The Anarchist Says Grace

Despite many sessions in suburban Sunday School, or Splash Jam Awesome Rock Edge or whatever flashy name they're calling Sunday School nowadays, my children might be budding heathens. Sure, the Anarchist used to be a worked-up tent revival preacher, but that seems to have ended now, as evidenced by last night's attempt to say grace. We were at a friend's house, and it was announced that another friend was going to quickly say a prayer before eating. Now, my kids usually say the traditional Catholic "Bless us, oh Lord..." (at warp speed as they reach for the biscuits and butter) while at my parents' house, but our attempts to say grace before meals as a family have tapered off as our number of meals eaten together as a family have tapered off. So when the kids kept chattering, they had to be reminded that we are quiet during prayers. "That's okay!" announced the Anarchist (loudly), "We can keep talking, because we don't pray, anyway."

The Anarchist in church. Absorbing bits and
pieces to later patch together in heathen-y,
yet adorable ways.

Lovely. But it wasn't always that way. The Anarchist used to leap out of her seat in anticipation of being the one to "pray" before meals. And by pray, I mean have a lengthy and drawn out personal chat with the Creator of the Universe about her day, The Divine Holy One's almighty preference of cat breed, and whether the Alpha and Omega was a fan of pepperoni or cheese pizza. In fact, my little Anarchist used to have a lot to say to/about the All High, as evidenced by this little gem I unearthed while cleaning up my computer files. I think this was from last year. And it's pretty priceless:

An Anarchist's Prayer 

Now, let us have a prayer. God wanted someone to light the sky, but the sun was already doing that thing for Him. One day he went on a big cruise ship the Lord gived him. And one day Paul gave Him a guitar to play. And there were food and drinks on that boat, and they haved a good time. And then they came to their stop…the zoo. But it wasn’t really where they wanted to go. So they kept droving…it wasn’t the way to Los Angeles, but then they drove all the way to home…to Thanksgiving. 

Then there was a lot of rain. But when the rain was done, there was a lot of sunshining. So Paul and God went out together for a nice little meeting…with lots of music. It went like this [proceeds to play the piano]. So then they were confused about something that they did for Halloween Trick or Treat. They went for Halloween trick or treating, but something was wrong. So then Paul and God went out and got lollipops and Lifesavers. It was so fun! And they even got toys that were stuffed animals!  So they painted a picture for the Lord. And they sended it to Him. 

Then another God came, named Miss Hip Hop Teacher*. He was walking down the street and he said, “Hello! My name is Miss Hip Hop Teacher!”  The Lord was caming to each house to say “Hi!” and they got notes to take home. She put the Lord’s note in her special keeping box. The note was different than last year’s. It said “Bad news. Have a good day, because I’m not going to be there tomorrow.”

I hope you guys liked that Halloween Meeting. Have fun at the next meeting.

Amen.

*The Dictator's hip-hop teacher, whose name has been changed to kinda-sorta protect her identity

Okay, so maybe the Anarchist has always been a bit of a heathen. Halloween? The absence of God? Polytheism? An ark full of stuffed animals? But at least she used to be a heathen with adorable speech patterns. Maybe she just needs more time in Splash Jam Awesome Rock Edge so that she can master the art of the Evangelical prayer. She still doesn't use the word "just" nearly enough times to sound legit, yet. We'll have to get right on that. Because if she embarrasses us at one more dinner party, she might not get invited to God's next Halloween meeting. And that would just be too bad. Because then she might miss out on all those holy Lifesavers. And no. I doubt she meant "Lifesavers" metaphorically. 

The Dictator and the Anarchist Throw a Parade...of DEATH!

Yesterday, people everywhere celebrated Father's Day with backyard barbecues, festive downtown running races (that just sounds awful), dinners out, and  neckties. We encourage the Dictator and the Anarchist to be free thinkers, so they chose to celebrate Father's Day in their own unique way. While the fathers in the house passed out and drooled while watching golf on TV, and the ladies roamed the garden and discussed weddings like Edwardian Jane Austen characters, the Morton children were busy at work writing, cutting, constructing and choreographing a lovely parade to crown the Father's Day festivities. The Dictator and the Anarchist were so busy putting together the exciting event that they almost missed dessert. Adorable!

My father, the Leprechaun,
watches golf intently while the
Bureaucrat drools.

Now, the Dictator is practicing hard to someday become the successful ruler of a totalitarian regime, so not only was there going to be a parade, but attendance would be somewhat compulsory, as we were made aware by the numerous flyers posted in every square foot of the house.

 

Yeah, that's right. Or else.

While my mom explained to the Dictator that false advertising is cause for legal liability, the precious children handed out homemade cloth tickets and jumped up and down in eager anticipation. Ah, the innocent joys of childhood!

Thump. She totally didn't make me rich or famous.
False advertising. Thump.

 After being herded welcomed upstairs into the "parade" room, the delightful ceremonies began.  In the recesses of the sweet little bunk bed that my parents keep for the girls we could make out a well-constructed parade of Zhu-Zhu Pets and stuffed animals, replete with miniature floats and banners. How cute are my kids?!

An adorable parade...

And then, my young, sweet girls began their sweet little parade...of death.

A festively morbid banner.

"Have a fun time in hevan, Nugget!"
Apparently, you won't be missed.

We miss you. (We're pretending)

A painstakingly-crafted float.
Because we miss you...just not that much.

So, apparently, in a move vaguely reminiscent of exultant Munchkins at the death of the Wicked Witch, my children's toys staged a victorious parade in celebration of the untimely demise of one of their less lovable fellow-toys. Ding-dong, the hamster is dead, etc.

Dead Nugget on parade. With flowers. And blood spatter.

I don't know what atrocities a motorized hamster could have committed to invoke such an extreme response to its very existence and maybe I don't want to. I think that the larger question here is really this: why are my children being so darned creepy?

The Anarchist laughs in maniacal delight
after dropping an effigy (yes, effigy) of
the mean dead hamster in a fit of zeal.

So...happy Father's Day, Bureaucrat and Leprechaun (and Pastor Grandpa, who was mercifully spared this unholy terror...until now). Your (grand)children got you a dead hamster...on parade. You're welcome. 

Just remember as you are forced to watch this macabre spectacle, these are at least partially your creepy, creepy morbid genes at work in my adorable little girls. So...maybe this horrific Father's Day Parade of Death is your own fault. But you have to admit, it could be worse. They could have just bought you another necktie.

Not another necktie.

The Queen of the Nerds and the Naked Noo Noo

There must be something in the air. The birds are building their nests, the rabbits are holing up under the deck to do unspeakable and prolific things, the bees are buzzing and pollinating flowers like there's no tomorrow, and the kids are...well...the kids are acting kinda funny. Today was the kind of day that convinces me of the wisdom of locking my beloved Dictator and Anarchist away from the rest of the world until they are at least thirty...or maybe forty.

The mythical "sassy" Nerd Queen of
fantasy card game legend. 

The Bureaucrat's plot to turn the Dictator into a nerd, thereby rendering her undateable to the future teenage male population is failing utterly. We can't say we weren't warned. After discussing the Dictator's love of nerdy fantasy card games and her desire to play in nerdy fantasy card game tournaments with certain nerdy fantasy card game playing friends (who may or may not be nerdy themselves), we were reminded that the Dictator would be a rare and exotic find in nerdy fantasy card game world. She would be a lone girl among hoards of socially awkward boys. She would share both their intelligence and their passion for nerdy fantasy card games. And if she washed and groomed herself--which, to his credit, the Bureaucrat is not encouraging--she would be the epitome of nerdy fantasy card game playing boy desires: The Queen of the Nerds.

To be fair, I knew this was a risk. I never really approved of nerding-up the Dictator in the first place. I honestly thought I would have time to undo all of dragon-loving, battle-waging, hair-not-washing work done by the Bureaucrat before it was too late. But alas, the events of this week have proved me wrong.

Yesterday, the Dictator leaped off of the school bus giddy and skipping, with an odd gleam in her eye. "Guess what?" she exclaimed. "I met someone on the bus who likes to play nerdy fantasy card games too! And he's a boy...an older boy." And then she tossed her hair like she does when she's trying to be "glamorous" and "sassy." God help us all. Please. "I really like him. I told him all about my Fairy Harbinger card, Deadly Recluse, and Sentinal Spider. And he showed me his cards. Now he wants to see mine." I'll show you mine, if you show me yours. Terrifying.

But maybe it would come to nothing. Fantasy card game enthusiast meets fantasy card game enthusiast. Fantasy card game enthusiast shares deck with other fantasy card game enthusiast. Fantasy card game enthusiast promptly forgets all about other fantasy card game enthusiast and runs off to play "zombies and attack kittens" with her (mostly female) friends. It could happen.

But it didn't.

This afternoon--while getting swarmed by ominously feverish bees--I watched my little Dictator descend the bus steps, her "sassy" and "glamorous" hair flowing behind her as she sashayed across the street. Behind her, a dark and handsome (or, ya know, curly haired and adorable) third grade boy eyed her longingly as she made her way across the wildflower-laden lawn. "Dictator!" he called, passionately, "We should really try to spend more time together." Eek. And I got to hear about him all the way home. Actually, I got to hear all about his nerdy fantasy card game deck all the way home. But, as the Bureaucrat and I have very recently (due to the current state of affairs) started to use "deck" as a joking euphemism, her innocent prattling did not seem as innocent as it should have.

But that's okay. There's still time. She's not a teenager yet. I get that. Little Fantasy Card Game Enthusiast  Boy is probably just interested in fantasy card games, and nothing more, right? I'm sure that's why I saw him ride his bicycle by our house and gaze amorously at her window, all Romeo-like, right? He just wanted to play cards. Sure he did.

The Anarchist tries on a dress and dreams
of her future wedding to a plastic doll
"in a state where that's legal."

Well, at least I can take solace in the fact that the Anarchist doesn't seem the least bit interested in boys. In fact, she doesn't even seem to notice that they exist. Actually, she's vowed that she's either going to marry her little girlfriend Hamster Dropper (I don't know much about the girl except that she's nice and she drops her hamster a lot) in "a state where that's legal," or, if that doesn't work out, to marry her American Girl Doll Molly "in a state where that's legal." And then she can have lots of little cyborg babies. Okay. Never mind. That's creepy. Maybe I'll just marry her off to the first nice human boy who sets his sights on her. Like that nice little boy the Anarchist told me about as she got off the bus today...that nice little boy who lifted her shirt up repeatedly at lunch so that he could "see her belly button." Sure. That's why. To see her belly button. Sure it was.


And thusly, I will be locking my beloved offspring in our attic (I think we have an attic) for an unspecified duration, but at least until after prom, and more likely until they are forty. Queen of the Nerds and the Naked Noo Noo. Oh boy.

I pose with my future daughter-in-law.