Dealing Drugs at the Park

Hello again, loyal readers. I'm glad to see that all four, oh and you in the back make five, of you have returned. I have a moment, of which I am excessively proud, to share with you for today's tale.

Allow me to mention first, however, that when I returned home tonight, I checked my email only to find that I have been asked to join a blogger community called blognut. I have added a button link on my sidebar. The Universe must be in proper alignment, as clearly my peers are now easily able to find me, and to invite me to join them.

Loyal readers, you will remember me telling you about my fabulous beyond fabulous friend Moira. Remember, the one married to the handsome, and excessively charming Chaz. They attended the eighties party with me, and yet Moira was quick to point out in my comments that though she had a good time, most of the music was from the nineties. It was at that party also, if you recall me mentioning, that both Moira and Chaz, loyal readers and real world friends told me that my blog would improve ten fold, if I made more mention of how fabulous the two of them are, and if I talked about all of our awesome times together.

This evening I have the perfect opportunity to mention Moira again, and to test her theory.

This morning was a crazy morning. While lounging in bed at ten of nine with the little girls, since the boys were still sleeping, I decided to check my voice mail. There was a message from our Dentist, who happens to be my Uncle, who happens to hate lateness and missed appointments, which was a reminder call for the boys' dental appointments. They were today! At 9:45 a.m.!

All hell broke loose. Showers were turned on. Clothes were gathered. Hair was brushed in the car. As we pulled away, the girls sat in their car seats, still in their pajamas, drinking from sippy cups and eating granola bars for breakfast.

After I took the boys to the dentist, dropped them off, ran home, bathed and changed the girls, dressed myself, and returned to pick the boys up, we went out for a late breakfast/ early lunch, before returning home. I was sitting at the computer, trying to balance my checkbook, pay bills, assemble school papers, and deciding what uniforms I still needed to order when Moira called.

We talked on the phone for a few minutes...
Yes, the kids are making me crazy, too. No, I forgot to take the dental forms to be filled out for school with me to the office this morning. Yes, I did find a good place to buy massive quantities of navy Knee socks; my house also looks like a bomb hit it; and pretty much I can not stand the thought of having to go back to school. No matter what, I am not volunteering for anything this year.

Finally, I say to Moira, as I can hear her kids chanting in the background, "Can we go to Petco?", Do you want to take these kids to the park for a bit?

Initially, she says, "No, I can't". She starts to list all of the things that she really has to do. The lizards need live crickets to eat. At 11cents a cricket, she reasons she may spend more feeding the lizards this year than we currently spend to send our children to private school. Sounds impossible to me, but they could be very hungry lizards. Perhaps, it is the thought that all of her money will either be spent educating the children or feeding the lizards that makes her decide to say, "I'll meet you in a half an hour."

We arrive at the park at about the same time. We have three kids, the same age and the same sex, so instantly they all run off and go play. We would like to sit in the shade and just bitch, but I still have Tasha to traipse after. When the rest of the gang decides to include Tasha in their escapades, we begin to discuss everything from what teacher our kids got, to what class got more "bad"kids, to how difficult it is to get all the back to school shit together. We wonder if it's all worth it.

We talk about the flurry of activities about to begin. Monday thru Friday nights will again be booked up by sports, religion classes, homework, dance and music lessons. The lazy days of summer sure are fading fast, and we both agree that we feel like we are drowning in a sea of registration forms, plaid kilts, and navy blue polo shirts. Why neither of us has brought a flask to the park is really puzzling.

At the end of our spur of the moment play date, our kids play the "I'll hide in the other mom's car" game. No one wants to leave- no one wants to go to their right house. Everyone wants one more sleepover, one more game of hide and seek, one more afternoon of unplanned fun. We look at the kids and realize how big they are getting. When we first met, her oldest, and my second oldest were four; her second son and mine were under two, and we were both pregnant with the girls, who have grown up to be best of buddies. Sadly, this is the first year they won't be in the same class year. Time changes absolutely everything.

As we try to remove the kids from each other's cars- we exchange other items with one another. A toy her daughter left at our house, my daughter has brought along to return. She has extra uniforms for me, since someone gave her a lot of girls clothes. We say goodbye, and as she begins to pull away, I jump from my car waving my pill bottle, "wait"...

That was the other thing we were going to exchange. I was going to give her some xanax; she was going to share her atavan. She wants to feel normal, not sleepy; and I can't sleep lately, worrying about pretty much everything. I stand at her car window, in the park parking lot, pill bottle in hand. She pulls hers from her purse.

This is really bad, she says. You gotta write about this on your blog.

It's a damn good thing we are not celebrities being stalked by tabloids. There would be tons of pictures of this exchange everywhere, I tell her.

We laugh, do our drug deal in the parking lot,and then part ways.

We may be getting older, we may be moms of school aged children, but we are still incorrigible and crazy. At least, some things in our lives have stayed the same. And for the things that are in flux, thank god we have the meds.