Damage Control

Mom and Dad went out on a date tonight (hence the late posting). I didn't really have to do much while the kids were up. Put on the Music Man and read for a while. Despite the fact they complained about my choice of movie and swore they wouldn't watch it (except Baby, who doesn't really care), they were all quickly sucked in.
It was only AFTER a decent hour that I had anything to do.
I was heading up to bed, and Pop asked what my parents were doing. This was after they had been gone for at least 3 1/2 hours. He apparently thought (though Mom told him otherwise before they left) that they were just driving Amish. I told him they were on a date, and wouldn't be back for a while.
"How am I supposed to ride my bike?!" I had such a hard time not saying "With your legs, what do you think." I had the vague feeling that would not have gone over very well. I told him I would watch Baby, and he left, I though he was actually riding his bike. I put on LHotP, and settled in for some quality time with my little sister, instilling adoration of Pa in her from a young age. About a half an hour later (just when the plot was thickening) he came back up. He hadn't even started riding his bike yet. He put on Care Bears for no apparent reason, and relaxed in a chair. I figured he was only going to let Baby get used to him so she would cry when he left (he does this often) but he sat there for another half an hour. I finally asked him if he was going to ride his bike or what. It was about 10:00 by then. I was kind of tired, but mostly wanted to read. He told me childishly that it "wasn't time yet." I finally got fed up, and told him if he was going to make me stay up for some ridiculous amount of time, I was going to bed. He threatened to call Mom and Dad and tell them to come home, but whatever. He wouldn't do it. He called up five minutes later and said that Baby was asleep. He put her on my beanbag, and I went downstairs for a drink.
Disaster area.
The first thing I noticed was the popcorn all over the floor. Not good.
Late night clean ups are NOT good for sanity. I think I had a nervous breakdown. Lewis (our black lab) kept pushing on the dog door, and I thought it was either:
A) My mother, who was going to kill me repeatedly because of the mess the kitchen was in, or
B) A robber, coming to steal everything in the house, and kill me because I was in the way. I couldn't figure out what was worse.
I have a weird way of cleaning.
Pick up dish. On the way to sink, pick up paper. See other paper in different part of the room. Go and get it. Still carrying dish. Drop dish of at sink, on the way to getting dress off of floor. See popcorn. Note to self: clean that up soon. Lewis comes in. Have heart attack. Recover. Wonder if Lewis will eat popcorn. Fiercly think at dog "eat popcorn." Dog licks leg. Sigh. Wipe down table. Pick up other dress. Wonder briefly what Sweetheart's dress and Edison's boxers are doing on kitchen table. Decide I'd probably rather not know. See the sink is full of dishes. Put away dishes in dishwasher. Think that the washer (protesting quietly upstairs) is garage door. Drop book. Recover. Notice spot on spoon. Figure no one else will see it. Put spoon away. Washer begins to protest loudly. Run upstairs proclaiming "Oh, great" under my breath. Balance washer. Plead with Edison to fold some clothes. Edison presumably sees spark of madness in my eye. Obliges. Run back downstairs and finish dishes. Notice popcorn. "I really have to clean that up." Baby is awake and screaming, probably because she doesn't know where she is, and the lights are off. Run upstairs. "Baby's awake," Edison tells me. Gee, I think, How did you ever know? Get Baby's pajama's on. Sweep up Popcorn. Put on Frost the Snowman. Try not to fall asleep. Eat some croutouns. Feel guilty. Eat a yogurt.
Pop finally got done, and I went to my room and finished Alice, I think. Hated it.
Hey, at least the kitchen is clean.