than stellar mid-term progress reports they brought home last Friday. Actually they were less than less than stellar. And when I told them how totally unacceptable their grades were, they both looked at me like, "What? We’re cool and popular and pretty. AND YOU WANT US TO GET GOOD GRADES TOO?"

And so it was that they couldn’t go anywhere or do anything for the entire spring break. Which was clearly too much to bear for them, and how could I ruin their lives like this, they’ll be social outcasts.

The first few days consisted mostly of Plllllleeeeeeeease Moooooooommm? We promise we’ll get our grades up. We proooooommmiiise! Pllleeeease can I go on the computer? Pllleeeeeeeease can I go to Becca’s? Pllleeeeeeeease can Brandi come over? Plleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?????

I sort of gave in on the computer part because I couldn’t take the nagging (I’ve heard this is my biggest problem and I’m working on it. Really I am. MUST. NOT. GIVE. IN.) but I stuck to my guns where everything else was concerned. I even said it to them, "I’m sticking to my guns."

So two nights ago, two things happened that NEVER happen. The first was that I woke up with a headache in the middle of the night. A bothersome headache that needed two Motrin to tame it. The second was that I asked my husband to go and get me the two Motrin and he actually did it!

Well, he went for the Motrin, but came back instead with wide eyes and some story about how he heard BOYS UPSTAIRS AND ITS TWO O’FUCKING CLOCK IN THE MORNING. And then he left the room to, what I could only assume, go deal with the situation.

Blink.

Blink, blink.

The first thought that ran through my throbbing head was, did he just say what I think he just said? Because if he did say what I think he just said, he must be mistaken. There can’t be boys in the house. It is the middle of the night, and the girls are grounded.

After a minute or two, when I fully absorbed what was happening, I got out of bed and walked down the hall just in time to witness Jody at the bottom of the stairs and Bree at the top doing her best to convince him that he had just woken her up from her deep sleep by calling her to the stairs.

"What’s going on?" He demanded.

"I’m sleeping," she moaned and sighed heavily while rubbing her eyes.

"Where’s Bailey?"

"She’s sleeping too," she mumbled, like she was really pulling one over on us. Not thinking that we’d find it strange that she was standing there in jeans and a sweatshirt when she’d had her pajamas on just a few hours earlier before we had gone to bed.

"Don’t give me that CRAP. I’ve been standing here for ten minutes listening to the circus going on up there. Get those boys down here now!" screamed furious father.

Silence.

More silence.

One by one, four neighborhood boys appeared, heads down, hands in
pockets, descending slowly down the stairs. Once they all got to the
bottom, looking sorry and sad, Jody told them, "None of you are welcome
here again. [Which I'm sure bummed them out because every one of those
boys have hung out at our house numerous times] Although I know it’s not all your fault because the girls let you in, I’ll be calling
each of your parents in the morning to tell them what happened. [Which
he never did.] Now get out of here."

As the boys piled out the front door with Jody locking it behind them, I could only look up at Bree and Bailey standing halfway down the stairwell staring at me in anticipation of punishment and tell them how disappointed I was.

Each morning since then, the girls have woken to a long list of chores waiting for them on the kitchen counter. And they haven’t complained once!

But don’t try to call their cell phones or send them an email or come over to visit, because they are in big trouble. And this time, I’m really sticking to my guns.