Is It Bedtime Yet?

Okay, so the weather was glorious today, but other than that it hasn't been our best day ever on Mead Street. Here we are at 3:44 am, wondering if the smoke alarm is done shrieking randomly:

We never did figure out why it went off at 3:12, or what made it stop when it did, or why it started again, and again, and again. Simon was especially dispirited by the discovery that it's a Kidde smoke alarm. We were all glad we had hung on to our box of earplugs from the Old '97s show. Andrew, away in New York City for his brother's 50th birthday party (Happy Birthday, Wil!), missed all the fun.

When we woke up in the real morning, our bad luck continued. There was a tragic incident involving a poorly sealed blender and a whole lot of orange juice (an ill-conceived attempt at "Orange Juliets," we are told). There was the unfortunate decision to allow the children to play in Papa's car, which they apparently took to mean they could bring large bowls of mac 'n' cheese in there, turn on all the lights and windshield wipers, and then lose the one and only key. It's one of those electronic Prius keys too -- $200 to replace.

During a cleaning spree embarked upon in the rather desperate hope that digging down into the accumulated clutter might perhaps unearth the missing car key, a crate of toy train tracks was shoved into its accustomed cubby, eliciting an unexpected crash. Whereupon it was revealed that earlier in the day someone had decided to have some ginger beer and, feeling festive, chose to decant it into a martini glass. And then, fearing she would be spotted by one of the four other children and forced to share her unauthorized treat five ways, she stashed it at the back of the train tracks cubby. This may not have been our finest parenting moment, but thankfully everyone managed to keep the obvious smoke alarm comparisons to themselves. (The key did emerge, miraculously, but then failed to work, unfortunately. We still don't know why.)

At dinner at the neighbors' house, one of us managed to drop-kick a red rubber ball directly onto the dinner table, soak several innocent and extremely crabby bystanders with a high-capacity water-uzi, and snap a small but seemingly sturdy piece of cat furniture right in two. By the time the culprit had passed through the stages of denial, surliness, bargaining, & regret, and got around to actually apologizing, it was time to go get Papa at the airport.

Fortunately a glorious view of Mt. Rainier on the way to Seatac seemed to mark a turning point of sorts. Papa arrived on time, tired but happy, was greeted joyfully by his tired but happy family, and took the news about his car key without flinching. Then it was home to bed for everyone. We'll have to wait 'til tomorrow to get the full scoop on Wil's birthday party, because Andrew's already crashed out.

And that's where I'm headed too.

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