Oh the DRAMA!

Every morning I wake up shooting rainbows and moonbeams out of my arse and my offspring are the very definition of happy, well-adjusted children who could easily be mistaken for any of the kids on the Brady Bunch. (Minus the 70's hair.)

Really. It's like this every morning. If you believe this, I have a money tree out back I'd like to sell you, or a brand new truck, in mint condition, fully loaded that you might want to consider buying.

The reality is I loathe waking up and having to pry my aching arse out of my warm bed to start my day. In order to combat this, I like to spread the misery cheer.

Usually by throwing open my children's door and shouting at the top of my lungs "MORNING SUNSHINE! TIME TO RISE AND SHINE!!," just as I flick on their bedroom lights to blind them while simultaneously yanking off their covers. Nothing like ripping the bandaid off the morning wound to get the blood pumping.

I have also learned to make sure there is no books or sharp edged objects by their beds before I do this. Apparently, my ducking reflex isn't as fast as it once was.

But this morning, my children stripped me of my joyous moment and got out of bed before my alarm clock even rang. Apparently they were eager to start school after being trapped alone with me over spring break.

I'm choosing not to see this as a reflection of my parenting skills.

I sleepily listened to them chatter from their rooms about toys, school and the latest political scandal involving Hilary Clinton. As my son wandered to the kitchen to pour a bowl of cereal my daughter puttered in her room, perfecting her outfit and preening in the mirror.

And then I heard a blood curdling screech and the panicked cries for Mom.

Over the years I have learned to detect the subtle difference of these panicked cries. Sometimes they are just code for "Your ass is grass my darling sibling!" and sometimes they are more of the "My last piece of bubble gum just fell down into the floor vent and I think the world is ending!"

This panicked cry was the real thing. The 911 call of a child in crisis. A child who is facing imminent danger of having it's arm chewed off by a bear or a kid who just noticed someone was standing in the closet with a nylon over their head and holding a big shiny knife. This was a "GET YOUR ASS IN HERE NOW MOM! I NEED YOU!" cry.

There was no time for moaning and groaning about having to get out of bed. SuperMOM was needed. As I raced to my daughter's room (buck nekkid) I wondered if she pinched her finger in the door or if she accidentally shaved a bald spot in the side of her head.

My heart was racing. Hell, she really could be hurt, I feared. After all, I'm no stranger to family emergencies. But if I walked into her room and saw a chisel in her eye, well, she'd just have to pull it out herself. I've done that once before, I'm not going there again, I thought grimly.

"What???" I asked while searching for signs of blood. My son calmly handed me my robe. He's oblivious to his sister's pain. Hell, he was probably hoping for a chiseled eye just so he could yank it out and show his friends at school.

"SASSY is GONE!!!" she half cried, half moaned as I tied my robe shut.

I looked over to the hamster cage and indeed it was empty. The little rat had pulled a Houdini and escaped her Alcatraz.

My daughter was beside herself with panic. She had obviously never experienced taking her children shopping only to lose them in the racks of clothing in a crowded department store. Amateur.

Still, I had a rodent on the loose.

Oh, the drama.

Great. Now I have a stinking rat on the loose. In my house. My clean, hygienic house where I allow babies to eat off the floor. You know. The five-second rule, and all. (Plus, they're never my babies. Heh.)

This is EXACTLY what I needed first thing in the morning.

Sighing, I looked at her and said (in my most sympathetic mommy voice), "Don't just stand there crying. Start looking!!"

And so it began. The great rat hunt. The kids started tearing their rooms apart while I looked in the bathroom and in the kitchen. All before I had my morning coffee. I was sooooo happy. Not bitter and annoyed. Not at all.

"Facking rodents. Facking kids. Facking relatives who buy facking kids facking rodents," I mumbled under my breath, while moving the stove to see if the little creature had crawled behind it to seek shelter and food like all the other wild rodents who managed to find a way into my house.

After a few minutes of tossing their rooms into complete chaos, Fric and Frac came out empty handed. Fric was distraught and hysterical. Remind me never to be there the first time she does lose her kids in a crowded store. Sheesh.

"I can't find her Mom," she blubbered.

Just then Nixon, the World's Greatest Dog, Ever, ran through the house and jumped up to his favorite spot on the couch with something small, black and furry in his mouth. The kids and I saw him at the same time. As my daughter's heart stopped momentarily I recalled reading that Boston Terriers were originally bred to be ratting dogs.

Great. Nixon the World's Greatest Dog, Ever, just became Nixon the World's Greatest Hamster Killer, Ever.

Dammit, how many dead rodent eulogies can I think of?

Fric shrieked and ran to Nixon as I followed in hot pursuit.

False alarm. It was a small black stuffed animal that he was on his way to raping and pillaging, I noted as Fric pried the toy loose from his mouth.

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

Just imagine a black stuffy instead of his well USED rabbit.

"Oh, thank God," she breathed as she flung the toy down. "If he kills my Sassy I'll never forgive him."

Nixon was unconcerned as he snatched the toy back up and began to hump it. I have to admit, a small part of me was slightly disappointed. So much for the great ratting instincts. Useless dog. Not that I wanted Sassy to meet her maker, especially by the jaws of my beloved pooch, but this still meant I had a diseased house pet on the loose.

A few more minutes of panicked searching and my daughter was done. She couldn't keep it together anymore. She started wailing about how we'd never find her and how her most beloved childhood pet was gone forever and how the rest of her life would be forever scarred because she somehow lost her hamster.

Drama queen. She gets that from her father.

"Calm down," I soothed her, while trying not to laugh. "This isn't the end of the world. She couldn't have gone far." I facking hope. "Show me where you looked," as I pulled her back to the scene of the crime.

I eyeballed the location of the cage and the carnage in her room with her furniture all scattered and moved. I could feel the weight of the world rest on my shoulders now. This was it. This was the MOMMY MOMENT. The moment when your children look at you and believe you could save the world and make all war and peace just disappear with a mere snap of your fingers.

No pressure or anything.

"Did you check behind the bookshelf?" Yes.

"Did you check under the bed?" Yes.

"In the closet?" Yes.

"Behind the dresser? In the clothes hamper? Inside the toy box?" Yes, yes, and yes, she moaned.

All right. Time for mommy's super instincts to kick in. "Everyone calm down and be quiet while I think," I snapped.

Dead quiet for a few moments as I tried to listen for the small wheezes of a rodent only a few inches big. Because, you know, what the hell else was I supposed to do?

Suddenly, I noticed my daughter's French horn was in it's case, but the case was wide open. Immediately, because I am SuperMOM, I bent down to look in the case. It has a shiny blue velvet interior. Maybe Sassy was channeling her inner Liberace.

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

Yes, I really do look that good in tights surrounded by flames.

No such luck. Damn.

Still, my spidey senses were tingling. I carefully lifted the instrument out of its case while silently muttering curses about my daughter not picking a pretty sounding instrument like the flute. No hamster underneath the horn. I examined the horn and to my surprise, two beady little black eyes stared back at me.

Sassy had found refuge in the horn. Mommy saved the day. As I gently pulled her out (little bitch better not bite me, I thought to myself) my daughter gasped with relief.

"Sassy!" she cried as she rushed to grab her from me. "Mom, you're the best!!!" She said between smothering the rat with kisses. She gently placed Sassy back into her cage, this time making sure all the latches were secure.

(Remind me never to kiss my daughter on the lips again. Not after I saw where she had those lips. Eww.)

So our morning drama came to a quiet end. The daughter had her beloved rodent back and her and her brother toddled off to school like the good kids they are, while thinking their mother was a super star.

Who am I to tell them any different?

Once the bus picked them up and drove off, I wandered back into Fric's room while sipping my coffee, heavily laced with Irish cream. Hey. I EARNED alcohol this morning, dammit.

I looked at Sassy and then I looked at the French horn from Hell.

"I don't blame you one bit, Sassy. If I had to live in this room and listen to sounds of elephant's mating every day like you do, I'd try and find a way to plug that hole too."

I swear she nodded in agreement.

"Do us both a favour and next time just chew the mouth piece. No mouth piece, no mating calls from the animal kingdom to deafen us both."

That damn hamster winked at me and I turned around to start my day.

Maybe Sassy and I will get along after all.