And So, it Comes to an End…

As I sit here and prepare for my first job outside of the home in four years, I have some mixed feelings about the future.  While my time with the natives has been invaluable, and that I would not trade it for the world ten times over, I am excited about actually doing my thing outside of the home and meeting new adult folks.   What has become my “normal” will now become something else; and the natives will adopt a new “normal” as well, a change that will cause the entire tribe to adjust.

I consider myself to be particularly adaptive in that wherever I go, whatever I must do, I adapt quickly and move on with whatever changes are made, however, this change, I think, will be particularly difficult, at least for me mentally than others.  For four years, I have been staying home and working, been, for all intents and purposes, “daycare” for my girls, and become the best housewife that the tribal leader could have hoped for.  Yes, I am domesticated.  Very.  So much so that the only thing separating me from motherhood is truly a uterus.

The natives will go to a daycare center/school that the tribal leader and I decided upon for them.  This facility will provide them with opportunities for learning, social interaction and more exercise and activity than I could provide for them at the tribal abode.  As for me, I will work outside of the home twice a week and work from the tribal abode the other three, for now.  This arrangement seems as though it will work out will for everyone involved, but as I said, it will take some adjustment, particularly with myself and the natives.

While I am looking forward to Tuesday next, I also approach it with some trepidation; I know that upon dropping off the natives at the daycare facility, I will likely be emotional while the natives will hurry off to their activities, not missing a beat.   It’s a good thing I have a long commute to my new job because it will likely be long enough to get my mind off the new routine and placing the natives in someone else’s care.  But still.

They’ve driven me to the brink of insanity and back again.  They’ve said and done things that have made me cringe and laugh; be furious and amused; but most of all needed and loved.  Indeed, Tuesday and Wednesday are, in the end, good little natives, as much as I have complained about their irritating habits and mannerisms.  I will miss my days with them, as hard as that may seem to me now, I will miss it.

So many memories, so many good stories to tell.  For those wondering if this will ever get made into a book, yes.  Yes, indeed.  After 175 blog posts ranging from blown out disposable undergarments to vomiting mishaps to episodes of being locked out of the abode by a native, they will be compiled and delivered to the natives when they are old enough to read and appreciate the adventures had with them when they were very young.

As for you, my faithful readers, thank you for reading my blog and sharing in my adventure with the natives.  It’s been fun for me as well as I’m sure it has been even more fun for you reading my misadventures and experiences.  I am glad that I was urged to create this blog a few years ago for it has given me an outlet for some of my frustrations.   And for those who have encouraged me, supported my efforts, laughed right along at me or with me, thank you. 🙂

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Day 941: The Great Toilet Paper Incident

Those who are aware of my experiences with the natives know that I have witnessed more than my fair share of construction and destruction, achievements and failures, hope and disappointment and all things in between whilst among their kind.  Those who are just joining me for the very first time, please allow me to digress and explain my account(s) of the natives and their behavior: they are heathens.  Uncivilized in every sense of the word and exhibit barbaric and crude tendencies.  They also don’t listen well.  To anyone, but to me, more specifically.  As the date suggests, my observation of the natives, or rather care of the little heathens, has continued thus for 941 days.  941. Days.  Many a good man has been driven mad in one-third the time.  And me?  I’m not completely mad.  Not yet, anyway.

However, the natives try DAILY to force me into an I-love-me-jacket and a room with some nice padded walls.  They are persistent and will stop at nothing in achieving their goals, which, I suppose is good in some rare cases, however, in the case of the natives against me, their persistence is taken as a negative, not a positive.

And what, do you ask, is the reason for today’s record of observation?  Ha!  A feat of epic proportions!

For the past ninety-two days, the natives have been under strict indoor latrine use – that is, they have been relieved of the use of all disposable undergarments and MUST use the indoor latrine in its place.  If you have not already read the previous post, please do, it’s a hoot.  If you have, you are well aware of the capabilities of the natives and how quickly they can move.  And sling pee.  Across.  A. Room.  But, I digress.

The natives’ indoor latrine use has progressed to a point that they no longer require adult supervision when using the potty.  That’s right, we don’t accompany them to the latrine.  If we do, we get politely asked, or even not so politely demanded, to “Leave them alone.”  Modesty is apparently very important to our humble natives.  Several trips have been taken, many days have passed of perfect potty use.  All of it sounds hunky dory, right?

Wrong.

Unassisted potty use leads to “other” activities in the indoor latrine.  What other activities?  I’m so glad you’ve asked.  Let’s start with a normal infraction: hand washing.  Now, no human being needs to wash their hands for fucking twenty minutes.  The tribe pays for its piped in water and there’s no need to piss it down the drain for excessive hand-washing – or rather water activities.  Apparently, Wednesday thinks that it is great fun to splash the water in the sink and cake soap on her hands until the sink is more than half full of water and her hands look like a fucking plaster cast.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m ecstatic that the natives are so exuberant in their personal hygiene, I just wish they would use less water doing it.

Another activity that is a product of unassisted potty use is the investigation of the indoor latrine for the feline wildlife.  Yes, this is another infraction worthy of blood pressure levels being raised to dangerous heights.  In addition to playing with the granules of the indoor wildlife latrine, the natives have found it to be great fun to climb on top of the apparatus which is definitely not rated for their weight.  These infractions are usually worth a good scolding and assisted potty use for the remainder of the latrine visit.

One would think that after these incidents that one would at least check on the natives perhaps once during their potty ritual.  Maybe?

Wrong.  So fucking wrong.

Because no words could ever tell a story like this image can, I give you exhibit A: the only image you need to see to get an understanding for the, if you’ll excuse the pun, shit-show that was about to commence.

photo

This afternoon, whilst attempting to get caught up on chores around the tribal abode, this happened.  I assume, mostly because she was quickly ratted about by her elder sibling Tuesday, that Wednesday was to blame for the mess which shall be henceforth referred to as the Great Toilet Paper Incident.

The tribal leader, after performing her chores, retired to the tribal living area where Tuesday and Wednesday had scattered the contents of two entire board games about the room.  The games were Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders and are immaterial to this  account, but for those who need details, there they are.  Tuesday, the great taddler of them all, appeared and ratted out her younger sibling stating that she had made a mess of the latrine with the toilet paper.  Then, Wednesday appeared, with a perfectly good, new roll of the paper and presented it as though it were a fucking tribute.  At this point, a line of toilet paper had found its way out of the bathroom and into the hallway.

The tribal leader sent me to assess the damage and this image is what was seen.  Now, both the tribal leader and I had a difficult time hiding our mirth at the site of the mess because we did not want the natives to think that the crime was not serious – indeed it was, however, this shit (pardon the pun again) is funny.

After admonishing the natives, never, NEVER to do this again, the toilet paper was scooped up disposed of.   A few things can be learned from this little life lesson:

1. Wednesday is not to be trusted, under any circumstances.  She’s a ninja.  An uncontrollable, impish Buddha-like ninja and she strikes when least expected, quickly and quietly.

2. We can always count on Tuesday to rat out her younger sibling.  Honestly, the girl doesn’t know when to lie to save her own hide.

3. A roll of toilet paper can be piled onto the floor in under 5 minutes – it’s like a fucking math problem – you figure out the rate at which the paper was unrolled and how many sheets were lost.

Yes, each day is an adventure, none of them like another.  And the natives? Shit, they just keep getting smarter and smarter.  When they figure out how to work together, we’re screwed.  Until, then, I will endeavor to step up my efforts to stay two steps ahead of them.  Ok, I’ll settle for one.  One step ahead.

After all this, what do we have?  A funny story.  And a shit load of toilet paper in a bag.

Day 852: The Potty Training Gauntlet

Few things compare to the frustrations and joys of potty training young natives  – and by “few things”, I mean damn little.  Indoor latrine use, instead of disposable undergarments, has been encouraged and proposed to the eldest of the natives for several months now, however, with little progress.  Until this weekend last.  With a little insight from a trusted source, it was determined to ensure that BOTH natives begin using the indoor latrine or “potty” consistently and the remainder of said disposable undergarments were to be…well…disposed of.  Thus, potty training occurred in earnest around the tribal abode beginning on Saturday last, and progressing to this very day.

The idea of using the indoor latrine for both natives was welcomed with open arms, initially.  Methinks, as in many case and in many things, the concept was more glamorous than the act itself, however, whether in theory or in practice, there was and is NO turning back.

On day one of the potty training gauntlet – I prefer the term “gauntlet” because it aptly describes the fortitude required to get, not one but two natives to recognize the need to use the potty BEFORE having an accident in the tribal living area floor – I was not present for the commencement of strict indoor latrine use;  all information I received was second hand from the tribal leader who wore the mantle of training the two heathens in the ways of indoor latrine use.  First, she is now a candidate for sainthood, for if I had been alone with them, shackled with the responsibility of instructing the natives and coordinating their indoor latrine duties, I surely would have gone mad.  However, with the fortitude of Job, she endured through most of the daylight hours until my return when I joined her in her efforts to encourage the natives to use the potty.

Initially, the natives were, shall we say, less than perfect in attempting to get to the indoor latrine in time.  And by “less than perfect” I mean there was SOME effort to get to the latrine before soiling their undergarments, except that it was much too late.  Yup.  Like pee wherever they were standing, be it in the tribal living area or next to the potty in the latrine, so close, but yet, so far.  However, this was only day one.

The frustration sets in when one asks the natives if they need to use the latrine and the answer is a definitive “NO.”  However, within thirty seconds or say, five minutes, there they are with a river of urine running down their leg, as they scamper to the latrine.  Ah, yes.  The joys of potty training.  However, it got better.

Day two of the potty training gauntlet brought more use of the potty and fewer accidents.  Not perfect and overnight the first night there was but one accident from Tuesday, but otherwise, a tremendous effort.  Again, I was not present for the natives waking, and for the first few hours of the morning, however, I am told that there were fewer accidents and more potty use.  Upon my return, I picked up where I left off, attempting to assist the natives in reminding them about the need to use the indoor latrine.  In some cases, the encouragement took much more effort on my part, but yielded progress in the end.

Day three yielded more positive results, however, with a few accidents.  Their overnight record was perfect, with no accidents of any kind.  There was actually hope!  While the day was a mixture of perfect potty use, with a little encouragement and reminding, the tribe showed great progress and promise in mastering the potty training gauntlet, however, with one small hiccup.

During evening sustenance, I noticed that Wednesday was exhibiting some signs of possible need to use the potty – fidgeting, not sitting still, lack of focus on eating, etc. so I deemed it necessary to encourage her to use the potty, which she did, somewhat reluctantly, which has been her MO from the start.  However, after prodding her down the hallway toward the latrine, she stopped and attempted to pick up every little item in her path.  Sigh.  Now.  Now of all time she feels the need to pick up.

After getting her to the latrine, assisting her with her undergarments, she sat down and used the potty.  Choirs of angels were singing somewhere, I just know.  When she was finished, she stood up and that’s when the fun began.

Now, the speed at which a two and a half-year old native can pick up the potty and hurl the urine FILLED potty chair toward the flushable latrine is directly proportional to the time it takes to rip two sheets of toilet paper off the roll on the wall of the latrine.  That’s a math problem.  You figure it out…

As soon as I saw her pick up the potty, out of the corner of my eye, things began to move in slow motion.  Before I could even utter the word “NOOOOO!”, and with the form of an Olympic discus throwing athlete,  she had hurled the urine out of the potty in the direction of the latrine, splattering mostly over the bathroom floor.  In a word, I felt defeated.  Wednesday, on the other hand, was extremely proud of herself, proclaiming that she now needed to wash her hands.  Yup, you and me both.  And the floor.  And the toilet.  And anything else that was in the way of the pee hurling toddler, bringing new meaning to the phrase, “piss off.”

After cleaning the native up, the floor and anything that suffered the shower of pee during Wednesday’s potty episode, the native returned to business as usual.  And, after being slightly mortified, I returned to my meal.  Lest I think that the natives do not understand how and where to empty the portable latrine, I need to think again.  Sigh.  Too smart for their own damn good.

Today, use of the indoor latrine is going well.  The natives have both used the potty several times and there have been no accidents…yet.

Day 824: Swashbuckling and Thievery – Two Tales of Woe

Swashbuckling you say?  Aye, swashbuckling.  And thievery?  Aye…and thievery. Sigh.  The two tales of woe I am about to relay occurred on Saturday evening and Sunday last and feature Tuesday and Wednesday respectively.  I consider the natives to be of reasonable intelligence and intellect and very resourceful.  During my observations, they have proved a slight bit headstrong and determined in their actions as well. These traits have both plagued the heathens and have been an asset to their arsenal of tactics to thwart my premeditated designs for them.  Make no mistake – this heathens are quite capable, very resourceful and untrustworthy.

Saturday Evening, Approximately 9 PM-ish

After taking the tribe out for a multi-tribe dinner with the tribal elders, the tribal leader, the natives and myself returned to the tribal abode, prepared to shoo the natives off to their slumbers as another outing for the breakfast meal with the same company would occur early the next morning.  Wednesday had fallen asleep in the tribe’s mode of transportation, as we had assumed she would, which is both fortunate and unfortunate.  You see, it’s fortunate in that she was quiet; when she is fatigued, her disposition becomes that of an angry grizzly bear.  Unfortunate, in that she fell asleep and would either be difficult to extract from the vehicle while still asleep or if woken, she may never go back to sleep.  However, the native woke upon arriving at the tribal abode, so we were now stuck with the latter.

Once in the tribal abode, we began to go about our normal bedtime routine which includes picking up (groan), changing into bedtime clothing, brushing of teeth, etc.  The natives apparently had no intentions of going off to their slumbers.  At all.  They were, for all intents and purposes, wired for sound.  Yup.  Like they ingested a pound of sugar EACH.  Everything was a battle – picking up, changing into pajamas, brushing of teeth – worse than Gettysburg.  However, the tribal leader and I prevailed, and the natives were sentenced to a night of slumber in their resting chambers.  Phew.

That’s when the bedtime antics began.  Let me be clear, here, that the tribal leader and I were prepared for their antics – we were tired and needed to retire to our own resting chambers, but we were prepared to deal with the multiple requests for this or for that and to steer them back to their resting chambers.

I have a keen sense of detecting when mischief is afoot – I can, just by hearing sounds over the two-way monitor in their resting chambers, tell EXACTLY what they’re doing and where they are.  It’s a gift.  And a curse.  For, I am usually the first to fly down the hallway to the natives’ resting chambers to thwart whatever activity they might be engaged in.  Yet another gift.  And, tonight was no different.

So, over the monitor I heard noises – bumps, knocks and other noises that led me to believe that the natives were NOT asleep.  I had the sinking feeling that they were up to no good.  Damn it, I hate it when I’m right.

I flew down the hallway to their resting quarters, in the dark, as if loaded for bear.  To be clear here, the time was approximately 10 PM – WAY past the native’s bedtime and nearly approaching my own.  I was done with everything – including their shenanigans.  I flung open the door, or at least tried to because Wednesday had taken EVERYTHING off her bed, except for the fitted sheet, and thrown it on the floor behind the door.  Great.  A barricade.

The things that are normally on Wednesday’s bed equal, in size, a small mountain, and are just as immovable.  After forcing the door open, I observed the following things:  a toy vacuum cleaner was now on Wednesday’s bed, with Wednesday who was standing on her bed at this point.  Tuesday was standing – no – swashbuckling on top of Wednesday’s chest of drawers attempting to reach the shelf above that held many items that were specifically placed out of her reach…or at least intended to be out of her reach.  A tart warmer also sat on that shelf as a nightlight and to spread pleasant aromas throughout their room and that end of the abode.  Let me do a little aside here – the chest of drawers is easily four to four and a half feet off the ground – a height that really takes some skill to achieve for a native.  However, I was not impressed at this point. Not. At. All.

I must have turned green and grew horns because my voice turn into that of an ogre.

“GET DOWN, NOW!!!!”  I more or less screamed.

Tuesday, who was in mid stride continued knocking things off the shelf as she fumbled her way down onto Wednesday’s bed.  I then went into a long dissertation on why she should not be climbing up there and touching anything on that shelf.  Tuesday looked at me with a confused look – she really wasn’t confused.  She knew exactly what I was telling her.  Soon, the tribal leader joined me and we had a tribal pow-wow in the natives’ resting chambers.  At 10 PM.   She was informed that she should not swashbuckle up there again or else the light would remain off as would the music that puts the heathens to sleep.  We departed their resting chambers and returned to our own.  I continued to listen.

After a time, some similar sounds continued over the monitor.  Son of a bitch.  They’re at it again.

I stormed down the hallway, this time followed by the tribal leader.  And again, we found Tuesday, high atop Wednesday’s chest of drawers, swashbuckling like a pirate on the seven seas.  My ogre form took over again and I scared her down from her perch.  This was met with lament and considerable wailing and crying.  We impressed upon her the need for her to not get back up on the bureau.  The light, much to their chagrin, was turned off but the music remained on.  The time at this point was approaching 11 PM.

We departed their resting chambers, leaving the natives disagreeable at best and expressing lament about the loss of the light in their room.  Tuesday even pleaded her case to the tribal leader and I in our own resting chambers, however, to no avail.  We informed her that she needed to retreat to the place from whence she came and go to sleep.  Eventually, after much coaxing, she returned to her resting quarters and soon after the eleven o’clock hour, all was quiet except the sounds of sweet lullabies coming from their room.  Thank God.

The next day seemed to go pleasantly – we went out and ate our breakfast sustenance with the other members of the extended tribe and the tribal elders and picked up some necessary provisions before returning to the tribal abode.  Once home, I needed to perform some occupational labors, so the tribal leader kept the natives busy whilst I concentrated on my project.  During this time, Wednesday fell asleep on the floor of the tribal living area.  Apparently she should have gotten more sleep last night.  Go figure.

After a time, Tuesday was growing restless and I was ready for a break.  So, I took Tuesday outside for some playtime and to tire her out so that we did not have a repeat performance of last evening’s swashbuckling episode.  Whilst outside, both the tribal leader and Wednesday napped.  Or, at least, I thought they were both napping.

Tuesday and I stayed outside for about an hour.  I informed her that we needed to come back in and make the evening’s sustenance.  So, we came in to the tribal abode.  The first thing I noticed upon arriving inside was that the door was seemingly barricaded – Wednesday must be awake.  Pushing a little harder, I got the door open enough to observe Wednesday with a mouth, FULL of something, smiling at me.  Fuck.  The tribal leader was still lying down on the reclining tribal furniture.  Apparently, she found something to eat – I just didn’t know what.

I inquired what she was eating and all I got was smiles and a big shit eating grin.  Wonderful.  At this point, the tribal leader had woken moments earlier and we were both trying to extract from her what she was eating.  We determined that it was chocolate in nature (go figure) and that it was perhaps Oreo cookies.  Where they hell did she get those from?  Apparently, there was a small, self serve container of cookies on the counter from a previous excursion that, when she awoke, she sought out, opened and proceeded to FINISH the container.  Damn.  Just damn.  I then found the empty container over behind the door to the abode, with her usual accoutrements.  The frightening things here are:

1.  Wednesday knew right where the cookies were.

2.  Wednesday was quiet like a thief and never made a noise whilst seeking her cookies.

3.  Wednesday polished off a half full container of cookies in a short amount of time.

So there you go.  Two tales of swashbuckling and thievery.  I have said it before and I’ll say it again – the natives should not be underestimated.  They are capable, resourceful and untrustworthy.

Day 811: At Wit’s End

When last I left you, I was enjoying a somewhat uneventful period of time with the natives: there were few skirmishes betwixt the two heathens, they were giving me ample time to complete my necessary tasks and all was reasonably well.  Since that day, in fact, in the hours that followed that post, the tide turned.  It not only turned, but it provided a fucking tidal wave of disagreeable, demonic and destructive behavior.

A fucking tidal wave, you say?  Yes. A fucking tidal wave.  You know the kind – the ones you never see coming – and then WHAM.  It hits you like a brick wall.  Perhaps the reason for the dramatic turn in the native’s behavior was the several days of fair behavior that preceded it.  Perhaps their “good” behavior was merely a ruse for the planned change in their attitudes and behavior.  Perhaps, this is all part of an elaborate plot to undermine mine and the tribal leader’s authority.  Whatever the case may be, the demons have reared their ugly heads once again – methinks until they can be tamed.

As I’ve stated earlier, cleanup of the native’s toys and playthings has become a challenge – sometimes an epic battle – to even get the natives to participate in the clean up activity.  In fact, one week to the day, the day that I noted their fine behavior, save for a few instances of insubordination, there was massive fallout in the tribal abode, of epic proportions.  Here is how it went down.

As per usual, the natives were requested, repeatedly, to pick up their toys and playthings – we’ve found that the best way to get into the minds of the natives is through repetition – at least most of the time.  However, our requests to pick up said toys and playthings was met with both flat-out refusal and civil disobedience.  Tuesday, when requested to pick up anything, responded with a distinctive, “NO!” while running away to her resting chambers, apparently thinking that by escaping the wardens that she would be free from being held to task.  Silly Tuesday!  Wednesday, on the other hand, nonchalantly ignored our requests and pretended as though they were uttered to the wind.  By this point, the tribal leader and myself were growing impatient with and infuriated by the natives and their refusals.  That’s when the fallout began.

The tribal leader had had enough.  She began grabbing bags and filling said bags with those toys and playthings that were scattered about the tribal living area and their resting quarters and informed the natives that the items in said bags would be removed from their possession and given to some other native who would take much better care of them.   This was followed by wailing and lament and carrying on.  However, it was not followed by the appropriate action – that of picking up the remainder of the toys that had not been taken.   Damn.

It was only after repeated attempts to get the natives to START picking up that they actually did so.  And even then, it was half-hearted.  What little they did was enough to spare them the removal and distribution of their toys to other natives, however, they were now charged with the task of getting them back: each one had to be EARNED back, ONE AT A TIME.

So far, only one toy has been earned back from the toy bags that were collected.  And more has been taken away.

Forgive the rant that will now ensue, for it must be said:  What the fuck?  What the hell does it take to get through to these two natives?  I mean, really – we’ve taken things away – and not just toys they don’t care about a lot – favorites – and what do we get?  Nothing.  Fucking crickets.  How much do I need to take out of their possession before it sinks in?  When will it sink in?  Honestly, why must we go through this EVERY FUCKING DAY?  I realize they are young but for the LOVE OF GOD, some of this has to be sinking in… they can remember all the words to Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star but can’t remember to pick up their frigging toys?  Tuesday can be obsessive about personal hygiene but cannot for the life of her be slightest bit obsessive about any of her toys?  I am at my wit’s end.  I use to enjoy this, sadly, I am not any more.  I need the slightest spark of obedience from them – just a little bit – to know that I am getting through.

There.  So, where was I?  Oh yes, the toys.  So, they’ve still not earned back many of their toys.  In fact, more have been taken away than what they’ve earned back.  And where do we put the toys that have been confiscated?  Well, I’d like to refer to it as the Penitentiary for Misfit Toys. Not that the toys are misfits, or the natives for that matter, but the way the toys are treated resembles the way the toys are treated from Rudolph.

And shall we discuss the verbal altercations with the natives? Yes, let’s.  Of late, Tuesday, and Wednesday on occasion, like to, shall we say, verbally spar with me and the tribal leader, particularly when asked to perform a specific function, such as pick up.  Now, verbally sparring, or in this case, talking back, with a three-year-old, specifically at the moments she chooses to exercise her free will, goes over like a fart in church.  Actually, I think a fart in church would go over better than this.  Their responses are usually followed by a “WHAT?!?!?” as if we didn’t hear the offensive chatter they just uttered.  Tuesday’s facial expressions change dramatically after saying whatever it is she chooses to respond with by demonstrating that she knows that talking back is going to get her into a shit load of trouble.  And it does.

There are multiple approaches to causing this behavior to stop – my great-grandmother would have chosen the washing-the-mouth-out-with-soap route, however, that tends to be a more stringent method nowadays.  Usually, the offense is usually followed by the punishment of the electronic media box being turned off, the probable source of the bad behavior.  This doesn’t stop the bad behavior, but it does cut back on the root of the problem.

As for today, well, today has been a fanfuckingtabulous day so far.  Tuesday has been sent to her room several times, she has talked back several times and has sparred with her younger sibling on several occasions today.  So far.  For the moment, the natives are playing together, with minimal disputes, however, I have an ear dedicated to their activities so that any altercations don’t escalate.

So, I’m at my wit’s end.  I don’t really know what, when or if I’ll get through to the natives.  I’m sure at some point, they’ll have no other option than to listen to me.  At some point.

Day 804: Favorable Behavior Prevails with the Natives…So Far This Week

I must admit that normally my posts about the natives are negative in nature – the times when they push my buttons the most are when I resort to this observation recording system as a means of therapy from the constant onslaught against my mental fortitude.  However, today, and in fact, for the past three days, the natives have demonstrated favorable behavior for the most part, blowing my theory of the days of the week and their behavior I have associated with them.  However, I am ever watchful – I am fully aware that at any moment, favorable behavior can transform into hell on earth.

I am considering what has brought on this sudden change in behavior from the normal pattern that I usually experience; perhaps it is brought on by recent experiences with the tribe during the weekend days during the past two weeks.  Perhaps, it is influenced by the weather, especially since the climate has been extremely fair during the past several days.  Or perhaps, just perhaps, the natives have changed their demonic ways and are on a path to enlightenment….perhaps not.

I wish to note that the past three days have not ALL been peaches and cream, hunky dory, easy peasy lemon squeezy – whatever you want to call it.  There have been moments – and I call them moments because they have been brief – where interacting with the natives has been…let’s just say…difficult.  After all, they are natives.

For example, as has been a challenge and a point of contention for as long as I can remember, the natives do not respond well to requests to pick up their toys and playthings from the floor on which they are scattered.  And, by scattered, I mean flung to the corners of the room, complete containers and boxes of pieces and parts, completely uprooted and distributed haphazardly around the tribal living area and their resting quarters.  Yup.  A royal frigging mess.  I normally begin requesting their assistance with cleaning up said mess in the late afternoon hours before the tribal leader returns from her usual avocation.  This is met with blank stares, crickets and the frequently voiced “NO.”   Now, the word “no” is all but prohibited from being spoken from the native’s mouths, particularly when being requested to perform a chore. Even Wednesday, so innocent and meek, often voices her definitive opinion on cleaning up by stating that she will not help clean up the devastation.  Yes, methinks Wednesday is picking up some of Tuesday’s bad habits.  Anywho, this particular exchange goes on for several minutes until I have had enough and begin removing beloved toys from their possession.

Call me mean, call me evil, call me what you will – however, I do want results and I will find out what motivates the natives.  And, often, by taking a particular toy, in Tuesday’s case, it’s her new pink princess pony that she recently acquired and for Wednesday it is one of her little miniature stuffed dachshunds – the ones that she cannot live without.  Yup.  I’m a big old frigging meanie.  However, once they’ve stopped crying, once they’ve stopped fussing and whining – and they actually START picking up, it tends to be a great way to motivate the natives.  Normally, I do give back whatever toy has been taken away, as long as acceptable action on their part is taken to perform whatever chore is required of them.

Aside from the battle of the clean up, this week, thus far has been very favorable in terms of their behavior.  I even had a weak moment and invited the natives to go outside and play for a while because their behavior was so good.   I hope this pattern of behavior continues; I am cautiously optimistic.  Opportunities still remain for the demons inside the natives to rear their ugly heads, however, for now, those demons are no where to be seen.

Day 782: Terrible Tuesday Rears Its Ugly Head….Again.

It’s like clockwork.  It really is.  I can almost set a clock by it.  Every week, it visits me.  All day.  At every turn, it attempts to break me.  Wear me down and then run me over like a bus.  Terrible.  Tuesday.

Tuesdays, for whatever reason, is the hands down, worst day of the week.  Why you ask?  Let me just tell you.  Pop a squat and have a seat.  Get ready to be entertained at my expense.  You see, for some time now, the natives have taken, adopted, held hostage, whatever you want to call it, me into their tribe, some seven hundred eighty-two days ago.  And for seven hundred eighty-two days, I have been their care giver, referee, warden, hostage, prisoner, inmate, cook, waiter and playmate.  Yup.  I’ve done a lot in seven hundred eighty two days.  Some days have been much better than others.  True story.

However, as any native observant will tell you, some days are inherently better than others.  In fact, some days are downright shitty.  Yup.  Shitty.  And, around these parts, the third day of the week, known as Tuesday, for whatever freakin’ reason, is always terrible.  Henceforth, it shall be dubbed Terrible Tuesday.

I don’t know why the natives have chosen Tuesday as the day, each week, that they trade their earthly bodies for those of demons, but every freakin’ Tuesday is the same.  Damn. Thing.  For instance, normally, the natives listen marginally to my requests to do simple tasks, such as turning off a light that they have been asked to repeatedly turn off or to refrain from striking each other in a fit of rage.  However on Terrible Tuesday, the gloves come off.  The natives exhibit partial hearing loss ( I say partial because they can’t hear my requesting them to pick something up off the tribal living area floor, but they can hear a bag of fucking potato chips being opened from the other end of the tribal abode.  And the destruction – oh, the destruction.  The natives can destroy a room faster than a herd of freakin’ buffalo.  And last but not least, the attitude.  The last time I checked, the natives, Tuesday and Wednesday, were three and two years of age, respectively.  Yet, with the amount of attitude and talking back they give me, one would expect that they were teenage natives.  Yup.  Terrible Tuesday.  It’s a real barrel of laughs around this joint.

Today’s episode of Terrible Tuesday began at around 6:45 AM.  I know what you’re saying, in the general scheme of things, it’s not early.  Some people, my mother included, have baked two batches of muffins, done three loads of laundry and have walked five miles before that hour, but humor me for a minute.  I was sleeping soundly – and to be woken up at that hour, having been sleeping soundly, it’s frigging early. Too early, in fact, for me.  However, I digress.  This morning began at 6:45 AM.  The natives were up and at our resting chamber door, wide-eyed and busy tailed.

Their demands had already begun standing in the doorway requesting more of their preferred beverage and sustenance.  They also requested the tribal leader’s presence, which I quickly discouraged and shooed them out of our resting chambers so that at least one of us could get the remaining minutes of slumber.  I quickly reminded them of the hour, which they swiftly disregarded.  Nice.  My first thought was to get them setup with a program on the electronic media box with instructions to watch it QUIETLY whilst the tribal leader and myself got our remaining moments of sleep.  Fat chance, stupid.

My bright idea (which really wasn’t bright at all, it was the first and only idea I had in my groggy, half-wakened state) lasted about ten minutes.  Long enough for me to close my eyes and drift halfway back to sleep.  Again, Tuesday appeared in our doorway and again, I shooed her out, attended to her needs and I returned to my resting quarters.  Again she appeared, this time with Wednesday and that was the end of that.

As the tribal leader was leaving for her usual avocation, the natives really demonstrated just how the day was going to progress.  For, as she was leaving, and not being happy with her departure, they wailed uncontrollably as she closed the door to the abode.  Wonderful.  Fanfuckingtabulous.  And so, Terrible Tuesday was off to a terrible start.

From there, there were numerous interruptions for beverages, food, wildlife vomiting in different areas of the tribal abode floor, this, that and the other thing.  There was disagreements over the next program that was to be watched on the electronic media box as well as toys and playthings that could be played with and by whom.  Wednesday, who had fallen asleep early last evening had wet through her disposable undergarment and onto the tribal furniture.  Tuesday had already had two out of her three cup allotment of her beverage of choice.  Allotment you say?  Yes, allotment.  Too much of the mixed beverage turns Tuesday into a raging beast.  Well, more of a raging beast than usual.  So yes, allotment.  Yup. And this was all before 10 AM.

Consequently, my attitude on Tuesdays is pretty terrible too.  Those three heads and horns that sprout when I’m angry?  Just below the fucking surface.  Yup.  I go from 0 to apeshit in 2.5 seconds on Tuesdays.

After a while, all three of us settled into our Terrible Tuesday routine: I had determined how turns were going to be taken with choosing a program on the electronic media box, as well as what sustenance could be consumed for the breakfast meal ( today’s request was veggie sticks and hot dogs for breakfast.)  I eventually got some coffee out of the ridiculously slow coffee maker that the tribe owns.  The rate at which the magical elixir dispenses from the machine is equal to the rate at which a line of people moves at the DMV.  But, I digress.

Morning came and went, eventually and the midday sustenance was prepared for the miniature vultures that descended upon me during its preparation.  The natives have a funny way of circling  the communal eating surface when they know that sustenance is being prepared.  They also have the uncanny ability to know exactly when I cannot leave the electric sustenance cooking surface and when to  desperately request my assistance.   Finally, the meal was prepared, consumed and cleaned up after and it was time for the afternoon’s festivities.

Now, I wish to state that no one in the next events I shall describe was injured, to any great degree.  The natives were in the tribal living area marginally “playing” together.  I say marginally because there was a bit of squabbling and arguing going on.  For the record, I do not hover over the natives whilst they play.  I give them the space to allow themselves to figure out how to play together and intervene only when the “play” turns into mortal combat.  So, they are “playing” when a red, furry rodent arrives on the wild avian feeder that is hung outside the window in the tribal living area.

Backup.  We have a lovely little red rodent, Sciurus vulgaris, commonly known as a red squirrel, that has taken a liking to our wild avian feeder  and has done a wonderful job of scattering the sustenance for said avian all around the outside deck.  We have allowed the natives, since their main goal in life is discord and destruction, to scare said rodent off the feeder whenever it is seen on it.  This has worked rather well, actually, and has given the squirrel cardiac arrest on many occasions.  However, today, there was a slight incident.

Tuesday, for whatever reason, was on the arm of the chair by the window, methinks.  At least, that’s the only way I can imagine her falling between the chair and the window and getting stuck.  Like really stuck.  Like you-have-to-move-the-big-chair stuck.  Fucking wonderful.

As one can imagine, Tuesday was not pleased being stuck between the tribal furniture and the window.  In fact, distraught was the word I’d used to describe her demeanor once extricated from the small space.  After ensuring that she was ok, I admonished her sternly NOT to get up there again.  After a few more moments of sobbing, she regained her composure and was back in business.  As for the squirrel, he has returned to business as usual as well.

So that’s been Terrible Tuesday thus far.  This doesn’t include the countless times I’ve had to referee and reprimand the natives from being tough and rough with the wildlife, fighting and hitting, tearing apart the tribal living area and so on.   And, it’s only 3 PM.