Remember all the drama about preschool?  All my bad behavior?  For naught, I say.  We moved and now that preschool is just too far for me to be schlepping across the world so The Boy can have Music and Movement on Thursdays.  Our options are limited here in the country but I stumbled upon Another preschool.  A preschool that requires that I get another job just to fund it.  It costs more than a full semester at Community College but 1/2 the cost of The Babysitter.  So I had to get a second job.  It’s all good, right?

So tonight was parent/teacher night.  Only yesterday did I realize that not only did I have to pay for school, I was also expected to volunteer 15 hours of my time.  I guess that would be 15 hours of our family time.  But I just can’t see The Husband making baked goods for some meeting but whatever.  There was something about Campbell Soup Labels but apparently those in the school administration haven’t gotten the memo about how Campbell’s soup is no longer “good food.”  I mean, all the sodium.  But back to the meeting. 

I got all gussied up and The Babysitter came over after her parent/teacher conferences to watch The Offspring while we went to our conference. 

The Babysitter:  Well look at you.
K:  I bathed. 
The Babysitter:  I noticed.  And look at those shoes (pointing to the closest thing I get to FMP’s these days).
K:  I’m dressed to impress.  Are you glad to know that there are parents out there that get dressed up to meet the teacher?
The Babysitter/New Teacher-come-Tuesday:  Yeah, I never notice that.

So the teachers don’t care?  I put on deodorant for THIS?

We went to the meeting.  Can I say it is a rare occasion when we are not only nearly the youngest people in the room, but also clearly the hippest.  It’s safe to say that my black high heels were the only ones in the room.  Everyone else was wearing Birkenstocks. Had babies in slings. Openly nursing elementary-aged children.  (OK, not really but wouldn’t it make for a better story?)  It’s rare these days when I am the “main-stream-person-not-embarrassing-others-with-my-suddenly-disturbingly-crunchy-behavior.”  I had to reintroduce myself to The Boy’s teacher who opening admitted that she didn’t recognize me from our meeting 7 hours earlier.

Do I really look that bad normally?

I called Jen to discuss how incredibly out of our element we are at The Other Preschool. 

Jen:  You didn’t know this about The Other Preschool?
K:  No.
Jen:  Really?  It’s pretty much common knowledge.
K:  No.  I’m there because someone said it would make The Boy mentally exhausted by the end of the day . I felt like a Pilgrim on the Mayflower, heading toward the New World so my children can have the freedom to learn in the manner we seek.
Jen: A Pilgrim?
K: Separatist, if you will. Like we have just split from the Church of England because of Henry’s poor behavior.
Jen: What does Derek think?
K: He didn’t even know what I was talking about when I made the Pilgrim joke. Once they promised that there would be wine at the Parent Indoctrination meetings, he was sold.

He’s consistent, that husband of mine.  You can’t fault a man for going with his true beliefs.  And “Mommy Needs A Cocktail” t-shirt sales at the school?  Not gonna happen.  Of that, I am VERY, VERY sure. 

First and foremost, my husband hid the secret that a large percentage of his family is functionally insane.  Information that may have been helpful to know BEFORE our wedding reception.

Second would be a little insight I received when I got a lovely package from Jeannine this weekend.  I met Jeannine at Blogher and she just happened to read my review of Becoming Jane.  Realizing that I am a Jane. Austen. freak. she sent me this little care package.

That’s right, folks.  There is a Jane Austen action figure.  Action Figure.  That’s how it’s described.  How cool is that?  I freaked out.

K:  LOOK what I got in the mail?
The Husband:  What is that book?
K:  A Jane Austen ANTHOLOGY.  Now I won’t have to go from book to book.  I can just thumb open any novel at any time.
The Husband:  Is that good?
K:  Excuse me?
The Husband:  Is that a good present?  That huge book filled with Jane Austen?
K:  That is the BEST present.
The Husband:  That’s funny.
K:  What’s so funny about it?
The Husband:  It’s just funny that you are all excited about getting that huge book of Jane Austen and just today I found my Jane Austen cliff notes from high school.
K:  w–h–a–t?
The Husband:  (too male to understand the dangerous precipice upon which he is standing) Please, babe.  At least I read her. What guy can understand Jane Austen? 
K:  Um, my ex-boyfriend understood Jane Austen.
The Husband:  Which one?
K:  The gay one. 
The Husband:  Excuse me.  Excluding the GAY EX-BOYFRIEND, what man understands Jane Austen?

I didn’t even care that he didn’t understand Jane Austen. I just couldn’t get beyond the cliff notes. It’s just so wrong.

This morning I got up to make hash for breakfast.  I can barely abide more than five bites of beef for dinner, but fry it up with diced potatoes, onion, garlic, a little bacon and leftover roasted peppers and “BAM!”  You’ve got the breakfast of champions. 

I opened the fridge door and peered in.

K:  Have you seen those two ribeyes leftover from dinner the other night?
The Husband:  They were in the fridge.
K:  Can you look?  Because maybe I’m just not seeing them. 
The Husband:  (searching oh so methodically)  Nope.  Maybe they are in the other fridge?
K:  I specifically remember putting them in the fridge after I cooked hash for breakfast yesterday.
The Husband:  Maybe Zinni got them.  Are you sure you put them in the fridge?
K:  $16 worth of meat?  Ah, YEAH.  I made a point to put it in the fridge immediately because we know how The Dog can be.
The Husband:  (working his way down the guilt chain, yelling to The Boy in the other room)  Did you take the meat out of the fridge?
The Boy:  Yes. 
The Husband:  Where did you put it?
The Boy:  By the coffee maker on the counter.

You have GOT to be kidding me. Yeah, there was some vague conversation yesterday when I was on the computer about him being hungry and some vague behavior regarding the fridge, but really? Either The Dog got an opposing thumb and opened the fridge himself or he had an accomplice.

There was one large ziploc bag on the floor in the kitchen yesterday. Since there were no signs of forced entry upon the bag, The Husband said he just picked it up and put in the trash. He said he thought that it had fallen out of the trash.

The Dog hasn’t eaten any dog food in two days.

I guess it’s safe to say my investigation is now closed. And a lock is going on the fridge today. Now I have to go eat my diced potatoes and onions.

The Husband:  Yeah.  You checked the “no” box for whether or not you have ever been married.
K:  I know.  I wasn’t married before.
The Husband:  You are married.
K:  Crap.  I am.  I am married.
The Husband:  Thanks, babe. 
K:  No, really.  I didn’t mean “crap, I am married” but more of a “crap I can’t believe with this house and these kids that I forgot I was married.”  I mean, I thought they meant “have you been married before, like, this husband.”
The Husband:  R-i-g-h-t.  So what about the “if you have been widowed and when” question?
K:  Just write “to be determined.” “Possibly sooner rather than later.”
The Husband: Very funny.  

You know that crappy airline that I have been whining about recently?  Well, they are now threatening to take back all our miles that we have hoarded like they are the last pound of butter during the Depression.  Something about expiration dates.

OK, maybe I wasn’t hoarding mine.  I’m all about doing what it takes to get out of peasant class so maybe on occasion I have used miles to spring for the old upgrade.  I prefer to use The Husband’s miles but every once in a while he’d catch me and go all crazy on me.  Something about theft, I don’t know.  Something about using them for our “round the world” vacation that is clearly not going to happen with these damn kids.  Not that I wouldn’t take them around the world.  It’s just that The Boy is fiesty after a 2 hour puddle jumper with limited oxygen masks available for an in flight pressure change issue.  Can you even imagine how he would be somewhere over Nepal?  It’s all The Husband’s fault for telling me his password.  There is no honor in frequent flyer miles.  Why would I use mine when I can just as easily use yours?  Wrong, I know, but it’s an upgrade-eat-upgrade world.

On what I assure you is a totally unrelated note, Carl, you are invited over to dinner.  I just need your FF password….  For informational purposes only, of course. 

Now it seems that the “we-are-going-to-make-your-miles-that-you-can-never-use-anyway” disappear.  Or some of them.  We really can’t get a straight answer from anyone.  All I know is that we are talking about a LOT of miles.  Impossible to use, but The Husband is on the hunt to Use Those Miles If It’s The Last Thing He Does By Golly.  Which means I am going to have to bite the bullet and get a new passport.

I can’t believe I let it expire and didn’t renew it immediately.  You would think that the Queen Of The Trip To London Just For Lunch On Her Birthday would sleep with her passport under her pillow. 

Kids ruined me.  No really.  I had the hottest passport picture known to man.  I was smokin’ hot.  Tan.  Young.  Unwrinkled.  And I don’t mean my clothes.  Then I got married/passport expired/had a baby/fell apart.  I just kept telling myself that I would renew my passport when I looked better.  I mean, I still had Canada.

No longer.  And I have no money for Botox so it looks like this lines in my face that represent the fact that I am NOT young anymore aren’t going away.  So tomorrow I will have The Husband take my passport picture. 

With hair in a ponytail, Chapstick on my lips and probably a baby in my arms–just out of the camera’s view.  It’s either that or Cincinnati.  I guess that makes it a no-brainer.

The Husband:  Did you just call The Baby “Bill”?
K:  Yes.
The Husband:  Is there a reason you are calling The Baby by the name of Bill?
K:  I don’t know. That’s what The Boy is calling him today.
The Husband: His name isn’t Bill.
K: (so thankful that THAT clarification was made because I was confused) I know his name isn’t Bill. But he is only responding to the name “Bill” today so I’m going with it.

I swear to you.  When The Baby gets up in the morning, his brother greets him with “Your name is (insert name of the day).” 

The Baby then responds to whatever his name is that day.  Two days ago he was “Toby.”  I don’t know why The Boy picked “Toby” and I don’t know why The Baby actually responded to the name “Toby.” All I know is that he won’t listen otherwise. He has also become the full-time gas attendant for both The Boy’s tricycle AND his Big Boy Bike. The Boy rides precariously close to his brother’s appendages, yells “FILL HER UP” and The Baby leans over as if he is filling the imaginary gas tank.

Every single time.

It’s bizarre, frankly. And this bond these two already have? I’m sure they will be using their powers for good. Really I am.