As Boo and my first real vacation creeps up before us, I’ve been in a mad scramble to put our personal affairs in order before we leave. This includes paying the bills (like tossing a pebble at a mountain, I tell you), hiding all of my toys so our house sitter doesn’t discover her big sister is a bona fide pervert, and getting our wills done.

While we are fleeing the country and abandoning our children on the doorstep of Boo’s sister, we want to be responsible about it. We do have our priorities. They may be slightly screwed, but we have them.

This is not our first will. We scrimped and saved our sheckles when Bug was first born to make sure all the legalities were covered in case something ever happened to us and he was left uncared for.

But our circumstances have obviously changed. Bug’s no longer a consideration and suddenly, thanks to my husband busting his butt and picking the nits off a bunch of monkey asses up in the Great White North, we are actually solvent. We have assets. More assets than my great grandmother’s deep freezer and the third generation lawn tractor my husband inherited and refuses to let die. (After all, his daddy cut lawn with that tractor, back in the day. You just can’t replace something like that. Even with one with a muffler, brakes and an actual seat.)

We hemmed and hawed for a while and put off the appointment while we argued over which relative deserves the luxury of raising our misbehaving, wildly imaginative and smart-talking offspring creative and charming children. Would it be my brother Stretch, who has no children of his own or Boo’s brother, the Great White Hunter who has more children than I have shoes?

Do we consider our sisters and their families or do we just yank the kids out of the family entirely and saddle them on our closest friends? It was a difficult decision with many aspects to try and consider. We wanted to make the best decision for our children and their interests. While it would have been easier to close our eyes, spin three times and hurl a dart at the family portrait and give the kiddies to whoever’s face was stuck by a dart, we actually tried to be rational about a very emotional decision.

It was a hard decision to make, because the reality is, no one is able to parent your children as well as you. That’s why their YOUR children. The thought of leaving my kids and not seeing them grow up was a difficult and scary reality to consider. But the thought of leaving them at the court’s or our family’s mercy was an even scarier prospect for my freakishly controlling self to consider. Better to play the puppet master while I still can, I figure.

In the end, I believe we did the best thing for our children. Maybe it wasn’t as fun as my idea of selling them to the local circus, but it was the right thing to do. (Ever notice how the right thing to do is always the most boring option?)

Fric and Frac overheard me talking to a family member about our will and wills in general and started to ask questions. Whether it is due to age or family history, I was surprised to find them rather matter of fact about death and slightly nonchalant about it.

In fact, they were down right mercenary about it.

“Mom, if you and Dad die, where will we live?” Fric asked after I was off the phone.

“There are standing orders that if your father and I kick it you will be bundled up and packed up North. Santa pays good coin for strapping young children to slave away at the toy factory. Apparently the elves have unionized and are killing his bottom line. Cheaper to go with orphans in the long run.”

“Cool. I like Santa.” Frac responded while totally engrossed in a video game. Fric merely rolled her eyes and sat quietly for a minute. I could see the wheels in her brain churning.

“What happens to the house when you die?” She inquired.

“Well that depends on what the executor and your guardians think will be best for you and Frac. If you’re young, it will probably be sold. If you’re older, maybe you guys will just live in it. I don’t know.”

“So, if you die, we’ll be rich?” Funny, I could see a gleam in her eye.

“Um sure. You’ll have all the kibble in the world to dine on. As for actual money, well, depends if they ever make Monopoly money legal.”

“What about your jewellery?” She is starting to freak me out now. I’m having visions of waking up to find her standing over my bed with a shovel.

“What about it?” I retort.

“Who gets it when you die?” she asked, while eyeing the kitchen knife set.

“It’s kinda rude to ask that Fric,” her brother chastised her while never lifting his eyes from the video game screen.

“Ya Fric. The contents of a will are secret until the day we die. That way I don’t have to listen to you argue and bitch if you don’t like what we decided. It’s the same idea as voting. It’s a secret until the big reveal.”

She looked a little sad and a little worried and suddenly I fretted that I was leaving the country, flying off to dance topless on some sandy beach while drinking mimosas and she’d be at home, distraught that her mother didn’t love her enough to leave my cubic zirconia earrings and plastic pearls to her.

“Don’t worry Fric. You’ll get most of my jewellery,” I told her as I kissed the top of her head.

She sighed and looked troubled as she said, “You won’t be mad if I didn’t want it would you, Mom? Cuz my skin is kinda sensitive and I can’t wear cheap metals. Maybe you could give it to Frac.”

Boy. Didn’t see that one coming. It’s not like all of my jewellery is cheap. Well okay. It’s all cheap. But not all of it is fake. So much for trying to be sensitive and caring to my child.

“But, if you want, Mom, you could leave me all your money. I promise I’ll share some of it with Frac.” I just bet she would.

I could feel the love roll right off of her, I tell ya. I hope I die a short painless death, because if she’s in charge of me when it comes to my nursing home days, I do believe I may be screwed.

This is why Boo and I decided there is only one true way to ensure our eternal peace. We’re leaving all of our assets to someone who will appreciate them, in all their shiny, varnished, made-in-China glory.

Nixon, the World’s Greatest Dog, Ever, is gonna be the king of his own castle.

I’m sure he’ll look really pretty with all that fake bling around his neck.