Exclamation Point

I am not a morning person. Still, on mornings when I drive my children to school, I need to be up at 6:00 AM and we need to be out the door at 7:00 AM.  It bites, especially in the winter when it is dark and cold.  Yesterday morning was particularly bad because I had had trouble sleeping the night before, so I took a single Tylenol PM.  At 6:00 AM, I was the walking dead.

We piled into the car at 7:00, and started driving to the kids' schools.  Nathan was in a good mood, as was Sara.  I hunched behind the wheel, their voices thundering in my ears.  Nathan's piping, pre-pubescent commentary on the upcoming day was seemingly at a frequency that normally only dogs can hear.  I could hear it, though.

"Whoo-hoo!  It's ice skating for gym today!  I love ice skating!  Mom, did I tell you about how I can do a cross-over, now?  I'm going to practice that again today!  Ice skating days are my favorite days!"

To me, this sounded like, "Whoo-hoo!  It's ice skating for gym today!  I love ice skating!  Mom, did I tell you about how I can do a cross-over, now?  I'm going to practice that again today!  Ice skating days are my favorite days!  

"Naaaaaaaate?  It's kind of early in the morning for me to share your enthusiasm.  It sounds like a lot of exclaiming to me."

"So, what do you want me to do, Mom?  Huh?  Just stop having enthusiasm?"

"No, of course not.  But maybe in the early mornings we could try something special, like..."

"Like what?"

"You could do it like this.  Just speak in a soft monotone and TELL me when there SHOULD be an exclamation point.  like, 'Woo. Hoo.  Exclamation point.  It's ice skating for gym today.  Exclamation point.  I love ice skating.  Exclamation point...'"

Mascara Causes Mood Swings

 I knew it!

This is why I have lived such a happy life up to now:  makeup avoidance.  Lately, I think I am a showy little peacock because I wear a touch of mascara and lip-liner to work.  Woo-woo.

I am hardly the most qualified person in the world to show Sara anything about makeup.

I got to wear makeup when I turned thirteen, so fair's fair.  It is a coincidence I'm sure, that the advent of makeup, the thirteenth birthday, and the wild mood swings have all begun at once.  She burst into tears several times today and was only able to gasp, "Mood swing!" through her sobs.  "Well,"  I said, "at least you know what they are..."

I got her brown mascara, a brown eyebrow pencil, concealer and lip gloss.

 I know girls this eage love to wear makeup, but I can't figure out WHY.  Look!  She's young!  What more does the kid need?

 I pencilled on a little eyebrow. I have always thought that her white-blonde eyebrows were indistinct.  She is smiling for this picture, but she HATES distinct eyebrows.

She is also very sad about concealer.  Sara thinks the dark shadows around her eyes are evil and must be eradicated for ever more. I remember thinking the same thing at her age and also glopping way too much concealer around my eyes.  Then I surrendered to my DNA.  I showed her that I, too, have shadow around me eyes.  And I managed to find boyfriends when I was young.  And I can still get a date!  Yay me!   She rolled her eyes and continued to mess with the concealer.

 I showed her how to apply mascara and she managed that without any problem.

I tried eyeshadow on her.  I have two purple Clinique shadows that I don't wear, so I put them on her with a very light hand.

So, what des Sara think of makeup? 

Tears.  She thought she would look beautiful, but no, she just looks wierd.  I told ther that she is not used to seeing herself made up and it is a very different look. She needs to get used to it (or not, I thought).  Eyebrow pencil and shadow = wierd
Mascara = OK
Concealer = fail
Lip gloss=  OK
That's the final assessment.

High Point, Low Point

My eaves are dripping, but I can see that a dusting of snow  has fallen on the lawn of the apartment complex.  I join the rest of the state in exclaiming, "It's about bloody time!"

I am equipped with a very small palm-full of chocolate chips, because I just couldn't stand it and got myself a little nibble.  Chuck and I are going to a party in a couple of weeks, and I want to feel svelt.  Lithe.  Not plump.  I would love to be just eight pounds lighter, and if I were sufficiently mad enough at myslef, I'm sure I could do it.  Problem is that I'm just not in the right place, self-loathing-wise.  Bummer. 

A realization today:  why I prefer grocery shopping alone.

"Hey, Mom!" 

"Hey, Mom?  Can we get soda today?  Why not?!  I haven't had soda in AGES!
Hey, Mom, wanna hear what I want for my birthday?  There's this game, you have to order it from Amazon.  You wanna hear how it's played?  Well, first the Pokemon...
Hey, Mom.  I'm gonna need a birthday treat for my class. Doughnuts should be fine. Don't worry - I only need 30 of them.
Mom!  Watch this!  Watch this!  Lemme show you how this partic-lee-ar soccer kick goes.  See, if you leap up like this, and then land like this, your position will be just right to....
Hey, Mom!  Are we getting cereal?  What kind are we getting?  What about this kind?  You know, if you realy want to make me happy, you could get Coco-Roos... And can we get marshmallows to put in cocoa?  No, I don't like the kind with the mini marshmallows.  They melt too fast.  Can we get this kind?
Can we get root beer?
Moooooom!?!  How much longer are we going to be here?  I have math!  If I have to stay too long at the store and I don't finish my math in time, then I won't get time for Nintendo.  Oh. My.  God!  [eyes filling]  I just remembered the worst problem.  Susie has place markers that are each equal to 17. Then she has a remainder of two, all of which totals 87.  So let's see... I need to subtract two from...
Can I get gum?
Can I get a lollipop?
Did you know that Sir Isaac Newton predicted that the world would come to an end in the year 2060?  So this is based on his predictions regarding the temple in Jeruselem...
MOM!  Men in Black II!  You should get it!  It's only $5.99.  Chuck would like it, I'll bet!
Hey, Mom.  listen to this:

Tarzan the monkey man, swinging by a rubber band.
He slips.  He falls.  He's hanging by his balls!
They rip!  They tear!  He'll need another pair!

But you know what?  How the hell did he fall so that he got caught by the balls?  That cannot be right."

High point:  A friend at work asked me about the series of four surgeries I had after my breast cancer diagnosis.   She needs to go in for  a touch-up surgery after having a melanoma reoved from her cheek last summer.  She was wondering about my feelings at having to have multiple surgeries, and about my body image now that I am so badly scarred.  I realized during the conversation that I don't care any more about how my left breast looks or feels.  I just don't think about it much now.   Leftie is still numb, two years after my final surgery.  It's true that, where the nipple used to be, there is just an expanse of scar tissue. There is still a long, horizontal incision scar.  I look at this, shrug, ignore it.  Think, "It really doesn't look that bad."

Low point:  Chuck is fed up with the "roommate" thing at Aloha Road.  He sent me a couple of texts during the evening expressing the wish to be at my place with the kids and me.  I concurred that I missed him.  Later, when we were talking on the phone, he told me that the situation at Aloha was on his nerves; and I realized that his earlier texts had less to do with wanting to be with me, and more to do with NOT wanting to be at Aloha just then.  That part of my psyche that loves to mind-fuck me and over-analyze every situation sent messages of embarrassment to the rest of my brain.  The logical part of my brain (sick of this shit and wanting to just be happy and enjoy this lovely relationship) started beating the over-analytical part over the head with the tea kettle.  Last I checked, they were still going at it.  Hopefully, they will have it resolved by morning.  Chuck thinks Aloha can be a pain?  He has never tried living inside my head! 

Letter to the Edges of the Galaxy

There is no standout headline for this day, so I will spew randomness by sending a letter to the universe.

Dear All-Who-Float-In-The-Ether,

It was a beautiful sunny day here in Salt Lake City.  I should have been out running in it, but I had an unfortunate nap-attack.  AGAIN!  What is up with me?!  Have I been bitten by a tse-tse fly?  Sometimes, when I feel like making excuses, I tell myself that I am mentally tired from all the changes in my life,and that I am more tired from stress and single parenting than I would like to admit.  Or maybe I have become unbelievably lazy!  That is probably closer to the truth.

I'm sitting here listening to The Kinks on Radio Paradise.  I should really send a message to my cousin Andrew on Facebook and thank him for posting the Radio Paradise link.  This is my new music-expansion strategy.  

My head aches a little because (this is embarrassing) I cried so copiously at the movie Warhorse today. Yes, Budget Babe actually took her kids to a new-release movie.  I try to stick to my guns about only seeing movies once they get to the dollar theater; but Sara loved this book, and has been patiently waiting to see the film for months.  I decided not to make her suffer.  I HATE crying at movies.  Especially schmaltzy, sentimental movies.  I always feel like I have lost some sort of contest of wills.  "They are just trying to manipulate my emotions!  Steven Spielberg wants me to cry.  Must!  Not!  Give!  In!"  Yet I do.  I didn't cry when my father died, but I balled my head off at Charlotte's Web?!?  (Sigh!)  Go figure.  Anyhow, I try to draw attention away from the fact that I have been crying by accusing others.  Sara just shrugged and said it didn't make her cry much because she already knew the story.  Nate denied at first, then said that he got a tiny bit of sugar from his Sour Patch Kids in his eyes and that made them water.

The best part of today was just the general feeling of well-being that I had while cooking supper.  There was a voice mail from Chuck waiting for me after I got home from the movies.  Just called to hear how the movie was; but his voice sounded so loving and sweet to me that I saved the message for my future listening pleasure. I got started on a new recipe:  mushroom lasagna.  It called for half a cup of white wine, so I went to the liquor store yesterday and found a bottle of Berringer Chenin Blanc on sale. Chenin Blanc and Vouvray are my two favorite white wines, and I have not had even a glass of white since I moved out of Swiss Oaks.  I opened the bottle of Berringer and started cooking.  Sara put on first Rusted Root, then ABBA (both excellent groups to cook/dance to, especially if you are also imbibing).  The mushrooms smelled spectacular, sauteed with shallots and garlic.  Chuck called and found my tipsiness amusing.  Sara interrupted my conversation with him to ask whether he could come for dinner.  I extended the invitation, but it was already kind of late and he had eaten.  Tomorrow night.  He told me that it made him feel happy that Sara asked for him.  Sometimes, we get an hour of perfect grace.  That was mine.  Could it be that I am finally learning to live in the moment?

The worst part of today was disciplining Nate for saying "fuck".  He said it yesterday while telling about something his teacher had done that made him mad.  I took his Nintendo away for 24 hours.  He hadn't had it back in his possession for two hours before he said "fuck" at Sara and I had to take it away from him again.  Loud was the wailing, the door slamming, the "I hate you"s.  I ignored this and started our evening read-aloud routine with Sara in my room.  After a while, Sara went to get the AA Milne poetry books and made a few requests.  While I was reading "King John's Christmas", I heard the kids' bedroom door opening.  As I continued reading, I heard him creeping closer and closer, then requesting a poem as if he hadn't been screaming at me 20 minutes earlier.  Ah, well.  That's how he rolls.

Tomorrow...  What's on my plate? Our Adult Education Floor Manager, Brittany, will have her LDS Missionary Farewell at her ward in South Jordan.  I will go to that and say good bye to her before she heads out for a year and a half in Taiwan.  I'm going to make (and blog) a new recipe:  Grapefruit Pound Cake. Check this out! 

I left my tube pan behind at Swiss Oaks and was a bit dismayed to find that I need one for Grapefruit Pound Cake.  I looked at them at the supermarket.  $20!  "FUUUU..."  I mean, "Darn it!"  Imagine my delight when I found this one at the thrift store for only $2.  A savings of $18!  Precisely the amount that I spent at the movies.     

Tomorrow, Chuck will come for supper and we will make omelets, I think.  Maybe a DVD?  Maybe a few games of Hearts?  I want to run tomorrow.  Clean house.  Write a grant proposal.  Read my book?  NOT nap?

I will end this very unfocused vignette with a question from Plinky:

What do you wish you spent more time doing?

Wow.  For me, that's huge. 

1. Reading!  If only I had about two hours a day just for reading.  That would be heavenly.
2. Making music.  Here, in my present incarnation, that means practicing guitar.  Someday soon, I hope to be reunited with my piano.
3. Writing curriculum for my students.
4. Playing outside.
5. Hanging out with people, having fun conversations.  With some Chenin Blanc. And mushroom lasagna.  I can't wait to make it again.

Anybody out there?  Not so many these days.  I need to get out and read my friends' blogs. I haven't been reaching out and making contact lately,and I want to. 

6.  Read more blogs and communicate more with my blog-buddies. 

Wanna post in the comment section about things you wish you spent more time doing?  Share please.

Ten Fine Things

I have been feeling blech today.  Tired because of the long journey home from Santa Barbara; suffering from that feeling of let-down so common after a really, really fun time; sad because Si and his girlfriend have split up.   I was hopeful that he had finally found the right person.

Looks like it's time to play 10 Fine Things.

1.  Waking up with Chuck.
2.  The little-bitties at school this morning. 
     Teacher:  What comes after six?
     Kids:  Seven!
     Teacher:  What comes after three?
     Kids:  Four!
     Teacher:  OK, here's a tough one.  What comes after 99?
     Kids, in unison:  Twenty!
3.  Receiving an e-mail from a former tutor, now in med-school, thanking me for "helping him get where he is today".
4.  I got a decent handful of resumes for our computer lab assistant position.
5.  Simon and I were able to meet and discuss Christmas without fighting.
6.  My colleague Wise put out a student newsletter for the Monday/ Wednesday program which looked wonderful and were well-received.
7.  My colleague Ray organized a nice tutor-appreciation night for all the volunteers who help us in he Monday / Wednesday program.
8.  The kids liked my new baked macaroni and cheese hot-dish recipe.
9.  I got the truck cleaned out.  It was pretty messy after the long drive to California.
10.  Sara amused me with her discussion of future career possibilities.  We were listening to an ad on the radio for laser hair removal for men.
     "Wow.  That is one job I would not want if I had to do it on men.  Yuck.  Now I do not want to be a hair laser technician.
      "Oh?"
     "And why would a guy want to get lasered anyway?"
    "To avoid a back, sack and crack wax."
Sara pondered this poetic expression. 
     "OK, I understand waxing your back.  And your crack....?  Eeeeeeeewwww....  Sack.  Sack.  Do you mean belly?"
     "No, it's slang for scrotum."
     "EEEEEEEEWWWWW.  NO WAY!  I'm never doing that job.  I would rather be a shrimper.  I would rather be a crab fisherman..."

It's That Time of Year Again

Yeah, I know.  Stealing campaign signs is a crime.  But it's time for Halloween madness in Kate's world.  I needed a framework for Sara's dragonfly wings that would hold them straight out to the side; and that I could harness to her back, right?  There is only one substance on planet Earth that can fit the bill. 

Don't worry!  I was v-e-r-y c-a-r-e-f-u-l!  I drove around for a couple of days, looking for a perfectly situated sign:  on a corner, outside the garden wall of the homeowner.  I returned to my chosen sign late at night and got my car turned for a quick getaway.  Engine and headlights off.  Then I strolled back and forth on the sidewalk near the sign, waiting until there were no headlights visible from either direction.  Yeah, yeah, I know:  "Tut-tut, it looks like rain."  Then, when the moment was right, I yanked it out of the ground and ran for it, driving away with only a slight squealing of tires.

I'm going to have to cover the sign-part with something substantial, so Sara doesn't get arrested.  'Cause that would be embarrassing.  I was at the local rec center this morning, and I saw her there with her gym class, getting ready to swim.  I said nothing, but this afternoon, I told her that next time I saw her out there, I was going to squeal, "SARA-BEARA!  Hi, Sweetie!  It's Mommy!  Yoooooooo hoooooooo!"  Just the idea made her livid.  I love this age.

I Have the Perfect Dress for that Party!

 So I overheard my kids talking about the Donner Reed Party, and I was intrigued.  That would be an awesome party.  I have a dress that would work great; and then either a pearl necklace or a jaunty scarf... 

 Look!  In this picture, her hair even sort of looks like mine on a bad day.  And I, too, could use my children as accessories!  "Who's hosting this party?" 

I had been whittering away, oblivious to the dumbfounded looks my kids were giving me.  They were talking about something different...

Puberty is not a Spectator Sport

The kids and I were eating supper together tonight and Sara told me that she had stopped getting a rash every time she tried to wear deodorant. And bras no longer make her feel short of breath (yes, she is a delicate flower).  "Yay, me!  I get to participate in puberty!"  Nate did not want to be left out: "I can't wait!  I can't wait!"  "For puberty?", I ask, a bit sceptical.  "I'm gonna talk in a big, low, hollow voice, LIKE THIS.  And I'm gonna have pu-ber-ty hair."

We were laughing our butts off at this point, and I realized that this was the first time I had really, truly laughed with the kids since Si and I split up.

Not Licensed to Parent

Today was a little bit of a roller coaster.  But I know my job:  stay hopeful, stay happy, stay strong.  Try not to fret about my bad-dog heart.  Be ready for anything.  It is very tiring. But I don't even have to look very carefully to find enormous gifts in this day.

 For example, I actually cleaned out my in-basket completely for the first time since last October.  There is a lesson to be learned from this kind of slacker behavior.  (With some very important exceptions) if you just leave shit in your in-basket for a really long time, by the time you are ready to file it, it is no longer relevant and filing is unnecessary. 

Additionally, it is impossible to hate a day with meatballs in it.  I was working away and thinking about how hungry I was; and there was a rapping at the office window!  The windows are those aluminium kind with a hinge at the bottom that you pull from the top - most of them in my office are stuck shut.  I found one that worked and jerked it open.  There was my student Maria M., standing in the rain with a little paper bag in her hand.  "Teacher!  You hungry?  I made abondigas!"  Oh, my God, Maria.  What kind of mind-reader ARE you?!?  I went to let her in the door.  "Maria!  Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!"  XXXXXX  In the bag were a lime and two chiles (for flavoring), and the meatball soup above.  Plenty for my supper tomorrow as well!  Maria does this sometimes:  during lent, she made a huge pot of lentil and nopale (cactus pad) soup, and her kids wouldn't eat it because they don't like nopales. I made out like a bandit that time!

I should also be happy because I posted Mark's job on Craig's this afternoon and I am getting INUNDATED with resumes. Tomorrow will be an interesting Inbox.  Most of them are gong to be stinkers; but for now, they are little unopened bundles of potential in my Outlook.  And I have found two houses for rent that are incredibly cheap.  I'm setting up a walk-through on one for tomorrow or Friday.  The other I will call on tomorrow. This one I'm going to see looks beautiful in the photos.  For the rent they are asking, I can't help thinking there must be something wrong with it.  Too good to be true. 

Mostly, though, today was about coming to grips with my parenting anxieties.  I was so miserable last night, and felt so guilty.  I had a ticket for the opera Falstaff this evening with a group of girlfriends, but I begged off because I figured that only a negligent mother would go to the opera after working last night and spending the four previous nights in another state.  I stayed home and played with Sara - she wanted me to come and hang out in her room with her.  We listened to her favorite tunes and lay on the floor, decorating the oilcloth "sit-upons" she made at Girls Scouts for our trip.  She told me all about her new boyfriend, Caleb. He likes to dance.  He shouts, "Hey, Beautiful!" at her from across the playground.  I didn't say so, but I remembered my sixth grade boyfriend, Billy. He used to shout the exact some thing at me.  While aiming a snowball at the back of my head.  We danced around the room and acted silly; and two thoughts came to me simultaneously:  my relationship with Sara is fine. I will be leaving soon.

Nathan is much more challenging.  He is angry about the divorce and sometimes yells and shouts at me.  He has always been a little mouthier and more volatile than Sara.  Lately, he has been acting like a twit at soccer.  He is a little advanced for the team he is playing on; and I hope that, when the club shuffles kids around next month, he will be put on a team that knocks him down a peg or two.  A the moment, he verbally berates his teammates when they mess up; or he has these rude, exasperated gestures.  When I told him that I expected better sportsmanship from him, he got defensive.  He's in it to win!  He wants the team to care about wining, like the players on Real Salt Lake. I pointed out that I have never seen Kyle Beckerman yelling at his teammates during a match.  I also pointed out that kids who are mean to their teammates soon find themselves without friends...  He didn't care.  WTF?  Nine-year old boys are a mystery to me.

I took this problem to the most passionate soccer person I know:  my colleague Ray M.  He understood immediately.  He told me about how, as a kid in Tehran, he started off playing barefoot in the streets with a rubber ball.  He was very good and was invited to join a club, which meant that he could play on a real field with a proper ball.  Just like Nate, he became convinced that he was God's gift.  He didn't yell at the other kids - he was too rough:  careless slide tackles; pushing; elbows. His father tried to talk to him about it, but he didn't want to hear.  Finally, his father met with the coach and they agreed to suspend him from any play for a month.  While he was grounded, he saw that the team was winning and making lots of goals without him, which was humbling. It reminded him that he wasn't indispensable, and that he needed to focus on his role as part of a team. 

I told this story at dinner at supper, under the pretense of general conversation about soccer-and-people-we-know.  It reached Nate loud and clear, though.  He laid his fork down and said in a shaking voice:  "Well, that wouldn't work in this country.  Coach wouldn't agree to that."  Simon said, "Actually, I think he would, if I explained why I thought you needed to take a break."  We'll see if he has been scared straight?

Parenting is no picnic. 

So!  Am I a good mother?  To answer that question, I look to my own mother.  I would call her an excellent mother, but in the same breath be able to list a whole bunch of less-than-admirable, insensitive, unfair or cruel decisions she has made.  When the situation played to her strengths, she was amazing.  Sometimes the situation played to a weakness.  Here's what I realize, now:  none of us was perfectly parented. Most of us are OK with that.  I will be deeply flawed as a parent, and I'll expect to be forgiven and loved anyway. 

Making the Children Scream

Parenthetically (so I had better use some parentheses...) I worked hard today on altering my attitude, as I wrote over the weekend.  Gonna try it for a few weeks.  All will be well.

I really do think I may move out to an apartment sooner than later.  Simon and I have discussed the fact that renting is a waste of money. Better to buy of course.  But I need time:  to find out how much money I have available when Si makes me a buyout offer; to decide what I want; to obtain a mortgage.  The kids and I could make do with two bedrooms for now...

Sara was recalling the old place today.  I'm surprised at what she remembers.

"Hey, Mom.  I had a walk-in closet at the cabin, didn't I?"

"Uh-huh."

"But Nate had a bigger one."

"Yeah, his was a lot bigger."

"Well, if we moved back there, I would want Nate's room, with the bigger closet."

"That 'room' was an open loft.  You wouldn't have a place to be alone."

"I'd have a big closet, though."

"But no privacy."

"If I wanted privacy, I could go in the closet!"

I get the hint.  Sara's checklist grows.  Cat.  Door painted with blackboard paint.  Big closet.

Simon is traveling for most of this week.  Doing the single mom routine is really not that bad.   I'm not lonely - au contraire!  I am too busy to think about being lonely.  Today was go, go, go.  I shouldn't use the past tense.  Sara arrived at my elbow just now.  "My shoulders hurt!" 
"Hmmm..  Did you do something to them today?" 
"No.  Except for climbing trees." 
"Well, that could do it.  Want an Ibuprofen?" 
"No... Maybe if you rubbed them for a few minutes..."  She no sooner got her rub and went back to bed than Nate came out.  He grabbed a cup and started pouring himself some water.  "Nate." 
"Huh?" 
"It's 11 PM.  If you drink water now, you're going to pee in the bed." 
"Oh, yeah."

I elicited screams twice today.  Not a bad day's work. 

First, a shriek of dismay when I said it was high time to plant lettuce.  I won't be here much longer, but I'll be coming by all the time, I suspect.  I can take care of the veggie garden well enough.  The kids love to kick their soccer balls against the east wall of the house,and have chalked the outline of a goal on it. But the lettuce and the cilantro need to go in the bed not far from the goal-wall, 'cause they will fry on the south side of the house.  This KILLS Nathan.  He can't believe that he has to give up his wall for the sake of salad. Sometimes he tries to get away with it.  Then I confront him and say,"Nathan Charles..."  "What!  I didn't DO anything!"  I invite him to accompany me to the garden, where I show him the perfectly circluar patches of mooshed lettuce.  "Let's see..., what is circular and about the size of a soccer ball? 

Yeah, it is finally getting spring-like, and I was out weeding one of the gardens while the kids played with their friends Nicki and Bryce out back.  Alarmed noises.  Bryce came running up.  "Kate!  Kate! There's a rat on the back porch!  A DEAD rat!"  "Well, pick it up and throw it away."  Shocked sounds from all the children.  "NO WAY!"  I dug into my bucket of garden stuff and came up with a dustpan.  "Here, Sara.  You can poke him in to the dustpan with a stick or something."  She looked amused but scared.  "No way am I getting close to that rat!  I could get Plague."  Oh, all right.  I allowed the kids to lead me to the resting place of the rat.  Right in the center of the back door mat.  Looks like a random cat has joined my long list of admirers.  Why can't they all leave rats on my porch!?  Now, I missed my opportunity to eat the slug, but judging by the way the kids were dancing around in grossed-out-ness, I needed to do something.  I picked it up by the tail, causing eyes to go wide.  If only it were this easy to impress adults.

I held it up.  "Now what should I do with it?"  Bryce got that look in his eye that kids get when they are about to suggest something outrageous that they only half-hope will happen.  "Throw it!"  "Hmmm..., " I said, letting it swing a bit.  "Where?  At you?"  All the kids braced themselves to run, but they couldn't quite do it.  They were horrified, yet enchanted by the idea of the rat being thrown at them.  "OK..."  My swings got larger.  "One...two...THREE!  Psych!"  I didn't do it.  What if someone had seen this suburban mother, still in skirt and stockings, flinging a rat at a group of children?  That is how people get arrested.  And get Plague.