Simons Summer Circus

School has been out for a full week now and I am already counting the days until they can go back! I think it is because we are in limbo. We still do not have command sponsorship or passports and we are supposed to be leaving in five weeks. Typical Army. We are beyond stressed but trying to just focus our energy into prayers, faith, temple attendance, laughter, and impromptu family vacations. It's not working all that well because no matter what I try, patience was a virtue God did not give me. . . at all! (In fact, I have been finding great irony lately in the fact that I, of all people, have seven kids. I would say that God must hate me, but I am worried, maybe he hates the kids--they're the ones suffering the most here! No one should have to have me as a mother, especially not during summer vacation.) Our house is a constant circus especially because I usually have about eight other children running in and out of my house. Hello! Would you please shut the damn doors already? There are flies circling my head like a wildebeest on the savanna. And no you cannot take fifteen towels outside for every neighborkid who got wet. I already do more laundry than the rent-by-the hour, Love 'Em and Leave 'Em motel in Vegas! Alright, let me stop complaining. . . I do have a couple funny stories. When all else fails, find something or someone to laught at, right?

Story 1: We bought a paint tarp and made a giant slip and slide down the small hill in our backyard. When we bought it the store clerk suggested putting a little baby oil on the slide to really shoot those kids down. Sweet! We tried it and it worked like a charm the first day we had it home. (It was especially effective for greasing my little Africans. A couple times down on their stomachs and twice on their backs, and voila, no more ashy skin!!) The next time we used it, however, we had run out of baby oil. The kids decided to take out Wesson and shake a little on the slide. . . only it was a family sized 2 gallon container and they dumped the whole thing down the slide. Holy crap! They had a fabulous time going down that slide so fast they about shot off it into the neighbor's yard. However, they had so much oil all over them, in their hair and swimming suits, we could have wrung them out and fried chicken for dinner. The other problem is that cooking oil, unlike baby oil, bakes in the hot sun. Before we knew it the slide, the picnic table, the trampoline and their hair was a sticky, baked oil mess, not to mention they all smelled like fried chicken!

Story 2: Okay, this one isn't funny, but I have to vent. After the sticky oil mess, I decided to have the kids scrub down the picnic table and go down the slip and slide with dish soap to counteract the baked mess. Then I sent them out to wash the car while they were at it. At that time two kids in the neighborhood showed up in our backyard. These two kids have mostly always been mean to my children, but since they showed up, I told them they could jump on the trampoline while my kids cleaned. Earlier, Oakley had used a steak knife to cut off a zip tie that Brian had used to fasten the sprinkler to the trampoline and then left it out. I had to run inside and the kids went to wash the car and left the two neighborkids to jump on the trampoline. Two hours later we found a ten inch gash in our trampoline mat from the steak knife, obviously deliberate, completely ruining our trampoline. I stormed over to the kids' house and they denied it up and down and accused my kids. We knew it was them, but because no one had seen them do it, we couldn't press charges. I was furious, but then I just pitied them. Where are their parents and haven't they taught them better? Come to find out both mom and dad are military and constantly deployed and there is little stability in the home. I guess my sadness at a ten inch trampoline gash is nothing compared to not having a mom and dad around. It makes me feel a little less disgusted with my own parenting skills--even though I yell. . . at least I'm around to do it consistently!

Story 3: We were teaching the kids the story of Samson out of the book of Judges the other night. We read the part about Samson killing a thousand Philistines with the jawbone of an ass. I asked the kids if they understood what that meant. In my mind, I was hoping that they would clue in to the fact that Samson is a Nazarite and by touching a bone he has broken part of his covenant not to go near dead things. However, Sophia gave me a sheepish, sideways glance and nodded slowly. She said quietly, "It means he took the jawbone out of his butt to kill people. And you should never use that word for butt." I started laughing. "First of all Sophia," I explained, "ass is a biblical word for donkey. Second of all, how would someone have a jawbone in their butt?" She gave me an embarrassed look, but as I thought about it, I guess it could bring new meaning to the term "buttface." I could see how she could get confused--especially considering some of the neighbor kids around here.

Story 4: So, I don't buy bandaids. I think this is a typical mother-of-way-too-many-kids thing. If I buy bandaids, they are wasted on every slight scratch or discoloration on seven children's bodies within the hour of purchase. Thus, I have resorted to Vaseline. It's like Windex, it cures everything. . . albeit through the placebo effect. Anytime they get scratched or an inexplicable rash, or their eyes are itchy, I just tell them to put Vaseline on it and miraculously they're healed. Last night, Brian and I left the kids at home while we went to an Army get together. As we were headed home, Oakley called. He said, "Mom, Diamond just had a huge emergency. He slipped and ripped half of his big toenail off." I wasn't really worried, but I was about to tell him to put pressure on it with a rag and we'd be right home, when he blurted out, "Oh, don't worry, Mom, we took care of it just like you have always taught us. We washed it, we put vaseline on it, now we just need to know where the duct tape is?" Oh, my word, I think I really have truly, and in all honesty ruined my children. My fourteen-year-old son actually thinks Vaseline cures things. . . and they fix things, including body parts, with duct tape. Oh, no, what have I done???

Story 5: Tonight at dinner I made some awesome homeade chimichangas from our Kaluha pork roast from last night. I pointed out to the kids that while I may be a cranky mother that yells when their chores aren't done, I always feed them very well. Sophia said, "Oh, I know, that's why I am going to move back in with you, Mommy, when I get big so I can eat your yummy food." Giselle shook her head, "Sophia, I just pray every night to stay little so I'll always get Mommy's good food." She was dead serious. I'm thinking I might have overshot the mark on this one. If I can't stand them for three months of summer break, they sure as heck aren't staying into their forties!