The Torture Chamber

Yes, it was the Torture Chamber, where Mr Popper’s Penguins (in audio form) was forced on my children during their confinement in the family minivan on the way home from Tahoe yesterday.  You would’ve thought we were pulling out their fingernails one by one.  They asked for Hawk Nelson, a Canadian band that does play semi-decent music even in my old-person’s opinion, but I said, “NO!”  And out of the cd case came Mr. Popper followed by sighs, grunts, groans, pishaws and corresponding eye rolling. 

The chanting began in the back of the van, but thanks to quality factory installed speakers, they could not out-shout Mr. Popper.  Everytime they yelled and interrupted Mr. Popper, my husband, who is a closet-literary-buff (OK, stop laughing) would start the cd over.  My children are quick studies.  It only took them five or six times to stop the barrage of noise.

Finally after chapter one, I paused the intellectually stimulating penguin story and informed my three homeschooled offspring that there would indeed be a quiz before dinner.  Flunkers would not be eating.  Amazing how the stupid penguin story got very interesting after that.  I asked really hard questions like “What is the Popper’s address?” and “Who was the admiral on the radio broadcast?” There was much cheating behind me, due to my children sincerely feeling empathy for a sibling who might go hungry.  Coughs with the answer embedded and barely audible whispers were detected.  Being full of grace and mercy, just like our Lord, I gave them all two chances and their answers proved they actually were listening. (One point for Mom and Mr. Popper.)

Funny thing was, the cd started skipping.  I LOATHE library cds that skip.  But that’s just another one of my shortcomings that don’t need mention here.  As the full length story was considerably shortened, Rick told the kids to be thankful it was Mr. Popper’s speed reading day.  Ha ha ha.  Very funny, hon.

My parents used to torture us with a single eight track tape of a gospel quartet called The Statesmen.  After a trip from California to Canada and back again with the sole Statesmen tape, we grew to appreciate good harmonies and men that could sing higher than Miss. Piggy.  If you ever need any of the lyrics from the Statesmen, please contact me or my siblings.  We know every single word…. in four part harmony, because we’re going to “see Saint Peter, Ol’ James and John, we’re gonna talk to the prophets one by one, when we move back into my Father’s house on Heaven Avenue.”  See, it’s a generational torture chamber.

Another FUN Saturday! Yippy!

I’m supposed to be cleaning my house.  We have a family of ten coming over tonight for dinner.  I’m drawn to things that don’t need to be done… and turn my head from those things calling me names.  Names like “Miss. Piggy” and “messy” and “bad housekeeper” and “disgraceful.”  That last one is ultra-applicable as my mother’s name is Grace and she’s a clean freak.  Sorry, Mom.

Why, oh why, did we choose horizontal dust-magnet blinds for every single blinkin’ window in this house?  It seems like they are always covered with a layer of fuzz… even the day after I clean them.  I need to market my phenomenal wonder of an idea…. flocked blinds.  They will be delivered to your door with a layer of decorative fuzziness already on them… and they’ll always look clean.  Can’t you just hear the sales pitch???  “And these flocked blinds NEVER need cleaning!”  It will be a QVC smashing hit.  I’m sure of it.

And baseboards.  It was a man who invented baseboards because he couldn’t cut straight lines in the sheet-rock to have it line up with the flooring…. creating yet another cleaning opportunity for the woman in his life.  Once upon a time, my baseboards were really and truly white.  Now they’re the color of almost chocolate milk… like when the Quick ran out too soon. 

The plethora of engaging items drawing my attention away from cleaning are unbelievable.  The weeds grew overnight.  They need to be pulled NOW.  I know our guests will already have assumptions about my housekeeping, but my yard could be my excuse if it is weeded.   But it’s 107 degrees and it’s not even noon.  Weeding will have to wait until wintertime.

The boys have built a blanket fort using 4 mattresses, Zaza’s purple canopy bed and all the sheets from the linen closet.  I asked them to put it all away before our guests arrive.  They looked at me like I had a third eye in the middle of my forehead.  “We built the fort to play in with THEM!”   Oh.  Well, I won’t have to vacuum that room.  Maybe I could throw the load of dirty sheets in there too… and eliminate one load of laundry.

Did I forget to mention that camp is in two days (Yes, I’m going to be “dorm staff” for screaming little girls for a week) and I just threw in load #1 of 8.  In my next house, I’m having a laundry room on the same floor as the bedrooms, behind a secret door with a big screen tv in there, plush carpet with triple padding so it will feel like I want to go in there.  I can play the movie Miss Potter all the time, and dance with one of my husband’s dirty shirts to “Shall I teach you how to dance.”

Maybe I simply need to get some matching pink cleaning supplies.  Then I’ll want to clean the house. 

One can dream.