Today forgot to eat breakfast and slept in late. Everyone, especially Lola's 2cd grade teacher, knows that getting a late start sets everything off on the wrong foot.
I woke and stepped out into our Christmas explosion. The living room is inundated with kitch I inherited from my mother-in-law, half of which I am packing up and storing, but which is meanwhile making merry in my home. Mr. Curry lay on the couch, hoodie up, watching a TV documentary about the Colombian mass murderer and drug lord, Pablo Escaban. The boys, both of which were raised without toy guns or violent images allowed, played an M rated video game in Dakota's room. I could hear their howls of violent glee. The dog raised his head and barked at them before settling his head back into the couch pillow that is absolutely not allowed to be on the floor, which was next to the cream colored faux fur blanket that is absolutely not allowed to be on the floor either. Lola was still sleeping at 9:40am. We were supposed to be leaving at about 9am for taking the Christmas picture and buying the Christmas tree.
I washed my face and told the boys to turn off the game and brush the dogs. I woke Lola and asked her to get in the bathroom for a shower. I rubbed Mr. Curry's head and kissed the dog.
20 minutes later I rose my voice at the boys and demanded they get off the game, told Lola to hurry up and dry off and what WAS she doing with my makeup in the steam filled bathroom? and asked Mr. Curry if he was ready to leave. The television yelled loudly about the imminent death of many innocent Columbians in 1992 and I realized the dog brush had broken last week and the boys could not clean the dog coats for our Christmas picture and then I stepped in a wet spot on the floor and realized I had wet my last pair of socks on the kitchen floor.
5 minutes later I marched into the boys room and turned off the TV- which they are not allowed to have in their room as I have told them their entire lives- said in an even but POWERFUL voice that they should get up NOW and get ready. Dakota smiled at me. I felt the smile as a woman feels a 'friendly' slap on the ass from a man she has just cursed out. I licked my chapped top lip and the downturn of my mouth let tears leak into my eyes. I turned quickly before the boys could see them. I'm supposed to be even, in control. You don't let teenagers see you sweat. They are like sharks who smell blood from miles away in salty stormy waters.
Mr. Curry got up off the couch and Pablo Escaban was escorting his family to the airport in attempts to flee the Los Pepes who were killing everyone associated with Pablo. I escorted my family out the door and into the car. Lola sat between Ian and Dakota and yelled loudly at Ian for poking her in the side and Ian laughed at her and I told him to stop and Mr. Curry sighed very loudly but not loudly enough for the kids to hear. Just me. The sky was grey and overcast and wrong for taking cheerful ' California Christmas ' pictures, as our cards usually say.
We got to the parking lot of Wal-Mart and I hurried inside, purchased a dog brush and dog treats as bribes to get them to look up and happy at the camera for our Christmas pictures and hurried back to the car and as we left I realized Dakota had worn the wrong color sweater. I told you to wear black or dark blue, I said. Mr. Curry drove us back to the house and went through his own sweaters, found one for Dakota, who was loudly/softly ( this is the definition of passive aggressive in case you were unsure) complaining about how I was ruining everyone's day. Lola began to begin to start to maybe cry, because she was starving, because I forgot to feed her.
We drove to the park, got out, and Dakota began to very slowly bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuush the dogs. Hurry, please, I said. He shrugged, and bruuuuushed the dogs. Lola began to collect the large clumps of dirty dog hair in her hands, while jumping like a bunny on the very dirty parking lot cement. Lola stop that, I said. Dakota I'll just do it, I said. I brushed the dogs and Dakota snickered at me. Ian began to also snicker at me, because Ian is 13 and thinks that Dakota is pretty much the Boy that created Boys. Lola kept hopping and playing with dog hair, ignoring me. Why are they ALL ignoring me! I thought. Lola that's enough! I growled, and grabbed her by the arm, pulled her toward Mr. Curry. Go to your dad, right now! Lola looked at me with surprise and hurt and I felt like a piece of shit. Mr. Curry, who was feeling very bummy and sad today and trying to take perhaps a few hours off of being an enforcer ( which he has more than earned, trust me ) leaned against the car.