With rather sadistic grins on our faces, Chris and I got the children up and ready for school today. There is nothing as wonderful as the sight of buses taking children away after a school vacation! Please understand, I love my two kids with all of my heart and soul, but there comes a point when you hear your name called for the hundredth time and you want to run away from home. I hit a breaking point after a few days where I want to tell Melissa what I really think about Hanna Montana and the urge to make the Barbie dolls into a mobile worthy of a sociopath are unbearable. It’s a moment when Mark plays the Chipmunks singing “Single Ladies” yet again and has the television showing yet more Spongebob and Patrick that I want to run screaming from the house while shouting curses no child should hear.
As the children are thrown onto their respective buses and taken to school, I take a brief inventory of my invaded world. A fleet of multicolored ponies are being led by the rubber squeaky Turtle on a suicide mission straight into a bowl of congealed cereal, which is tilted at the very top of a stack of dishes in the sink. The desk chair has been fatally stabbed by a bronze pirate sword and there is a plastic doll with fear in its eyes attempting to drown itself in Chris’s old coffee mug. Every single Disney Princess my daughter owns is sprawled naked under the dining room table, it looks like Spring Break Gone Wild and I don’t think her Mariposa Prince Doll has any regrets.
There is a headless chocolate rabbit hidden under Melissa’s pillow and three empty flat goldfish bags under Mark’s blankets. Two scooters are mating in my pantry and a Bratz bike with helmet sits in the kitchen at the fridge, perhaps hungry. The refrigerator has an empty, violated look about it, nothing left inside except empty containers and a few leftovers that are softly singing “We Shall Overcome” in the back. I almost checked under the couch cushions to see what might be under there but when I lifted the corner of one cushion a deep voice said, “Go away” from underneath and so I did.
Perhaps I should just put a sign on the door that says “House Out of Order, Please Use Next House” and move on. There is an angry-looking cat that I do not own in my living room, eating what appears to be a chicken nugget. The bathroom sink has stubble again, an entire bar of soap is being forced down the drain by eight pounds of hair, and as usual Mark had missed the toilet. “Nothing here a good arsonist couldn’t fix.” I mutter to myself and go get a cup of tea. At least the kids are back to school.