CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

It's amazing Foghorn is still breathing air.  Sunday evening The Professor was finishing up some homework at the dining room table when he called me in.  There right at his place, scratched into the top of the wood, were the words "Go Away" and his name.  There was no doubt about who did it.  Mind you, this is a very, very old table that had belonged to my grandmother.  To say I was enraged would be an understatement.  (In fact, Uncle Chester wrote about it on her blog that night here and told me, "I didn't know what I was going to write about until I saw your e-mail.")

Foghorn was sent to her room where I ranted and raved and threatened with all manner of bodily harm.  Then her father got home from a McDonald's run and did likewise.  So, what punishment fits this particular crime in my world?  Well, the one I really wanted would get me arrested.  (What happened to the good old days when you could literally beat sense into a child?)  As a substitute, I started with unplugging her computer, so no video games, Netflix watching, or looking up things on Google.  I deleted all the episodes of her favorite show, Arthur, from the dvr and cancelled all the scheduled recordings for the week.  I allowed her to watch a little t.v. Monday night, but only the show of her brother's choosing.  And then there are the chores.  No, I am not using this as an excuse to get some of my housework done for me (although I am terribly behind because of NaBloPoMo).  I figure a little sweat might make the event more memorable.

Shredding old bills, under adult supervision.  (I don't trust
her not to put her tongue in the thing.)

Vacuuming all the pet hair off the stairs.

Moving all her books from the magazine holders in the family room
to the shelves in her room.  (I found out the hard way I need to put my
antique magazines up high.  St. Jimmi shredded poor Farrah
Fawcett in a cosmetics ad circa 1972.)

Cleaning all the kitchen cabinets with rags wet with
Murphy's Oil Soap.

Mopping up the doogy foot prints.  (Really, will this
rain ever end here?)

She would have had more chores, but I had to take The Professor to swimming class and wasn't home to supervise.  Instead she went to her room and did her entire weekly homework packet.  There will be more work for her today...and tomorrow...

I found it rather amusing that when she came downstairs this morning, right after the dogs had come in from the yard, she let out a howl and complained about the muddy footprints on her clean floors.  Yep, sure is terrible when someone messes up something you just cleaned.  Yep, wouldn't know nothing about that myself...

I would like to think she learned her lesson, at least about doing something this destructive.  I told a wide-eyed Professor if he ever wondered what they could do to push me to my absolutely limit, this was it.  And he said, "Now that I know we're not supposed to write on the table, I'll never do it."  As if no one thought it was a problem before.  Grrrrrr....

Sunday evening she came to me with a colored heart she had made.  On the back it said, "I'm really sorry.  I'll fix it."  Reading that, a person might think Foghorn would be suitably subdued for a couple days.  Not quite.  As I was getting ready to leave for swimming class and she was on a chair polishing cabinets, she noticed I had put on a new bright red lipstick I had purchased at the store that day.  (I was in the mood for Christmas red lips, for some reason.)  Now, I normally wander around here looking like something raised by wolves, so I think she was surprised.  She put her hands on her hips and said, "Why are you wearing lipstick?  Are you dating?  Am I gonna have a new father?"  She skipped half a beat and then said, "If so, carry on."


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*  THE UPSIDE TO BEING NOTORIOUS

*  THE SLAMMER