Month: November 2014

Every morning I come back from the bus stop, our resident flock of turkeys is in the road.

I think they know my car, because they never skedaddle the way you’d think wildlife should when confronted with  a middle-aged mom driving under the influence of missed-the-bus-again-rage.  They used to flutter to get from the hillside to the horse field when they saw me roaring up the hill, but now they lolly-gag. I’ve even had to honk my horn and threaten to get out of the car to shoo them out of the way.

They’re not just ignoring me. They’re actually blowing me off, and there’s something so familiar about the situation (not just because it’s a daily occurence).  It’s  like they think they know everything and I’m suddenly an idiot.

But today I remembered these turkeys were born last spring which right now make them kind of like turkey teenagers. So I should be getting used to this treatment by now.

Of course, whether you own or lease your teenager or wait for other turkeys’ teenagers to finish crossing the dirt road, understanding the problem is not the same as knowing what to do to solve it. I think we’re going to have to wait it out until Christmas when they get their goose’s cooked. Or they have to start paying their own bills.

The first day of a diet is a bad time to make any major life decisions, but if I’m ever famous for only one thing, it will be making bad decisions.

Sunday, the evil being in the bathroom threatened to start ringing a carnival bell next time I stepped on it, and, after a heart-to-heart about the state of my heart, we decided I should say bye-bye to sugar, artificial sweeteners, fat, caffeine, and any other gratuitous dietary pleasure.

I think they’ve made a few horror movies that start out this way.

I’ve tried and failed at this quite a few times but I’m a glutton for punishment.

And, reasoning that, going forward I’d have more sleep and sanity in the morning than at any other time of the day, I also decided to give up being a night owl, set the alarm for 5AM and – voila – be an early bird.

Which is how I found myself in our darkened, dilapidated house at the end of a dirt road wondering if anything funny happens in the absence of caffeine. Or sugar. Or fake sugar. My horror screenplay was writing itself.

I settled onto the recliner with my computer, determined to work at something.  I typed three words and then heard a shuffling sound in the back hall. The dog didn’t get up right away so there was cause to worry if it was a chainsaw-wielding serial killer. What appeared was only half as scary.

Eight-year-old Thing2 appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes.  He shuffled over to the couch and arranged my arm into pillow position.  Thing2 then set his mouth on autopilot, covering every topic from the art of hanging upside down on the jungle gym to any secret crimes Thing1 might have gotten away with still.  It was a mastery of morning conversation only a true early bird could, well, master.

I didn’t get a lick of work done for the 30 minutes before it was time to get up and start making lunches and dragging Thing1 out of bed.

I wasn’t the early bird. Monday night I wasn’t the night owl. I was the worm.

The day of no sugar and no caffeine and intensely affectionate eight-year-old will end as another failed experiment in dieting and social engineering before the school bus pulled away from the curb.  But it’s still not too bad when you consider how most horror movies end.