Welcome to the KingZoo and Funny Farm, where we learn to live, laugh, and love together. Here you'll find snippets of life in our zoo, parenting tips we've learned along the way, reflections on shining God's light in this world, passions in the realm of orphan care, and our journey as parents of a visually impaired child with sensory processing disorder. Have fun!

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Some days...

Some days are like that. Even in Australia.

I woke up at 2:00 because someone was snoring very loudly. I couldn't fall back to sleep.

I found a half-eaten bag of almonds on the floor. I picked it up and mentioned to the Good Doctor that it was a good thing the dog apparently didn't like almonds. I assumed that since the bag was not empty, the dog had not sampled and gorged himself. I was wrong. Later in the day as Isaac and I were having a conversation over baking cookies, the dog did his business right there on the floor beside us. I'll spare you the details but yes, almonds were involved.

I drove by Panera Bread and decided to treat myself. The kind lady at the register told me that I had a free soup on my Panera card. Sure, I'd love some soup with my chai. But the chai dropped out of my hand as I opened the front door. I came in, put the soup on the table, went into the laundry room because a mom's work is never done...and returned to find our formerly blonde dog now a nice calico red and blonde. The soup container, of course, was empty.

During his nap time, Victor found out that he had grown and could now reach the window shade. No, I don't have cords hanging from my shades. I may be an over-the-hill mother but I'm not that stupid. Let's just say that the shade used to have a bottom section with a piece of wood going through, to hold onto when pulling but it no longer has a bottom portion. And the reason his bed was this close to the window? I had moved it away from the wall where Mr. Victor was playing with the pictures. So he decided to play with the shade. I threatened to move his crib to the middle of the room. He promised to stop getting into trouble.

The phone rang off the hook today. The land line rarely rings. One of the phone calls was from a certain child's bus driver. My heart sank. I thought the worst. This child can't get kicked off the bus; I don't have time to drive all the way to the other side of Harrisburg and back. Twice. Daily. She was calling to tell me that this child wears too much deodorant and it gives her a headache. Now, before you assume that this employee of the bus service should have more serious things to worry about, let me provide some background. I have told this child the same thing, more than once. In fact, I have come to believe that this child wears this much of this kind of deodorant simply because it gives me a headache. I have refused to replace the empty deodorant bar with the same kind so the child simply coerced the Good Doctor into going shopping to buy another when the time came. Now we get to have a delightful conversation about hygiene; not the lack thereof, but the super-indulgence of. It does beg the question, if it's not the enjoyment of giving me a headache that motivates the caking on of scent, is there someone who we are trying to impress?

My teenagers have not been very responsible about school information. And somehow I did not receive a school calendar this year and my friends have given me mixed reviews about whether or not such a document actually exists. So I had to consult Facebook to find out what time Back-to-School night was to begin. I then had to decide which child's schedule I wanted to follow. Do I play favorites? Or do I try to guess which teacher is most judgmental and would peg me as an uninvolved parent if I don't show up to receive the same papers that my child brought home on the first day of school? Or maybe I just follow the junior's schedule since the senior has two periods of internship followed by more study halls than a football playing slacker? I chose the junior. All she had to do at this point was send me to her advisory group. She knew his name (good thing) but sent me to the wrong room. The correct room, mind you, was on the other side of the building. The math teacher tried to convince me that algebra is understandable to all students. I didn't audibly argue with her; just in my head. Then in choir, someone forgot to inform the choir director that maybe, just maybe, not all of his students got their vocal talents from their parents. Or maybe, just maybe, the parent who passed along the musical genes just happens to feign an allergy to Back-to-School night? He made us sing. But the chemistry teacher blew something up, a prelude to my child's Fire Friday spectacle. So maybe that made up for everything else?

And then I took some silly little time-wasting quiz on Facebook, Which song was written about you?  Survey says... Wild Thing.

Ummmmm, no, I don't think so. No one has ever used those two words as descriptors of me. Maybe it was referring to my day?

Note: These may or may not have all happened in the same day but since a day is like a thousand years... and it made for a better story this way, too.

Always look on the bright side of life...

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