Friday Night Alternatives

One player is out of town, one has a cold, one has a birthday, one has studying, and one has a child who's been grounded. This leaves us with me, Hubby, and one-maybe-three others.

We plan to play Paranoia. It's apparently easily played as a one-off (it would be a two-off, as out-of-town-guy is out-of-town-again next week, but since Hubby and I plan to be at Norwescon next week (Deity and Job-Market Willing) that's moot). I've never played it, but we shall see. Might be fun.

Failing that, we'll go back to board games.

There was a certain amount of drama at dinner this evening; the big girls were dipping their popsicles into their juice drinks - and it got not very messy, but certainly very loud. So when they asked if they could play outside, the answer was pretty much don't-let-the-door-hit-you-on-the-way-out. So the menfolk - all two of them who made it this week - are looking at playing a good old-fashioned game - perhaps go or chess. I'll hang out on Facebook and here on my blog, the big kids'll tire themselves out (one can hope), and Lizzy can watch Backyardigans videos to her heart's content.

This assumes that the guys will actually play a game. Just at the moment, having eaten dinner, they are discussing unions in the education industry. It'll be an interesting night, whether we game or not.

Does it Really Rain That Much?

Cherry Blossoms at UW

They say it rains nine months of the year in Seattle.

It doesn't, of course - that's an exaggeration (although it is overcast much of that time). But they call it the Emerald City for a reason. And the old adage of April Showers Bring May Flowers (what do May Flowers bring? Pilgrims!) is certainly true around here. In fact, sitting on my couch, I can see rain, the effects of wind, and two types of spring flowers - cherry blossoms and daffodils - just by turning my head.

Daffodils at Pike Street Market

I'm a native; I like rain (or the webs between my toes start to dry out). I don't own an umbrella. My kids do - they're natives too - but at their ages it's more of a fashion statement than a weather accessory. My husband is from Texas and he doesn't count what we have here as 'real rain', presumably because it doesn't splat so hard it bounces - most of the time. Last night was interesting... one flash of lightning, one loud crash of thunder, and hail... in the evening sunlight.

We live north of the city, in an area known locally as "The Convergence Zone", which to me always sounds much more mystical or science-fictional than meteorological. Can't you just hear the disembodied feminine vaguely-British computer voice intoning, "You have entered the Convergence Zone. Please keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times. If you feel any ill effects while in the Convergence Zone, please contact an attendant immediately. Thank you."?

There's quite a large industry around Seattle's reputation for rain, in addition to the above jokes and stereotypes. A local city festival is called 'Bumbershoot'. There are innumerable buttons, T-shirts, bumper stickers and the like with this sort of joke on them. Our WNBA team is called the Seattle Storm.There are even books about creatures in the rain at the top of the Space Needle.

And I... I just wrote an entire blog post about the weather.

Imaginawy Fwiends

Ann Who Lives at Ann's House is outside - apparently in the cherry trees - blowing bubbles in the rain. Silver Ann is sick and at her doctor. Gold Ann is on vacation; she's at her "Gwamma's house and she's coming home at 6:30, ha ha ha, af-tah a bi-ig me-al". (This entire line was presented in the nanny-nanny-boo-boo sing-song manner). The Other Ann - who lives at Andy's house - is also sick, and she's at his doctor. It is unclear whether this is gender pronoun confusion on the part of the 3yo, or whether the Other Ann is at Andy's doctor.

There are a lot more people at Chez Gamers' Babes than you thought there were, huh?

Abby had her share - most notably Teetey and Roni - who were twins, orphans whose parents had died in imaginary quicksand and were thereafter adopted by Abby. Teetey especially was adventuresome - one day Abby was hysterical because Teetey had run away to "the bad dark forest with the fireballs" and wouldn't come back. (Come to think of it, the Fireball Forest and the Quicksand may have the same source).  She turned up the next day in Abby's cubby at daycare, but she required multiple "p'tend bandages" for the burns.

That's not even counting Gnaythan the Gnome (and his niece Gnalanna), Man-Mountain Mike, Cronin the Cloak Fighter, Ticto the Dreamspeaker (and his granddaughter Marian the Librarian Speaker-to-Made-Things), Maskar Wands, Good Witch Tivona, Gryphon-Rider Rica and assorted visiting - yes, on Friday nights - characters in games from all matter of universes (and multi-verses for that matter).

Is it nature or nurture? I mean, Lizzy did - at two - define role-playing as "Daddy tells you a stowy and you tell one back". (insert whomever is game-mastering in place of "Daddy" as needed; she's pretty gamer-savvy). Abby has been around it all her life too; her dad and I played - although different game systems - when we were married. Or is there some sort of inborn gamer-gene or writer-gene or just imagination-gene that predisposes us to this odd social outlet?

It was THAT kind of day...

...and yet I did not freak out.

You're on your way out of the house, trying to take 2nd-grader to school.

And you cannot find your keys.

Uh-oh. Yep, there it is. That sinking feeling that you know exactly what happened here. Your mind races and you think oh no... I bet - I just bet - that the expletive keys are locked in the expletive car. And you'd be right. They are locked in the car. You can see them. They're on the back seat, wedged between the toddler's child seat and the door. They must have fallen from your purse when you got the child out yesterday evening, and since your spouse was home and the front door was unlocked, you didn't notice.

Well... expletive.

Under normal circumstances you'd call your mom who has the spare key, but she's on vacation and out of town. So you text your neighbor (she has a new baby and you don't want to call or knock and risk waking the baby) and she calls back (because it's faster than texting). Of course you can borrow her car long enough to take Abby to school. Come on over and she'll give you the keys. And you feel stupid even though you know this sort of thing happens to everyone now and again. But you go over and you get the keys and she reassures you that it's not a big deal. You get Abby to school and call the neighbor from the school parking lot. Does she want a latte or anything? No, she doesn't need one, thanks.

You return the keys and spend the day at home, job hunting online and paying bills and doing laundry and so forth, fixing the toddler exactly what she wants for lunch ("the soft paht of a quesadilla, a stick of stwing cheese, two pickles, and an owange please, with a packet of fwuit snacks foh desseht"), and waiting for your spouse to come home from work so you can take the van to pick Abby up at school and use the key to Grandma's house to get the spare key.

And when you get to Grandma's place? The spare is not there. Expletive expletive expletive. Sigh. You run your other errands, come home, call the roadside assist guys, and get them to send someone out to unlock your expletive car, which  takes ninety expletive seconds once the guy is there.

And yet I did not freak out (aside from a few muttered expletives). I'm pretty proud of myself.

Dishes and Laundry and Cartoons oh My

I'm not a great stay-at-home parent. Of course, I've never been in a position to be at-home by choice, only between jobs or during snow days. Since I'd rather be anywhere else under those circumstances, I find it difficult to stay in the moment with the kids.

And I have no patience for the constant random noise. Giggling, great. Chatting with each other, terrific. Playing clapping games, even better. I enjoy having conversations with my girls and hearing them have conversations themselves or with their toys or imaginary friends. Silver Ann, the Other Ann, and Ann Who Lives at Ann's House got quite a workout from Lizzy today and that was fun to listen to.

But I cannot stand the baby talk and whining. Lizzy has more than adequate speech skills for her age (in spite of the Elmer Fudd lack-of-the-letter-R) and she can darn well use them. When she literally says, "Cookie, wahhhhh" it makes me want to scream. (For the record, I don't; I just inform her that I cannot understand baby talk).

And I have even less patience for Abby trying to get my attention with random statements that she knows are nonsense (No, I do not have Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle's phone number and are we going to have to have the fantasy vs. reality discussion again, kid?) and loud math homework. I know her teacher doesn't let her yell out the numbers she's adding together or make loud shrieks with no words at all, so why must she do it here? Or the answer to every question asked in the household, whether it's addressed to her or no. That answer is either "chicken" or "eyeballs". God only knows why.

Since I am actively looking for a job, I can't give them my full attention 24/7. I imagine that's what they want, and why they persist in the random behaviors that they know irritate me. Any attention is better than none at all, of course. It would be nice, though, if they actually understood me - instead of just claiming to - when I tell them they need to play with x, y, or z for twenty minutes while I take another pass at my local craigslistings.

Out of the Mouths...

A few choice quotes this weekend...

Abby, 8:

Regarding Hermione Granger ~ "She's kind of a know-it-all", but you really should listen to her".

"Mom, this lip gloss I left in the car last summer and it melted? If we put it in the freezer would it get solid again?"
"Sorry, no, it doesn't work that way."
"Oh. It must be an irreversible change then. Growing up is irreversible change too."

When faced with the word "tenacity" in a children's show, and told it means "never giving up", she asked, "Wait. Isn't that perseverance?"

Lizzy, 3:

"Do they call these Kix because theyah shape like balls? Foh kicking?"

When using a word nobody had heard her use before, and asked, "Where did that come from?" Her answer? "Fwom my mouth." With the unspoken "duh" in that tone. You know the tone.