Dancing With Dear Kirby

Is it cold weather that makes my internet not work until nine this morning? Or is it my jerry-rigged connections? Temperamental as my children, it would appear, but at least that means one less distraction early in the morning when I get my quiet time.

Lily got up barfing, sitting on the couch now, moaning and groaning, she's always had a flair for drama. I get it, honey, you're sick.

Jonathan, of course, turned dark as night this morning, his face slamming shut, emotions crashed, home again, home again, jiggety jig. Whatever. I am so bored with this. And I'm bored with the food hoarding and stealing issues but comforted by the words of another, "I thank God because it was I who was robbed and not I who robbed."

Conversely Paloma, up on time, hair brushed, wearing nice clothes danced out the door to school with nary a thought, this after nonstop bickering last night with Chuy and Jonathan, her two birth sibs, who eventually walked away from her in disgust. "You're a bug-eyed psycho moron," Chuy pronounced, as I hollered, "No name calling boy."

Dr. Mandy had given them a Monopoly game, not knowing in our world that this equates into fist fights.

I've been using Grandpa's ancient Mongo Kirby like I'd never seen a vacuum before in my life. Figuratively cleaning out the cobwebs? Literally trying to improve my surface life via deep cleaning? Daniel walked in the house last night, first asking me, "Why are you wearing orange?"

I wasn't. It was a peach colored sweatshirt I'd gotten from a bag, my UGA sweatshirt was in the wash, apparently the Florida loss still smarting. Second question, "What'd ya do with all the pictures?" as my dining room is now next to naked.

I just need to make some positive changes. I have pictures of Daniel all over my house, framed sports pictures and Army pictures, and I beam with pride whenever I see them.

The other grown kids who want to start stuff with me? I'm just not interested. I don't like confrontations, especially these imaginary ones over nothing, so I'm moving on in my life, concentrating on those children who want me to be involved, those who need me in their lives, those who make me smile everytime I see them, like Daniel, or Monica, Yolie, Sarah, Carolina, Gina, Cristy and others.

One who has SSI, and very deservedly so, is making extremely decent choices now for the past several months, we talked a couple of times this week and I've been effusive in my compliments...indeed she's doing better than some of my other children who are grown and better educated, but can't pay their cell phone bills, keep a job, or an apartment for any length of time, constantly alienating those who they come into contact with predictably. Eight jobs in one year? You're always the victim? I don't think so.

My house plants have been neglected severely as my time constraints have been phenomenal, but lately I've had extra minutes to dote on them, even the large Christmas cactus that somehow crashed to the kitchen floor by Not Me. Probably a $50 pot that broke, but we all know I likely bought it for buck at a yard sale.

And in my ever increasing desire to turn a cesspool into a garden...my traumatized, beat down house into a cottage industry of delights, I'll roar through like a locomotive, washing clothes, hauling in more groceries, filling my truck with recyclables from the weekend, painting, planning, doing projects that give me joy and educating these darlings of mine.

Nando's spelling grade was up and I bragged on him to him all morning. "That's what I love to see son," I crowed, guzzling my coffee, looking out the window to see my hen, Houdini, escape yet again. Dadgum, I should've emptied those leaves in the Ugly Greenhouse where the rooster and other hens could've scratched, but I swear I see my Japanese Maple smiling this morning with two feet of bountiful leaves stacked around its feet, corralling Friday night's rain where it can satiate its thirst via strong roots due to massive dumps of manure.

But I gotta go chase Houdini yet again...