Come Play With Me, Mommy...Forever...and Ever...and Ever...

Evil little movie kids spook me out, man. Think of The Exorcist, The Sixth Sense, The Other, and of course, The Shining and you'll know what I mean.

The movie that creeped me out to the point that I lost sleep was The Ring. I rented it one weekend when John was out of town. After the movie was over, I thought, "Whoo. That was the best movie scare I've had in a while."

Then it was time for bed.

Every time I closed my eyes I kept seeing that girl come out of the well and creep toward me with her weird, jerky movements. I kept imagining that if I got out of bed and walked down the darkened hallway, she would be there in the dark with her hair all covering her face. Or that if I went down the stairs, she would be behind me to push me. ("Clinically insane" is such a strong term. I prefer to think of myself as having an "active imagination.")

I turned the TV back on and watched MTV and infomercials to try to keep myself from imagining that little girl standing just outside the door. I think I finally fell asleep at dawn.

When John came home the next day, he noticed that I looked like hell. I told him I hadn't slept because I had watched a scary movie, but I didn't tell him the plot. He just laughed at me and was all like "Daddy's home now."

A few days later, I was using the computer in our bonus room when John walked in.
"I had a weird experience the other day," he started, and gestured toward the large child's playhouse that was in the bonus room at the time.

"I was walking across the room toward the window, when I could have sworn I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a small child moving in the playhouse. But when I looked, there was nothing there."

My blood ran cold. "A...s-s-s-small child?" I knew John wasn't punking me, because I hadn't told him the plot of The Ring, or even the title. Plus, John, unlike me, is not clinically insane...I mean, he does not have an active imagination.

"Yeah, weird, huh?"

Breathlessly, I told him about The Ring, and about the scene in which one of the characters sees something moving behind her in the reflection of the TV screen. And about how they would die in seven days! And…

John just looked at me and chuckled. “Boy, that movie really got to you huh? I guess I shouldn’t go out of town anymore so you won’t rent any more scary movies.” He gave me a little hug and kiss on the cheek.

Of course, we didn’t die horrible deaths in seven days. But the playhouse is outside in the backyard now. If a pale little girl with long, straggly hair comes out of it, at least I won’t see it.

Save the Drama for Your Mama...Oh Wait, That's Me

Emma stubbed her toe on the driveway this weekend. For a normal child, this event would not merit mention, but Emma's toe stub caused her scream into the night in what sounded like horrible pain and despair.

A parent of a normal child would have dropped everything to rush to the child who was in such obvious pain and look for the injury - snakebite? Lightening strike? Drive-by gunshot wound?

However, with Emma, it's best not to go near her when she's screaming like that - the neighbors might think you had something to do with the screaming and call DFACS. For the benefit of the neighbors, I called out, "Are you OK, honey? Come inside." Emma hobbled, howling, into the house, and collapsed on the floor of the living room. She held her foot and got a few words out between the shrieks and tears..."BAND...AID...GET...A BAND...AID..."

I looked at her toe. There was a tiny..TINY..skin abrasion, but no blood. I went upstairs to get her a band-aid. We have tried to explain to Emma that band-aids don't have any effect unless there is blood, but it does no good. She wants a band-aid every time her skin is broken, and won't stop screaming until she gets one.

When I saw John upstairs he asked me calmly, "What happened?" Again, a parent of a normal child would have run downstairs to see if a child of his who was wailing the way Emma was had broken a bone, or been bitten by a wild animal, or caught herself on fire. But he too is a veteran of the drama queen wars, and was asking mostly out of curiosity.

"She stubbed her toe on the driveway. I'm getting a band-aid," I said.

"Oh." He went back to changing Jennie's diaper. By this time, we could hear Emma shrieking "BAND-AID! BAND-AID!" downstairs. Kind of like that kid in The Shining who yelled "REDRUM! REDRUM!" But much louder. And scarier.

I got downstairs with the band-aid and applied the band-aid to the stubbled toe. The screaming stopped. The drama was over. Emma bounded upstairs to start her bath.

I, however, collapsed on the couch to recover. We are in for it when she's a teenager, and the HORMONE-driven drama begins. As in "I HATE YOU, MOM!! I HATE YOU!!" Hopefully, after her teenage years, she'll grow up and be a calm, reasonable adult. With no drama.

I'm counting the days.

Three is a Magic Number (or is it four?)

I can't do any math in my head anymore. Even simple stuff. I noticed it for the first time when I was in Kroger when they had half-gallons of milk on sale, 8 for $10, and I was trying to figure out if it would be cheaper to buy a gallon or two half-gallons. It went something like this:

"Eight goes into 10...uh...wouldn't that be 10 goes into 8? No, I was right the first time. It's one, then you have to subtract...uh..but then multiply it by two...how much is a gallon? Goddammit, where's my calculator?"

It has even affected me at work. I was trying to sound all authoritative to our director the other day: "The Company will have to pay a 10% excise tax on any amounts refunded after March 15. For example, if we end up processing $500,000 in refunds, we will have to pay...uh...um..." I actually had to ask, "What's 10% of $500,000?" Completely blew my authoritative facade. And probably my merit raise, as well. Not that I'd know the difference.

Me: "This raise seems kind of low. I thought we discussed a higher figure."

My Boss: "Oh no, it's right. Um, in fact, it's MORE than what we agreed to. See, you just have to divide this annual total by...um...8 for a monthly total, since, um, this raise is effective until April of next year. Once you multiply that number by 12, then you will see that you are actually earning MORE than what we agreed to.. Yeah. Heh heh."

Me: "Huh? Oh. Okay...great! Thanks!"

So if we ever go out to lunch together and have to split the tab, you will notice that I just sit there until someone tells me how much to put in. If it's one of those things where the tab goes around the table for each person to calculate their share, you'll notice that I sit there for a minute looking pensive, then take out some bills and say, "Is this fair?" I'm really asking. I'm not trying to short-change anyone. Just help me out.
Or if you need a ten-spot, just add it on. I won't notice.