SweetWitch
Green Goddess
- Joined
- Oct 9, 2005
- Posts
- 20,370
My daughter is an angel, full of mischief and smiles, so when my mother offered to take her for a few days, of course I said, “Hell, yes!”
What a treat. Three whole days of me-time. I could sit on my gazebo and do nothing but write if I want.
Okay, so it was a good plan, in theory.
My daughter may be gone, but the neighborhood kids are still here. I had some errands to run in town, but before I could leave, I had to get two boys out of the tree out back, chase the kids from my gazebo, holler at one boy who was rifling through the fridge in the garage and threaten to beat to death any child who dared to cross my property line again before Tuesday night.
Ah, that should do it. Right? Hah!
I got back from town to discover the living room full of kiddies. My husband, smiling so innocently, was sitting back while three boys were fighting over who gets the game controller next and another boy was raiding the ice box.
This is not an uncommon occurrence. The neighborhood children think that I’m quite evil because they’re allowed to play video games in my house, as my husband allows them, until, and I quote, “she gets home because you know how she hates to find you in here.”
Nice, huh? Well, it’s true, the rotten little brat. By this I mean my husband, of course.
So, I chased the kids out, hauled another kid from the tree and found three more hiding inside my gazebo. “Go home,” I yelled. “Go annoy your own parents.”
Of course, all their parents are sitting in their yards, enjoying the scene. They all have pools, jungle gyms and tree houses, but their kids would rather be in my plain, empty yard. And they love it.
So I go unload the car, put the stuff away and open my gazebo curtains up. I fix myself a cool drink, take my computer out to the gazebo, turn on some music, then go inside to use the bathroom. I come back out, threaten to use a cattle prod on the kid in the tree, chase two more out of my gazebo and yell across the yard to the mother of one that I want some peace.
I sit down, pull my computer table up and reach for my drink. The little bastards drank every drop of cola in my glass.
Back inside, get a fresh glass, more ice, a bottle of Coke. Back outside, threaten to get a gun and shoot the little shit in the tree, yell at the elderly couple on the other side of the fence who are laughing at me and make a quick inspection of my yard to make sure it’s clear.
Four hours after I started, I was finally able to sit down to write, but now the muse is in the tree. I give up.
What a treat. Three whole days of me-time. I could sit on my gazebo and do nothing but write if I want.
Okay, so it was a good plan, in theory.
My daughter may be gone, but the neighborhood kids are still here. I had some errands to run in town, but before I could leave, I had to get two boys out of the tree out back, chase the kids from my gazebo, holler at one boy who was rifling through the fridge in the garage and threaten to beat to death any child who dared to cross my property line again before Tuesday night.
Ah, that should do it. Right? Hah!
I got back from town to discover the living room full of kiddies. My husband, smiling so innocently, was sitting back while three boys were fighting over who gets the game controller next and another boy was raiding the ice box.
This is not an uncommon occurrence. The neighborhood children think that I’m quite evil because they’re allowed to play video games in my house, as my husband allows them, until, and I quote, “she gets home because you know how she hates to find you in here.”
Nice, huh? Well, it’s true, the rotten little brat. By this I mean my husband, of course.
So, I chased the kids out, hauled another kid from the tree and found three more hiding inside my gazebo. “Go home,” I yelled. “Go annoy your own parents.”
Of course, all their parents are sitting in their yards, enjoying the scene. They all have pools, jungle gyms and tree houses, but their kids would rather be in my plain, empty yard. And they love it.
So I go unload the car, put the stuff away and open my gazebo curtains up. I fix myself a cool drink, take my computer out to the gazebo, turn on some music, then go inside to use the bathroom. I come back out, threaten to use a cattle prod on the kid in the tree, chase two more out of my gazebo and yell across the yard to the mother of one that I want some peace.
I sit down, pull my computer table up and reach for my drink. The little bastards drank every drop of cola in my glass.
Back inside, get a fresh glass, more ice, a bottle of Coke. Back outside, threaten to get a gun and shoot the little shit in the tree, yell at the elderly couple on the other side of the fence who are laughing at me and make a quick inspection of my yard to make sure it’s clear.
Four hours after I started, I was finally able to sit down to write, but now the muse is in the tree. I give up.
