The Kelly story

Thanks for the many fertile thoughts/blessings coming my way.

We are heading to texas in the morning and I've promised to catch up on some stories before gallivanting off to the land of meat eaters and mega churches (okay, scully, so it is also the land of mesquite trees and tamales, so there.)

Kelly goes furniture shopping, takes a bath & does some laundry.

Kelly has five kids and a dog. Not just a dog but a lab. And not just five kids but five kids under the age of 9. And not just under the age of 9 but an 8 year old, a 6 year old, a 3 year old and 1 1/2 year old twins.

She's my sister (Kelly). That's a whole other complicated story, but just, for now, accept it. Kelly recently moved her five kids and her dog into a new house. Her husband is great and I love him except when he's acting like a schmuck (like during this move) but I don't have permission to tell that story.

So 2 days after moving her five kids and her dog and her husband into their new house they decide to go get beds for the twins. Previously, the kids all slept with kelly. They wanted to change that pattern and thought moving into the new house would be a good time to make the change. So, the last few nights Kelly has been sleeping on the floor in the twins' room with the twins and her 3 year old. On the floor. Um, yeah, let's go get beds.

And how do they shop for furniture? Okay, kids, everyone pile into the van! (This is how my parents used to go furniture shopping with the 5 of us. I still think they took us all along just to leverage some sympathy for a better deal on a recliner.) They all go furniture shopping. They drive across the city where they live and it takes an hour to get anywhere so it's already been an hour before they get there and then. . . the van breaks down. Her husband manages to get to a parts store where he's sure he can fix it. Eventually with borrowed tools because they'd taken the tools out of the van for the move, he gets it fixed. They're up against an icestorm now, though, the kids are done being patient and they decide to just head home. Enough shit for one day. Then they hit traffic going home and just 15 minutes away from home. . .fzzzzzz. . . .the van breaks down again. He gets it to another parts store where he assures Kelly he can fix it in half the time if only she'll take all 5 kids out of the van. So she does. She takes five kids including a 3 year old and two 1 1/2 year olds into a auto parts store where they can touch nothing, everything is either poisonous or a choking hazard or, in fact, a poisonous choking hazard. She does this. Let me say that again. She does this. He gets the van fixed. They load everyone up all over again and the van limps home. It has been four hours since they left and they have accomplished nothing. I could been in iowa by now, Kelly tells me over the phone.

Instead she is in her new house with her new whirlpool tub which all of the kids are dying to try. The icestorm moves in, the whole house is still in boxes so sure! Let the kids frolic in the whirlpool tub. And they do. And there is much rejoicing.

Finally the kids are all asleep and it is Mommy's turn in the whirlpool tub. And the water is hot and the jets are running and there really is much rejoicing.

Schhhkkkk!

A washcloth gets sucked in to the whirlpool intake.
Broken.
It is broken.
They just moved in and now the whirlpool tub is broken.
And mommy broke it.

fuuuuuck.

But she is unstoppable, my sister kelly. She finishes her bath and gets up to go unpack some more boxes. Before doing that she needs to start some laundry which means tracking down the laundry detergent. Bargain shoppers that they are (they are also a one-income family) they have the mammoth 5-billion-loads-of-laundry-in-one-bucket-of-soap container from the giant discount store. And it's laundry liquid so it weighs 5 billion pounds as well.

But Kelly really is built for birthing and hauling and accomplishing tasks and getting things done and always, always for perseverance. I know that entire description is actually just the trap of womanhood glued neatly together with the flypaper of motherhood. Just work with me.

She gets everything to the washing machine and she's hooked it up--correctly, thank you--and pours the detergent in.

What the fu--???

MOTOR OIL.

It was motor oil! Her husband had used an old detergent container when he changed the car oil. And in her exhausted, near comatose state, she has just poured motor oil into her brand new washing machine. It was time for bed. Way, way past time for bed. Lucky for her, the floor of the twins' room was looking very comfortable.

Unreal. I don't know how you keep breathing, I say to her. I don't know why you keep breathing, says another sister. Kelly laughs, secure in the knowledge that if it were any of us-sisters, we'd just never make it.