Blast is my new favorite word to write.
BLAST those messy messy children! There are hoards of them and only ONE of ME! BLAST, I say!
It's noon. A dump truck barrels past. The driver waves. I wave. The air is still. No living creature can be seen from where I sit. Even the vile scorpions and rattle snakes know better than to peek their heads from beneath the cool of their rocks.
Yet here am I. I sit in the trunk of my Lola. In 99 degree heat. It's a dry heat. People always say that about Tucson. You can count on it. Gee. It's hot outside. Yeah. But it's a dry heat. I'm sweating. My hair is beginning to fuzz. I hate that.
I peer into Lola's rear cup holders. I snarl. Half an inch of goo prevents my detecting the original color of the bottom of said cup holders.
"Sick," I mutter aloud. "This sucks."
The goo in question is a combination of melted crayons, melted chocolate, melted jelly beans, stale McDonald's french fries and pennies. Inexplicably there are pennies holding fast to the bottom of each cup holder. The a fore mentioned ingredients have petrified, apparently terrified of my children.
The crayons and chocolate and fries and jelly beans and pennies have formed a coup. United they stand against me.
I come at them with a weapon of my own. The dreaded butter knife. No solidified goo stands a chance against us.
I call for reinforcements.
"BELLA!" I shout. "COME TAKE A PICTURE OF ME CLEANING OUT THIS NASTY CAR SO EVERY ONE CAN FEEL SORRY FOR ME ON MY BLOG!"
When I was a rich kid a couple years ago there was A Guy who did this nonsense for me. Now I am a commoner, like yourself.
Bella quickly snaps a few shots and returns to the couch to watch, America's Next Top Model. I've had enough of Tyra and her gorgeous face and crazy antics, loads of money and expensive weaves. If I can't win that show I'm not interested in watching, Hmph!
For an hour I scrape and scratch and pick and poke and swear and stare. (The heat makes my vision blur a bit.. Me thinks me sees a mirage in the distance... I imagine I'm in Hawaii. I sip a mango smoothie on the beach and read Anne of Green Gables for hours....)
After all my efforts, Lola is once again presentable. And right in the nick of time!
Lola will have the honor of transporting teenage girls to our First Annual Girls Camp at a Resort in Overgaard, AZ.! We will hike and swim and visit the Snowflake temple. There will be spiritual classes. ( I get to perform one...did I say perform? You can't perform a heartfelt devotional...what I meant was ...no, I meant perform).
We will be leaving on Monday. MONDAY!!
I'm so excited!!! I just can't hide it! I'm about to lose control and I think I like it!
I'm doing a SMASHING job taking care of all the details. I feel very zen about all that must be done.
When other adults come to me with questions or concerns I calmly work out the issue at hand. When I am asked, "Aren't you stressed?" I smile. "Not at all. This is fun."
This IS fun! Planning a resort getaway for a bunch of super cool teens?? Are you kidding me??? I'm LOVING IT!
I love life! I love YOU! Love. Love Love. All you need is love. Love is touching souls. Love is going to a resort instead of camping! God Loves ME! That's all I know. That's all I know!
As a youth leader I have the wonderful opportunity to chat with the youngsters.
The following is a convo I had tonight with an intelligent, red-headed, freckle-faced, muscular, 13 year old. (He's one of the cool kids, just so you know. I have been included in his posse. I am very smug about that.)
"I saw a lady with really fat elbows," he said taking off his shirt and flexing.
"Fat elbows?" I said, intrigued.
"Yes," said the smiling, red-head sans t-shirt. "Fat elbows. They were the fattest elbows I have ever seen. They sagged down to her waist. They were so jiggly and saggy."
He waved his taut arms about so I might imagine fat jiggly elbows.
"Well, I can't imagine that only her elbows were fat," I said logically.
"No. Her whole body was fat."
"What about her arms? Were her elbows an extension of her flabby triceps?"
"I don't know if it's accurate to call her upper arms triceps at this point. Bat wings, maybe."
"Bat wings?! " I laughed too loud. "That's awful!" I shook my head. "And fat elbows," I clicked my tongue. "What an unfortunate condition for a woman... or any human for that matter."
"Now whenever my sister over-eats I tell her it will go straight to her elbows."
Life is good, my friends!
