Yesterday we celebrated S.Hooligan’s birthday. We’d been doing various things for days, as is our tendency in this family, but last evening was the final event with cake and presents.
S.Hooligan is a piece of work. This isn’t anything new. Diamondqueen profiled her on The Warden’s Blog two years ago; if anything, S. is even worse now. By “worse” I mean smarter, louder, funnier, more obscene, more abusive, and more fascinating than ever.
Years ago Diamondqueen took to calling S. “the usurper.” Diamondqueen was quite the wild child herself, but she insists S.Hooligan has exceeded her on all levels. I used to question this, but not any longer. S.Hooligan has outpaced her mother by miles and miles. I know—I was just short of sixteen when Diamondqueen was born. I was there, I experienced it all. S.Hooligan is definitely “the usurper.”
It’s hard to depict in words the sheer volume of the uproar S. causes, and I don’t feel adequate in my writing abilities to depict S. in a way that really captures her unique personality and spirit. Instead, I’m just going to list a couple of instances from the past couple of weeks to create a quick sketch of this child:
♦ When we stand face-to-face, S.Hooligan’s nose hits just above mine, and she’s strong and bombastic, so if she chooses to get physical, I’m lost. On vacation, I was heading to the bathroom in our room when S. streaked out of nowhere and shoved me out of the way so she could get to the toilet first. I yelled, with accompanying obscenities, to get out of there and let me in, I had to pee! S.Hooligan flung one of the wrapped cardboard cups out the bathroom door and said, “Use this!”
♦ As I explained here, on vacation I had my own sleeping space separate from the bed area in our hotel, so I kept all my stuff in there. However, every time we got ready to do something, I couldn’t find either pair of my sandals. S.Hooligan, in her obsession with putting things in order (except in her room at home), was gathering everyone’s shoes and lining them up against the wall in the bedroom. This happened even if I simply slipped on my flipflops to go down the hall for ice. I’d kick off my sandals, and before I could dump the ice in the bucket, my footwear vanished and turned up neatly positioned in the shoe parade.
♦ J.Hooligan, at fourteen, revels in popping inappropriate words into the conversation. “Bestiality” came up, and we shushed him. “You shouldn’t use words like that in front of your sister,” I chided. S.Hooligan said, “Oh, I know what it means.” Sure enough, she explained the term accurately.
“How in the world do you know about that word?” I asked her.
“I was Googling ‘Beauty and the Beast,'” she explained, “and some bad stuff came up.” Which she read, of course.
♦ For her birthday last night, S.Hooligan got her own Furby. She set it up with J.Hooligan’s Furby so they could communicate with each other.
“I hope they’re not into bestiality,” I cracked when they got too close in their bouncing and twisting.
S.Hooligan gave me a look. “It’s not bestiality when it’s between beasts.”
♦ Diamondqueen got an MRI to see what was obstructing the healing in her injured left shoulder. When she received the disk with the images, she slipped it into her computer at home just out of curiosity and was startled by what appeared to be an evil face lurking in her dislocated shoulder. She posted the following on Facebook shortly thereafter: “Told my daughter to get the hell away from me while I’m doing my arm stretches—they hurt. She responded, ‘You have the Antichrist living in your shoulder. You have bigger fish to fry.'”
Well, that’s enough to give you an idea: S.Hooligan at ten years old. Long may she rave!