Current mood:

quixotic

The life and times of the three horsemen - an intro
Once upon a time in Appalachia three wonderful children were born to an unsuspecting couple. The little darlings became euphemistically known as Pestilence (currently 5), Famine (currently 7) and War (physically 11 - mentally - ??? somewhere between Buggs Bunny and a Tibetan Monk). War had the option of being "Death" but decided against it because "Killing is bad...and in war it is possible to simply outsmart someone...you don't absolutely have to kill"

O_o ok...

Of course, their grandparents had strong convictions about the names of the children.

The convictions were squelched when they learned that Pestilence and Famine were at that moment upstairs in the tub having a butt sniffing contest. Loser cleaned the bathroom after tubby time.

Many of you have heard the psychotic mythos of their exploits...but some haven't and the stories are totally screwed if you don't know the players. So, a brief re-cap.

Famine gave herself a title at age 3. The same year she sent me to the emergency room with all eight bones in my wrist dislocated...two years afterwards she attempted to stare down a state trooper. The trooper refrained from having her for an apres dinner apperitif with ketchup.

Her title is "The"

She uses it often, and has been known...in fits of disgust...to put it on her papers at school. Her teachers have come to realize her effect on the other denizens of second grade, whom she refers to as her minions. She will be eligible to vote during the November 2017 primaries.

Lock up your sons.

The Christmas after her fourth birthday she came downstairs wearing nothing save a pair of black leather "Dora the Explorer" boots and a tiara - and holding a wand. When she was told to put on something warm she announced to everyone, through gritted teeth, that she was "the QUEEN!!!" and began waving the wand at everyone in the room. As she was being carried upstairs, ramrod strait, she looked confusedly at the wand and asked "why aren't you a frog yet momma?" - waved the wand again - and said "It must need batteries."

Pestilence, being the youngest...and the only boy...spent the better part of his formative years hiding a lot. He hid on bookshelves, under laundry baskets, even in the dryer (Famine showed him how).

The very existence of Pestilence is a miracle in its own right. He wakes up happy every morning, just knowing he's made it through the night.

Pestilence has been known to stop an entire group of hikers on the side of a mountain and make them wait for a snake to cross the path...so they wouldn't scare the snake. He also enjoys stopping them to inform anyone who will listen that he likes to pee in the woods. He is the only child I have ever seen who can consistently pick up and cary wounded animals without being harmed...birds, reptiles...you name it he has brought it to me to fix.

Everyone needs a hobby.

While most little boys admire Superman or Spiderman...he emulates Gomez Addams - to the point that many a dinner has been paused so that he can stand on his head before we all eat.

When he has nightmares Grandmother Bear is always there to watch over him.

War is beyond description. War has an unerring knack for making friends with very different people - then informing them that everyone will play together. Miraciously they do...in her presence. We're waiting for the day when her mysterious charm wears off and all these poor children realize how many years they have simply done whatever she's asked. But for now - it's just fun to watch.

War has spent the last couple of months drooling over my stiletto boots. Her favorite game at age three was "Tie up Grandma" (as in with a jump-rope, then climb up on the couch with her and watch Scooby Doo). She'll be voting November 2013 - unless she figures out a way to ensure global domination before then. But she's polite...so no one will mind.

Really.

You'll *never* know.

When she does watch TV inevitably she gets torqued up about decent shows being canceled. A forty five minute (minimum) diatribe ensues in which she goes off about the need for plots...real actors (those with *talent*)...and how kids today are going to grow up even more stupid because the people in charge of studios don't think people should think.

War has decided someone needs to be smacked.

The entire sixth grade has heard of and seen shows their parents never expected.

On a dare.

Because she asked.





And lo, we have proof that I'm constantly one horseman shy of an apocalypse.