First of all, two things: wind and rain. For the last 36 hours, we have been within a tropical storm at my house. The wind has done intermittent howling, and the rain has done rain aerobics -- to the left, to the right, horizontal, vertical and down, repeat eighty sets of reps. We've been saturated with information, and for a while, there seemed to be a tornado warning every half-hour or so. This is not as bad as it reads, because we've had power, phone and Internet throughout, and the things that might break off or be set askew by this sort of thing were all taken care of a week ago with bigger badder Gustav.
Second of all, the medium boy has been recovering from a low-grade temperature and an even lower grade ear infection. He hadn't even complained of ear pain, but he'd already been home from school and out of contact with the posse two days when the tropical storm happened, so he was quickly developing eight-year-old cabin fever. We'll call it CF. Now, eight-year-old CF is much worse than the adult variety, because at eight, a human is much less apt to suppress the whining and moaning symptoms and much more likely to try to make everyone else as miserable as you are. This of course, triggers the adult CF symptom of murderous tendencies. Since this is completely unacceptable, it usually manifests as a giant cutthroat Sorry tournament, after which Mr. Eight-Year-Old CF sufferer stomps off to his room, and becomes eerily quiet for wayyyy too long.
I wait and listen and finally hear this odd clomping out sound. Mr. CF had found his shoe skates, and was testing them out on my floors. In my house. Like that was perfectly allowed and normal. CF does very odd things to a human brain. I banished him yet again into his room, again with the quiet. Again with the emergence, this time even odder noises made. He'd figured out how to make his own heelys, since his mean mother who is convinced he'd fall and crack his skull won't let him have the real kind. He's wearing his nice, stable regular shoe skates, but has extended only the heel wheels and is attempting to give me a heart attack, after failing to get me to stroke out from just the regular skating.
Of course, due to the adult CF, a banshee briefly took control of my body and there was shrieking and screaming and whirling and dervishing and finally the shoe skates were forcibly removed (I half expected his feet to disappear like the Wicked Witch of the East under the house, so intense was the banshee fit...) and deposited into the back upper regions of The Bathroom Closet, the Bermuda Triangle of my house, things settled and we went on with life as it was.
Thank the weather gods that all was settling down, and by mid-afternoon today, there were posse members ringing the doorbell and all traces of Eight-Year-Old CF were poof, disintegrated. The shoe skates remain in the bathroom Bermuda Triangle. Maybe the spirits of redistribution will have a kind thought and really make those things vanish for good. I must have lost my mind for a moment when I bought them. It could have been the CF.
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