Dear Sir spent some time tweaking the blog up for me. I have no clue how to do it. I messed around with photos for awhile not wanting to take any new ones, but then Dear Sir told me the one where I am choking myself was just too ridiculous. I like ridiculous, but oh well. So I spent a good bit trying to get a picture, but just resorted to the one to the right. Pretty blah. Dear Sir says that I look scary. I won't stab you with a knife though, so don't worry.
The day before last was full of chaos as usual. Eraser Eater woke up not feeling too well, but I stuffed him full of acidophilus so at least I could bear life without him throwing up constantly, if that was what was going to happen anyway. I gave him anti-nausea medicine and a bucket to puke in if need be. He was sort of hating life. I was not sure if he was totally sick though because he felt ok, he wasn't hot, he was still able to talk about food but had no appetite, and he was still running his mouth like normal. He was just sedentary.
I had promised the kids that I would take them to the pool and by the afternoon we got going and got in the car. Eraser Eater, by the time we were half way to the post office (a little errand before we went), started to moan and lay down in the seat. Great. By the time I got back from mailing my letter he was done for. He did not want to go to the pool anymore. The Girl immediately wept and the Oldest, wising up finally, did not complain. I turned directly to the store thinking I needed popsicles and junk to feed the boy. The Girl wept nearly the whole time at the store. I kept saying, "self control" to her but it did not work. She would stop for a minute and then start up again.
When we got home I put the sprinkler on and instructed the Girl on how to run around in it. She had a blast. Eraser Eater was stable on the couch with a slushie, and the Oldest ran around outside with his newly purchased cap gun. Mickey Mouse was unleashed, Ariel was flopping around finless, and the Eraser Eating freak was whispering sweet nothings to his hand.
This is where I hurt my toe.
And then after dinner, after putting Eraser Eater to bed, the Oldest was reading his Bible so he could play his gameboy. He instantly lamented because his games were stuck in his safe and he could not remember the combination. Oh for crying in a bucket, I thought. He put all his games in the safe, entered a new code that was unfamiliar to him, and locked away. Lovely. I immediately felt bad for him. I don't know why. Dear Sir just said, "I guess you can sit there for a few days and figure it out." He sat there with gameboy in hand unable to play it because he had all his games stuck in the safe. He was trying fruitlessly to remember the combination he set. "I think it had a seven in it," he said to me.
"Or an eight or a nine or a one or a two," said Dear Sir. He shook his head.
"No, really! I think I had a seven and maybe a nine," said the boy.
"Good stinking grief!" I said.
I grabbed the safe. The lowest number you could enter would be 001 up to 999. We can count to a thousand, I thought. I started at 500 since he said he remembered numbers in the highest register first, and I just counted up. By the time I got to eight hundred fifty the boy had taken his shower. Dear Sir prayed with him and then the boy said to me, "Gee Mom, you sure are nice to do that for me."
"Yeah, yeah," I waved him away. "Good night."
893 pop! Not one stinking seven in it. Figures. The Oldest was just walking out the door and heard it.
"You opened it!" he cried.
I handed the box to him. "Now don't do that AGAIN. The combination is eight hundred ninety three."
Can you imagine putting something you prize in a safe and then forgetting the combination? Now my fingers are all sore from moving the digits on that thing around. Sore toe, sore fingers. I should have just allowed the boy to do it himself but I think he would still be doing it to be honest.