Ostriches, The DMV and a Headache

Tonight I was tired.  I crawled into my bed where Will was already snoozing away.  I hoped to sneak away and fall asleep before the boys noticed I was missing.  Jody was fixing a broken door in the hallway and replacing the toilet seats.  (On a side note, does any one else not think it's a terrific idea to replace your toilet seats every year or so just to freshen things up?  I think it's a grand idea.)  I knew he'd be busy for a while and the older boys, still hyper from bible school, could "help" him while I disappeared to dream land.


My plan failed.


As soon as I pulled the down comforter up around my face some alarm must have sounded notifying the troops, "Boys!  Look around!  Your mother!  She's gone!  You must find her!  Now!  Make it snappy and be loud about it."


They flung open my door, turned on the light and launched onto my bed.  Jack was carrying a large animal encyclopedia. Sam yelled, "Look, Mama.  Look!  Jack has something to tell you."  Jack flipped the pages, landing in the bird section.  He turned each page, looking desperately for something.  And then he found it.  And slammed his fist on the page and yelled, "Look, Mama!  This!  This is what I want for my pet."  I looked to see my boy pointing at an ostrich.  A large, feathery, ugly ostrich.  "Sure, buddy.  Wonder where we could find one of those?" I replied. 


But what I really wanted to say was, "Have you lost your ever-loving mind, son?  An ostrich!  Really?  How dare you wake me up to ask me to buy you a pet ostrich?  Look at me boy.  I'm your Mama.  I gave birth to you.  And by the way, my epidural failed.  Did you hear me?  Failed, big boy!  And I thought I was going to be the first woman in the history of mankind to give birth to her child out of her rump.  Yes, son, giving birth to you with no pain meds was so excruciating that I actually believed you were coming out of the wrong part of my body, sweet boy.  And you know I'm afraid of birds, right?  And do you understand, dear one, that an ostrich is like the anaconda of birds?   And that they can run really, really fast?  And contort their necks in alien-like fashion?  So no, love, you can't have an ostrich, or a parakeet or a rooster or anything with wings for a pet.  Got it?"  


Thankfully, my undying love for my doe eyed child, kept me from saying what was on the tip of my tongue. Instead I praised him for choosing such a unique animal to want for a pet and encouraged him to run along to his room and "read" all about that ostrich so he'd know just how to take care of him.


He scampered away with his book, leaving his older brother behind to torture me further.  Mentally, that is.  Ever tried to explain the process of obtaining your driver's license to a five year old?   My oldest is obsessed with the whole idea and no matter how many times I reassure him that: 
1.  his Daddy or I will drive him to get his license so he doesn't get arrested and then he can drive home..
2.  and that the lady will tell him before she takes his picture so he'll be ready..
3.  and, yes, I'm sure he'll pass the test,
he still worries himself sick over the whole process.  At five years old, my boy is a nervous wreck over taking driver's ed.  Twenty minutes later, I am explaining how the picture ends up on the license when we begin to smell a strong odor.  Like a cleaning solution or glue of some kind.  I assume it's something Jody's using to attach my wonderful, brand spanking new, toilet seats to the toilet.


That is until Jody walks into the room and says, "What is that smell?!?"


"I have no idea, " I say.  "I thought it was something you were using."


"Nope."


Silence...


"JJJAAACCCKKKK!  What are you doing?


"Just nothing, Mama."  


My middle boy had been alone for a good twenty minutes while I explained the North Carolina Division of Motor Vehicles to Sam.  And I thought that little angel was gazing at his book and dreaming of names for his pet ostrich. Well, he wasn't.


I walked into his room and nearly passed out from the odor.  Headache inducing, throat burning odor.  What in the world was that smell?


"Jack, what is that smell?  What are you doing in here?"


"Just nothing, Mama."


I noticed five stuffed animals lined up on the bed.  


"Maybe it's this," Jody said and tossed me an open bottle of lotion.


"No it's not!  Lotion doesn't smell like that!"


And then I saw it.  The empty bottle of fingernail polish.  The new, never before used, full to the brim, bottle of clear polish.  


I thought my son was sweetly flipping through an animal book dreaming about his pet ostrich.  Well, he wasn't. He was painting the "toes" and "fingers" of his stuffed animals to "make them look pretty." My boy had set up a nail salon on his bunk bed.  Five stuffed animals drenched in nail polish and coated with lotion for extra soft fur. And I found it hard to discipline him because all that was going through my mind was 'T-Nail, may I help you?  Pick your color ma'am."


Needless to say, the smell is horrendous.  And it's too hot tonight to open the windows.  So I'm going to sleep with a headache.  And I'm praying no one in a one mile of our vicinity of our house strikes a match tonight.