Creative Kat, Kids, & a Strong need for Valium

Kat, as in Pryncess, is THE SHIT people. Oh yeah. I worship her computer-talented fingers. I grovel at her feet. I quail in the light of her awesome powers. I .... fuck it, I owe her big time. I know y'all can't see it just yet, but Kat has done some very awesome and wonderful work on a new blog for me. For nothing. Except my groveling, whining, bitching, and thanks. I have offered her Diet Coke and chocolate, but she lives too far away for a prompt delivery. I think. I do not know anything about her true identity. Which poses the problem: how can I deliver so much as a Wal*Mart card to a person I know so little about? I mean, I know that she's funny, smart, witty, a chocoholic, an animal lover, and incredibly talented. Beyond that, no idea. So, calling upon complete strangers to help out, someone suggest ways to show appreciation and/or payment for such excellent work. If anyone reading this knows Kat and is willing to assist in a covert delivery of a gift card through Wendy if necessary, let me know. The woman needs chocolate and diet coke, dammit!

Now, picture this: three boys, one girl, two skateboards, two old washing machine hoses, and one nasty green plastic lawn chair (the kind that lay flat like a cot). Imagine all of these loose on a cement patio together. The older boy manages to attach the chair to the skateboards. He also threads the two hoses through the front to form makeshift harnesses. The folding ends of the chair are folded straight up. Another child then seats him/her self into the middle, grabs the hose, braces for impact, and allows one or two of the others to pull him/her around the patio...usually into a post or wall, occasionally a tree. Yep. Creative. But wait, there's more. This apparently is too slow a mode of transportation and bodily injury, for the eldest child (16) comes into the house, snatches car keys from my purse, and disappears back outside. Now, the recycled hubby is outside watching and waiting for the blood. He continues to watch until the children decide to hook the little cart thingy they've made up to the car to be pulled up and down the driveway by my oldest son...behind the car! At this point, Rat (the hubby) returns to the house, providing few details to me, and denying any part of it and denying seeing anything remotely unsafe...laughing the entire time. About this time, I hear the car head down our gravel road...quickly. The cart and the other kids were left behind, thankfully, but this only encouraged the others to run into the road and wait for Jack to return. Uh huh. Other people drive on this road like it's the Indy 500, and my children are standing on it. It took me 20 minutes of ranting to get my heart rate regular again. And who's side do the children take? That's riiiight...the Rat's. Go figure. Even my little girl did. How rude. God, I need valium...especially since other parents assure me that it only gets worse. I can only imagine. Jack will take his driver's license test next week. Pray for me.