Walking in the surf does something to me. Something that makes me feel profound and certain and imbued with direction that I immediately lose when faced with reality. Like my Garmin short-circuited on contact with my actual life.
My thoughts are like the laundry I should be washing. In that example, my thoughts are the laundry and they are spinning in my washing machine brain. I can't even do metaphors this morning. I give up. Since I can't think, I bring you:
A list of disgusting things my kids did on our way home from Mexico
(This is only a sample because I don't want to make you ill.)
Uno: For three hours, Nate mopped the Cancun airport floor with his entire body. Because it's not enough to touch every single surface between Cancun and the Idaho Border. Oh no. We must marinate in the filth. All of the children also kindly dusted between and under all of the rows of seats at our boarding gate where the mops and disinfectant are unable to reach. Gate C22. You could eat off of the floor. You are so very welcome, Mexico.
Dos: Saige peed in a public airport toilet, which involved clutching both sides of the seat with full finger wrappage around to sticky, gag-inducing rim for fear that the toilet will flushwithherbehindstillonit. OH! THE FEAR! THE HORROR! THE Scary. She then put her fingers in her mouth when she couldn't get the sink to turn on. Obviously, that is what one should do when faced with the inability to wash one's hands as asked. Throw a tantrum and stick one's fingers in one's mouth.
Tres: Quinn drew pictures in unidentified liquid on the floor in front of the ticket desk. (Where we once again spent massive amounts of time due to some further hiccup with Nate's imaginary ticket to the United States. In my lap. For the love of God.)
Cuatro: Quinn (again) dropped a bite of hamburger from his mouth to the airport floor, picked it up and ate it. This was a part of our continuing quest to put as many wet things that have touched filth in our mouths as is humanly possible.
Cinco: Garrett picked his nose, ate the booger and then grabbed both my cheeks with his hands in order to better tell me why that was "okay, it's okay, momma."
Seis: Nate threw a massive fit on the flight from Cancun to Denver that involved crying so hard that he gagged and almost threw up (I am so, so sorry, everyone on that airplane) and then finally fell into a semi-sleep state on my shoulder with massive green snot ropes hanging from both nostrils. I feared any wiping or bothering of any sort and had to endure almost uncontrollable waves of OCD panic as he wiped it on all available surfaces, including my shoulder and my hair.
Siete: Garrett went to the bathroom by himself on the flight to Denver and when he returned he announced, loudly, that he couldn't make the sink work so he didn't wash his hands. Matt nodded and grabbed his hands to help him back into his seat. (I dived for the hand santizer.) Matt drew back, surprised, and asked, why are your hands wet, Gee? He shook his head, I couldn't wash them. I know, Matt pressed, but then how are they soaking wet? Garrett just stood there blinking and this weird collective shudder past through the entire airplane and we all died a little inside - except for me, I died almost completely, I think I lost function in the right side of my brain - and then we made a silent vow to scour ourselves with Clorox if we lived and life went on.
Ocho: All four of my children at some point, licked, sucked, nuzzled, made-out-with or otherwise found a way to touch with their tongues large airport windows. Is there a substance in glass that I am unaware of that magnetically attracts the mouths of children? Can I buy a repellent? Honestly, this barely even grosses me out because of that one time, on the way to Mexico, when Garrett was three and he flat-tongue licked this decorative rock wall that had become a veritable sculpture due to all of the gum wedged into its crevices. That still makes me heave. I just gagged a little.
We were home. It was 1:30 a.m. and also 25 degrees.
Silver lining: That kind of cold ought to kill all fungus/airport smudge that we collected with our mouths on the trip home, no?
Silver lining numero dos: My children - my children - slept til 8:30 this morning. I drank coffee and wrote this all by myself in silence. No one else was making any kind of noise whatsoever. I'm considering dragging them around on errands until 1:30 a.m. every single night for the rest of their lives.
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