Our saga continues….. (Click here for previous installment)

 

High noon.  The sun beat down on us in between a smattering of clouds.  A small trickle of sweat made its way down his forehead, and he brushed it away slowly as his gaze locked with mine.  If he had any reservations, he showed no sign of it.  The corner of his mouth was lifted in a crooked grin before he spat onto the dusty ground.  We faced each other, the same motive in mind: one of us would be going down.  His hand stayed at his side, half curled and ready for action.  Neither one of us flinched as we held our ground and stared the other down.  It was showtime, the hour of truth when all would be decided in a moment.

There was no sound around us except for the vagrant wind.  All souls had scattered upon our arrival, sensing the tension for weeks as the war built up between us.  It was destined to happen eventually, this final battle to see who would still be standing after the draw. 

A shadow passed over the road and my furrowed brow lifted to see that we had company.  He, too, looked over, acknowledging this new arrival with a nod and a smirk.  Her tussled hair blew in the wind, swirling around her face in brown and blonde.  She never once tamed it with her hands as she took her place beside her brother and faced me.  My heart pumped a little faster as my predicament came to light.  I was in a bad box.  I had been prepared to face down one.  But I did not know if I could handle two.  However, I only let my surprise register for a second before regaining my composure and glaring back at them with conviction.  The sun glinted off the shiny star pinned to my vest, reminding me of the importance of victory.  The crime in this town had gone on long enough, it was time for me to take back the law of the land. 

The blood coursed hotly through my body, pounding its rhythm with each beat in my ears.  My shirt clung to me in wet patches from the heat of the sun and the sticky sweat from anticipation.  I held my own hand at my side, flicking a finger slightly, willing them to make their move.  I was ready.

DRAW!

“I am taking your Xbox and all your games until further notice,” I hissed, taking the first shot.

“I don’t care,” he said.  I had missed, and he nicked me with his first shot.  I staggered slightly, but caught myself and stood back up.  His sister stared coolly back at me as he reloaded and got ready for the next round.

“Your Nintendo DS is mine,” I shot at her.

“Take it, it’s lying on the couch,” she shot back calmly. 

0 for 2.  I was losing steam quickly.  And I could tell they had barely begun.  I racked my brain for a strategy and felt like I was grasping at straws. 

“TV,” I gasped. “No more TV at all!”

They fired back grins, letting me know that I had missed again as I was hit twice in the leg.  I fell to one knee, sweat and blood trickling to the ground as the world went in and out of focus.

‘Fight harder,’ I told myself.  ‘They think they have you.  Catch them off guard.  You still have an ace in your pocket, use it.’

I staggered to my feet.  Both of them faced me again, their stances a little more relaxed with hands on their hips, grinning back at me in my weakened state.

“Reinforcements,” I croaked. 

The fear was unmistakable in their eyes as I was joined by two figures, one on each side of me.

“Your impending Disneyland trip is about to eat gravel,” my mother told them.  “If you do not toe the line and mind your mother, you will be staying home with me while she goes without you.  And I have plenty of toilets that need cleaning.”

Both kids were knocked off their feet by the blast.  They cowered in fear, huddled together as my father’s shadow fell upon them.

“And if I ever hear that you have been disrespecting your mother again, you will have to answer to me.  Believe me, you would rather deal with your mother,” my father said sternly, delivering the final blow.

My parents left them wounded in the corner, coming back over to me as my strength was recovering.

“You’re in charge now.  You can handle it,” my father said, his hand on my shoulder.

“We have faith in you,” my mother said.  And they hopped on their steeds and rode off, their dark silhouettes melting into the sunset.  My badge had fallen in the dirt, and I bent to retrieve it, dusting it off.  The silver shone back at me once again, and I pinned it to my vest.  I then turned around slowly to face my children who were still huddled together.  They were shaking in fear as they looked up at me with pleading eyes.

“Get upstairs now and make sure your room is spotless,” I said firmly, my strength fully regained.  They both jumped up without a word and raced up the stairs.  “And when you’re done with that, clean the bathroom.  Don’t forget the toilet,” I called after them.

“Yes Mom!” they called back.

This battle is over.  Well….at least for today.

Sometimes you get, sometimes you get got, and sometimes you email winecountrymom@winecountrymom.com.

Wine Country Mom cannot think of anything nice to write here about her children.  So she has graciously asked me, Poetic Goddess, to step in and entertain all two of her fans.  Because of the current circumstances, I am dedicating this one to her.  

 

Ruby Red

by Poetic Goddess

 

 

 

Ruby Red,

take me far from here,

down to the depths 

of your ocean

where the bubbles melt like 

ice cream

dancing on my tongue

and the seasons 

change 

from dark to bright

to a mellowed out 

tangerine afternoon

of blissful laughter

evaporating into the wind.

Take me to your

sandy shores

of sugary rims 

and lime wedges,

where worry is a fable

and time was heard of once

but has lost its 

meaning in translation

from generations of 

storytellers

that tell of lands far away

who still hold onto strange customs

of deadlines & agendas

and carpools & schedules,

shopping lists, calendars,

and an odd little book 

of numbers & decimals

that must be catered to & balanced,

but that always manages to 

still lean to the left.

Ruby Red,

whisk me off to your island

so I can walk your 

shores of eternity

and wrap myself in your 

breath of salt

and lose myself in the call of the sea

as I drift into oblivion

after drowning in your sweet kiss

of icy cold warmth

and your dizzying seduction of daydreams.

 

 

Sip cocktails with Wine Country Mom on the private island in her mind at winecountrymom@winecountrymom.com.

 The ending of yesterday’s post was the short version.  Here’s the longer side of the story.

 The artichokes were already cooked on the stove.  Truth is, they were softer than I wanted them to be.  I still had to make the biscuits, caramelize the onions, add the squash, and cook the chicken before mixing in the onions and squash.  I turned off the burner, but kept them in the water just to keep them warm.  The table was full of the day’s debris, and the day before’s debris, and debris from the day before that.  The laundry I had folded that morning still lay in piles on the couch.  I moved around my kitchen, getting more and more frustrated because the tight quarters were even tighter as dishes piled up in the sink.  There was just so much to do in such a short amount of time.  It was already coming on 8 pm, and the chicken was still sitting raw in the marinade.

 My son sat at the table doing his homework, trying to alphabetize his spelling list, and getting close to tears as he came towards the end to only find that he had skipped a word that started with C.  He had to erase everything and start all over again.  My daughter lay on the couch, looking through a catalog of Halloween costumes, trying to figure out which costume she wanted to get.  I couldn’t get past the mess in the house, and the fact that we had nowhere to eat when the food was done cooking.

 I needed help.

 ”Hon, could you please help me out by putting the laundry away and clearing the table?” I asked my daughter.

 ”Not right now,” was her answer, as if I were actually asking.  I was a little taken back, but I let it slide.  Thinking that she had maybe 2 minutes left with the catalog, I asked her to please do what I asked her as soon as she was done.

 15 minutes later she was still in the same position.  My son had given up on his homework at this point and was bouncing on the couches.  I was frazzled and could not bear the mess any longer.

 ”Get up and start putting the clothes away,” I told my daughter.  “And you,” I said to my son, “get back to the table and finish your homework.”

 ”I put the clothes away,” my daughter said as I eyed the stack of jeans still sitting on the couch.  It was true, her clothes were now missing from the couch.  But the rest of the clothes remained.  And the kitchen table was untouched.

 ”Put your brother’s clothes away -” I started before she interrupted me.

 ”Why doesn’t he have to help?” she complained.

 ”He’s doing his homework!” I said, tensely. “Put his clothes away, put mine neatly on my bed, pick up anything that’s on the floor, then clear the table so we have somewhere to eat.”

 ”Why should I have to clean up his stuff?” she asked darkly.  I stopped in my tracks, placed my hands on my hips and stared her down with my famous “mom stare”.

 ”You know what, you’re right.  And why should I cook your dinner?  I’m making my own dinner, you can fend for yourself,” I said.

 ”Ok,” she said, unphased.  I nearly lost it.

 ”Go to your room.  Get ready for bed.  You’re not eating anything.”

 ”But I’m cleaning!” she said, suddenly very interested in picking up her brother’s pile of jeans and heading up the stairs.  I had too much smoke coming out of my ears to argue with her.  Plus, the fire alarm was about to go off since the biscuits were in the oven, or maybe from the ear smoke.  And as if on cue the alarm sounded.  The kids started to fight over the chores.  The mess remained.  The onions were cooking too slowly.  And I was at my wit’s end.  My daughter was back on the couch and the living room looked the same as before, minus a stack of clothing.  My concerned neighbor knocked on the door and my daughter opened it to reveal the still thrashed living room with the theme music of shrill beeping.  It was pure and utter chaos.  As soon as the door was shut again, I once again expressed my wishes very sweetly, but this time was a lot louder and angrier, and both kids jumped up to get it done.  It still ended up not perfect, but at least I could sit down at the table.

 After dinner the homework struggle resumed.  I attempted to get my son to finish his homework while also getting his sister to go upstairs and get ready for bed. Both kids blatantly ignored me in favor of wrestling on the couch.  I couldn’t stand it any longer.

 “Fine!” I said.  “You don’t want a parent?  Then I’m done!” I said, getting up from the table and grabbing my keys and phone.   On my way to the door, my daughter shot me a look that said, ‘I know you’re kidding, but I’ll play along.’  She was about to be shocked.

 I had visions of traveling all night, drive to San Diego, or maybe just until I ran out of gas.  I had dreams of absolute silence, reading a book start to finish, writing forty pages of a new novel without stopping, relaxing in a place with no laundry or toys, no whining about unwanted dinners or the lack of dessert, no fights over bedtime or who has to take first shower, no soccer practice or driving 50 million places that have nothing to do with me and everything to do with the kids…  Seriously, what parent has NOT fantasized about just picking up and leaving? But this wasn’t really what I was going to do.  My plan was to circle the block and cool down, shake them up enough to calm down and calm myself down, then get back to the house and start over. 

 I put the key in the ignition, and saw my kids run out to the sidewalk.  My daughter later confessed that she did think I was kidding until her brother ran outside to come get me.  It was then that she realized that maybe I wasn’t kidding.  I rolled down the window.  My son had tears, actually scared that I was going to leave him.  And I felt bad for even allowing that thought to fester, allowing him to believe that I would ever leave them for even a second. 

 “Would you really have left?” they asked me later, once we were back in the kitchen.

 “No,” I said.  “I just get frustrated trying to raise the two of you when you refuse to acknowledge me.  The only way this family is going to work is if the two of you help me, and if you follow the directions I give you.”

 The rest of the night went really smooth.  And the kids went to bed with a kiss on the cheek, a promise of love, and wishes of good night.  And the next afternoon my son told me I didn’t care about him because we were skipping his kickboxing to make it to his sister’s soccer game.

 Oh, if I could clone myself for the sake of my children…..I’d let the clones take over and I’d be sipping margaritas on a warm beach far, far away.

 Pass me the saltshaker at winecounty.singlemom@yahoo.com