Girl scouts

Yesterday (Thursday) was Greta's first girl scout meeting of the year. This is not as simple as it sounds. It is a major production which seems to encompass a full day and even more when you count pre-work. Perhaps some of my more organized, less sleep-challenged readers will think I am some kind of hideous chaotic pitiable jerk when I tell about what is involved. Others without kids simply won't get it, or might want to never have them. The people who think "I cant homeschool" will feel even more evil towards me. But it is all normal, just hard:

Since the meetings are from 1 to 3pm, about 20 miles from our house, me and the three boys need to do something on that side of town during the meeting as it is too faraway and too short to come back home. We have settled on McDonalds everytime so far. It has a playscape that is a really good one, and we spend under 4 dollars on 2 Medium Fries and a Small pop (of which Mickey and Casey get about 50 dollars in free refills at the serve yourself thingy). So they need to look nice for the public, I want them to have non-gross socks for the shoes-off part, non crusted faces, a nice comfy outfit, clean hair, etc. I want Charlie to look super cute and have an outfit that doesnt pop all open when he crawls. He needs to be extra clean and precious for the part when the girl scouts all come oogle over him and carry him to show they are so strong, etc. So no baby food in his hair, no boogers, no earwax, no chapped cheeks, etc. So baths and shampoos all around the night before no matter what.

Greta has to have her vest, a super outfit, clean hair, any projects or materials or permission slips, and yesterday, a snack. Could I just go to Farmer Jack and pick up some damn Oreos and room temperature apple juices? No. I had to make oatmeal cookies. And package them and keep the little kids out of them and the flour and the oven and the oil and we were stepping on raisins with our new shoes and grinding them onto the bed we apparantly walk on now....

I have to look super good but beware! If I am too Hip or Wacky, these old church ladies h a t e me, I mean, HATE. So it is my call, but it really does suck when I was the big superMom that it was ok to talk to at xmas party with my layer-bleach job but now with my better hair it was the Eyebrows Raised again. Sick Hallmark losers. Old rougey-dinosaurs. They're lucky I didnt go blue yet. So I have to have an outfit planned of some sort which alows me comfort and convenience to be on the floor of McDonalds pulling Charlie out of the pipes without anything popping out that may be stretchmarked if you get my drift. So a scuba suit with mask?

We have to have gas in the car, or money to do so. We have to have diapers, wipes, extra outfit in case of blowouts, baby Motrin, snacks in case of some kind of traffic jam, cell phone, and umbrella stroller because the girl scouts has stairs and no elevator and so i have to at one point, ( 4 points really!) carry Charlie AND a stroller. We have to have 4 dollars for McDonalds.

I realize that wearing clothes and driving to places are part of human living. But for some reason, orchestrating this particular trip always is a hard one. By the time we get up and out of McDonalds, coats back on, shoes back on, bags, stroller, and go pick up Greta, I can scarcely understand what the leader lady is saying. Its all these little girls screaming and pulling and I am being handed (in my free hand that doesnt have a 30 pound baby a stroller a backpack and Casey's scruff) I get to receive permission slips, tiny badges, little scraps of a craft they have to finish and bring back next time ( ! ) and the box from our cookies we sent.

Does my nine year old have arms? Does she have a bag? OH MY GOD DO NOT TAUNT, QUESTION, OR LOOK DIRECTLY AT OR NEAR GRETA DURING THIS APPARANTLY SENSITIVE TIME. If she is carrying so much as a sticker, do not ask her to grab something else. Thses girls are W-O-U-N-D U-P! the only way to get out of that stuffy hot little church basement is quickly as possible. If I start tryin to talk to her, even how was the meeting hon, it is tears or worse. Like a slumber party. She is like hot and riled and wigged out beyond control. We try to get to the car with little incident, although undoubtedly she will lash out at Mickey and claim that he crushed her in the door or looked at her on purpose or worse. I have to open all the car windows and just be really nice and loving. In a couple of miles she will tell us all about the meeting.

The time we have at McDonalds is usually nice. I am loving how the boys get along when we are there, and, there are usually nice kids there, although there are lots of exceptions, those kids usually being the ones whose parent is some old old grandpa who isnt even in the playare part of the restaurant, and whose angry angry beastial grandson seems to deeply enjoy torturing other kids instead of playing happily. There are other mean kids, even ones with moms, but they are always boys, and they are always incredibly, seethingly furious and angry-vibed. AND their parent is never in the vicinity.

I sit and play with the boys, and we have a great ole time. They like me to count how fast they can go from point A to point B, and they want me to Lookit Lookit Lookit. Why wouldnt I? I guess I wasnt under the impression that I was there to text message someone or to read the paper. Sometimes I do chat on my new cell phone, and sometimes I even scribble out a little list of sorts. But not to the point where my kid is secretly running an evil empire right in the red tube and I dont have a clue, you know?

So that was Girl Scouts. They liked the oatmeal cookies! Now onto Campfire Scouts...