Gnome, Sweet Gnome

This afternoon, my husband took the boys to see the worst movie ever made: Yu-Gi-Oh. I told him before he left that he'd probably want to kill himself during that movie, but he did not believe me. Until afterwards.

They left right before the babies' naptime and it occurred to me that I'd actually have two hours of solitude in my house for the first time in a long time. I put DaycareKid to bed. I put Babygirl to bed.

Then I did something I rarely do. I put my head on my pillow and closed my eyes and said, "Just a little rest."

Then, I heard Babygirl. "MOM!"

Not possible. "MOM!"

I rolled over, lifted one eyelid and saw that I'd been resting for twenty-five minutes. Babygirl, however, had not.

When she started to really scream out my name, I realized the sad truth: No nap for Babygirl today.

That explains what happened at 5:00 p.m.

DaycareKid left with his Grandfather. I was still embarrassed from this morning and did not look Grandfather in the eyes. I think we agree that we will never speak of me coming to the door in my threadbare bathrobe and wild hair.

Babygirl wanted to go in the front yard. She wanted to walk. So, we did.

We live on a circle and she headed right. It's a billion degrees here today and I was hot. And tired. I tried to hurry her along, but she is almost 2 years old and 2 year olds do not hurry. We spent a good ten minutes at the neighbor's house where she attempted to pick up their kitty. The kitty swished his tail at her, in the classic "attack-the-child" pose, and I finally shouted, "No! The kitty will BITE you!"

We moved on. At the critical intersection where the road leads out of the circle, I managed to distract her until we were again heading back towards home. Home-free, I thought!

Then, what should appear but the Gnome Yard.

The Gnome Yard is a ghastly yard with red rocks instead of a green lawn. There are flowers planted randomly, roses bushes in full bloom, and painted, ceramic gnomes. Everywhere.

Babygirl decided she wanted to hold a gnome. I said, "no," and she whined and I said, "Okay, you can't hold it, but you can touch it. Okay?" She said, "okay," and headed up the gravelly slope of the yard towards the nearest gnome.

She touched one and said, "three" and then another and said, "seven," and then another and another. I said, "Yes, good girl, you're counting the gnomes." I did my own count and figured there were about twenty gnomes total, maybe more. She'd touched a dozen of them and was crossing the sidewalk near the front porch to touch the final gnomes when J. drove her SUV to the house across the street.

J. is the most darling Army officer I've ever met. She is reserved and blond and soft-spoken and married to an Army Ranger officer and pregnant. They attend our church. Their baby--a boy they've named Luke--is due in mid-November. Her husband is scheduled to deploy between October 4th and 6th and he will miss the birth of his child. Instead, he'll be risking his life in Iraq.

So, I turned and spoke to J. for a few minutes and asked her how she's doing, if she could use a bassinet, what they plan to name the baby, if her mother's coming for the birth, etc. Then I glanced back at Babygirl and saw that she'd gathered three gnomes in her arms and was heading back towards me.

Oh, Gnome! I mean, oh, no! I rushed toward her, visions of crumbled gnomes in my head and said, "No, you can't hold the dolls!" She immediately began to wail and I placed the gnomes near the front door, fully aware that the occupants of the house were probably watching this small drama in their own front yard.

Babygirl was outraged. She began to scream and I smiled and said to J., "Well, I'm going to have to carry her home, kicking and screaming now."

Babygirl threw her first really impressive big fit. My husband was standing in the driveway as I approached, holding Babygirl sideways to keep her from leaping out of my arms to her death on the road below. She shrieked and screamed and thrashed about. He took her from my arms, which infuriated her even more, so he handed her back to me. I took her into the house while she screamed, "Outside! Walk! Outside! Walk!"

She would not be consoled and she would not stop screaming, so I calmly placed her in her crib and let her work her anger out for five minutes. Seriously, I did. This is my fourth child and I know what to do with tantrums. Ignore them at all costs. After five minutes, she was agreeable to sitting with me in the rocking chair and within another ten minutes, she was all sunshine and rainbows.

Tonight, my husband and I went to see "Collateral", the new Tom Cruise movie. I liked it, despite the death and killing. There were laugh-out-loud moments.

On the way home, we saw the flashing lights of a police car. No, two police cars! Wait, is that a rifle? I think that guy's holding a rifle, pointing it at the head of the--no, wait a second! That's no rifle! That's . . . that's . . . a microphone? And there's a television camera? The news? No! No way! That's COPS! (Bad boys, bad boys, what you gonna do? What you gonna do when they come for you?) Two police cars, one suspect's car, and we passed two more police cars heading towards the scene, looking for their fifteen minutes of fame. We considered going back just to stand in the background and wave ("Hi, Mom!") but instead, we laughed and kept driving.

Because, after all, there's gnome place like gnome. (Groan. Sorry, I couldn't help myself.)