Many, many moons ago, before Charles and I relocated to Colorado, we lived in a small farming town that was also home to the university we attended. For the first several years of our marriage we lived in a series of apartment complexes, some better than others.
The second to last was aptly named 'The Shithole'. It had dark brown paneling on the inside, an enclosed decks and it was so small that not even the tiniest love seat fit within the living area and a table in the kitchen required that we move it to get from the living area to the cooking area. We would joke that when one or the other of us got into 'trouble', we wouldn't be sent out to sleep on the couch, but instead to sleep on the porch (never mind that winter was bitter cold and lasted for more than 7 or 8 months, depending on if it was a good year or not.)
After calling the manager and maintenance staff to tell them that the bathroom above us was leaking and causing our ceiling to buckle, and then watching it collapse in 'slow motion' over the course of a month, and then having to open our 'home' up to maintenance workers for another several weeks we decided it was time to move.
Fortunately, a new complex was about to open, and we were among the first to fill out the paperwork to see if we were qualified to move in. As it was subsidized housing, there were strict limitations on the numbers of units that were 'free market' vs subsidized and being a newer development, the list of interested parties was endless. Thankfully, it all worked out in our favor and we were given the very last 'free-market' unit available for college students.
Being a new community, everyone was friendly and eager to get to know each other and help out as we could. That is, everyone except for the LSK Family.
To be fair, we felt something awful for the head of that household. It was led by a single mom, who's story we never quite learned, except to say that she worked a series of low paying jobs in an effort to create a better life for her kids. Just how many kids she had, we were never able to determine though it seemed to be about five or six and the cast of characters in her life was constantly changing.
The apartment they lived in shared a common wall with ours, but we never got to know them since the entries to our apartments were in different corridors. But we did have front row seats to the circus that unfolded as the year we lived there progressed.
Because Mom worked so much, the children were often left to care for themselves, much to the consternation of the apartment maintenance man - a former Cop who was forced into retirement when, according to him, "A punk shot him in the chest and leg shattering his knee and rendering him unable to pass the physical." It was nearly a daily occurrence that we heard about the latest act of vandalism that Randy had to repair due to what had become known as the activities of 'the brat pack'.
It was, though the following story, that when shared with Randy, made him laugh out loud and wave goodbye with extra friendliness whenever he saw the mom leaving for work. As he lived on the opposite end of the complex, he was never privy to the weekly show that took place at our end of the building.
The only day of the week that Mom had off was Sunday. And even though she was young, she was determined to make certain that her children knew the love and guidance of the Lord. Every Sunday, at ten minutes to 11:00, the family would burst out of their apartment in a flurry of chaos, dressed in their Sunday best; Mom in the lead and the kids in tow, looking as uncomfortable and unhappy as possible.
Mom would set her mug of coffee on the roof of the Oldsmobile classic, dig about in her purse for her keys only to remember that they were in the apartment. As she would furiously stomp back to the apartment she would shout over her shoulder "Ok guys, get in the fucking car, I'll be right back out and we need to get to church - lets try not to be late this week for Christ's sake!"
And that was when the show really began.
Kid 1, the eldest of the bunch was a girl around the age of 12 would attempt to round up the team of boys and get them into the car as Mom directed. Her shouting and swearing resulted in the bunch of them running about the car in an endless loop that was accompanied by lots of vulgarity (we were honestly shocked at all the words these kids not only knew, but used).
At some point, Kid 3 would make a break from the group, jump up on the hood of the car and start bouncing up and down on it as if it were a trampoline.
Kid 2 would continue to egg on Kid 1 renewing the track meet about the car. Kid 4 would jump up on the hood of the car, forcing Kid 3 from the hood onto the roof. At this point, the entire car would be shaking, warping and protesting the two kids jumping up and down on it, never in time with each other.
Kid 6, who was more of a toddler than a Kid, would be standing in the same place she'd been left, looking onward to the circus with her own clothes a disheveled and hair not quite in place.
Kid 5 had usually gone rogue by this point and had dragged the hose used to water the foundation plantings out from where it was stored. Just as the circus seemed to be running out of energy, the hose would be turned on and everyone sprayed with icy-cold water.
Seeing that Mom's coffee mug was still in place on the roof of the car, Kid 3 would momentarily stop jumping, take aim and with all his might, kick the mug off the car and down the parking lot.
It was usually at this point that Charles' would critique Kid 3's kick noting both the distance and array of the coffee splatter. "That one was impressive... it's certainly better than last weeks. It's almost as though he's been practicing. Ope! It's now 10 after. They are really running late this week."
Most weeks, it was at this moment that Mom would reappear. Seeing the pandemonium she would yell out "What the Hell?!" and it was as if time stood still; all movement and noise ceased and the kids stood frozen in place. Mom would typically continue spouting off a series of commands blended in with swear words, and as though in shock, Kid 5, hose still in hand, would turn to face Mom with a look of fear on his face. And nearly every single week, she got nailed right in the face with a jet of ice-cold water; sometimes more often than others.
She would stop mid-word, her mouth in a perfectly shaped 'O', shake her hands to flick the water away, look at her watch and after taking a moment to realize what time it was, shriek "Holy Shit! We are so F'n Late! Get in the G'D Car we need to GO!!"
With that, the stooges all piled into the clown car, mom managed to get it to sputter to life one more time, they would pull out, and head out to church with a trail of black exhaust behind them.
As silence returned to our neighborhood, a nearby neighbor would go out, turn the water off and return the hose to it's proper location. Over the course of the week someone, usually Randy, would collect up the coffee mug and any other wayward belongings.
"Well, that's one more adventure with the LSK's" I said one weekend.
"LSK's?" asked Charles
"Yeah, Little Stephen Kings. They seem like the sort who grow up to be a character in one of his books."
"Oh, I thought you meant Little Shit Kids."
"That works too."
Thusly the perfect covert description for terribly behaved children came to be.
