9/8/99 Landslide.

Here it comes.

Land slides always begin small, a pebble shifts slightly...exerting a little more force on a rock that nudges a boulder. Before you know it, half of a mountain is rocketing like one-thousand runaway locomotives into a valley.
That's a pretty good illustration of my life.

Since I live on the "valley floor", I have developed the ability to sense the smallest shift in luck.

It starts out small
Katie has a little squirt gun; a happy meal toy, I think. It's shaped like a little tan alien. She squeezes the alien's stomach and the little molded plastic E.T. spits water (usually at her unsuspecting sibling). Katie finds the simplicity of this toy appealing - no moving parts, simply submerge the rubber alien, squeeze it a couple of times and it is a "locked and loaded" weapon. So simple, a 3 year old could do it.
Unfortunately, my three year-old can't turn off the bathroom sink which overflowed for several hours flooding much of my house. I spent the lion's-share of my weekend vacuuming up the water and using the $30 worth of carpet deoderizing supplies, but there is still a funky smell in the house.

Then there's Holly, my flakey sister in-law. No small pebble.
Holly had her day in court, and just narrowly missed getting incarcerated, instead the judge decided that she could repay her debt to society by wearing an orange vest and picking up garbage on the side of the highway. Her daughter Shelby is now a 24/7 member of my house. I'm not sure how it happened. It took place in some phantom conversation that Monica and I allegedly had....Something about a catching the school bus, and and unfit mothers, and BOOM! Monica was moving furniture. Once my consent was percieved, I lost the power of Veto.

In my estimation, this surrogate set-up isn't working out so well. I think it comes from Monica and I having differing views. Monica kinda relishes the "idea" of having Shelby at our house on a permanent basis. She fell in love with the "idea" of being Shelby's savior, kinda like when Calvin fell in love with the "idea" of being a pet owner. (don't think I'm comparing my neice with a dog.... because that is not where I'm going with this.)
I'm forced, however, to obsess over the responsibility and the "reality" of the situation. The "reality" that the kids fight, and make messes. The "reality" that kids cost money to clothe and feed. The "reality" that the situation has screwed Shelby-up a little and that she has behavior problems that are rubbing-off on my kids. And the "reality" that I can barely save myself much-less be the savior of others.

I hear the clatter of pebbles falling.