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Journey once more to the magical, mythical place called Rainbowland.
Where our star Katharine has two daughters, KayCee and Pookie, and is is happily married to the loving, older veterinarian Chris. Flash back to the early days of Kat and Chris' romance as they find a way to cope with their emotional pain.
Presenting "Rainbowland VIII - See Me, Feel Me, Touch Me, Heal Me" a touching work of fanfic by our own Groucho!
Rainbowland VIII - See Me Feel Me Touch Me Heal Me "No!" Kaycee said decisively, which was not surprising, as that had become one of her very favorite words as soon as she hit the Terrible Twos. Sometimes it seemed that would never change. "Whattaya mean, no?" I answered, feeling somewhat exasperated. Just because I was familiar with her ways didn’t mean I liked them, especially when she wanted one thing and I wanted another. "You always enjoy going with Gramma P." Kaycee planted herself firmly on her bed amidst a crew of stuffed animals. "I’m not ready to make nice," she elaborated, and I began to regret ever introducing her to the musical group she referred to as The Dicky Chicks, or occasionally The Chickie Dicks. She wasn’t sure, she just knew she loved listening to them and singing along. And picking up annoying phrases. "Katharine, she’s having a chick attack again!" I yelled. "You got any suggestions?" Ask me why we decided to spend the weekend at the new hotel that had just opened up close to Westfield Fashion Center. Once we’d rendered our home child-free, it would have been just as easy to stay there, but for reasons I couldn’t quite remember, we’d decided we needed a change of scenery, if only for a couple of days. A change, as in dinner and dancing in the hotel ballroom, access to someone else’s pool, and no flying anywhere, as it was practically up the street. Katharine had just wrapped a movie but it would be quite a while before she’d be needed for major publicity, so we were going to drop everything and indulge in two days of nothing but pair bonding. She’d just spent a week at home doing nothing but reconnecting with the kids, so we both found the prospect delightful. The movie had filmed locally and hadn’t really required a long time to complete, but as the star, Katharine had been in practically every scene and the hours had been ferocious, but she’d had a great time. Fans of an 80’s TV mystery series called The Nightengale had been delighted to find that there was interest in resurrecting the show as a feature film, and the heroine, a singer named Abigail Knight who helped her cop boyfriend solve crimes, was perfect for Katharine. We both read the script. It had Remington Steele’s cleverness, a bit of V.I. Warshawski’s toughness, and a touch of Moonlighting’s crazy comedy. And they could actually let this version of Gail Knight do her own singing. In a few seconds, Katharine stuck her head in the door. "Don’t worry," she said lightly. "She’ll come around as soon as Mom gets here. She always does." She had Pookie slung over her hip, all dressed and packed and evidently behaving like the little blonde angel she resembled. "You got the easy half," I grumbled. "This time. Remember the first time we decided to have Mom take her instead of Kaycee?" "Yeah," I said with a little chortle. "You’d have thought we were selling her to the gypsies. The kid definitely inherited your lungs. She may never need a microphone." "Got her future all planned for her, Dad?" Katharine said mischievously. "Well, wouldn’t you be surprised if neither one of them decided to get into music?" I said. "Don’t you suppose it’s in their genes or something?" "Yeah, that’s probably why Kaycee likes to put splints and band-aids on all of her stuffed animals." "That’s not genetic. That’s just being smart enough to know what it takes to make people fuss over you and go ‘Aw-w-w, isn’t that cute?’ " "Well, that’s one of the things I wanted from you, Mr. Three College Degrees," Katharine said. "Kids with 20-20 uncorrected eyesight and the kind of a brain that lets them enjoy school." "There’s nothing wrong with your brain," I said. "It just gets a little…overwhelmed sometimes, and you need to slow down, take a deep breath, and remember how to process things in order." "I still turn words around sometimes," she said, frowning at Pookie as though she was trying to look through her blonde mop and see if all the little wheels under the skull were turning correctly. I knew exactly what she was thinking. "So she didn’t start talking as early as Kaycee did," I said. "She’ll catch up. First kids are often more verbal, because for a long time it was just them and the adults, no other kids to babble at and pick up bad habits from." "You know what I saw on TV the other day?" Katharine said without waiting for an answer. "This ad for—oh, I don’t know, something or other—and they said that one out of every 150 babies is born autistic. That’s pretty bad odds, you know that? You don’t think there’s any chance—" "She is not autistic!" I said. "For Godssake, she relates to people." "So why doesn’t she talk?" "I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t have anything to say." "Don’t be a smartass. What if it’s serious and we’re just missing something? That happens. It happened to me when I was little." "Okay, I’ve got another reason for you. Because she’s not Kaycee. Kaycee wants everything yesterday. She’s always been that way. She’s done everything fast from the day she was born." "Yeah, she popped right out and Pookie took two days and scared the crap out of everybody." "See? They just have different styles," I said, anxious to find something to say that might make Katharine feel better. Setbacks in her own life she could handle, but anything affecting the kids kept her up nights, whether it should or not. "Are you talking about me?" Kaycee wanted to know. "Yes," Katharine said. "You’re a little girl in a hurry. So why don’t you hurry and get ready to go with Grandma? Speaking of which, I think I just heard her come in." "And I think I heard Ildie drive up. Come on, Chickie." "No," Kaycee said, quite predictably. "Maybe she’d rather swap and go with Ildie," I said. "Then she’d have three people to alternately charm and terrorize. She’d love it." "Oh shut UP," Katharine said. "This is going to be tricky enough as it is." "What’s tissic? What’s that mean?" Kaycee asked. "And you’re always on ME to watch my mouth around the kids," I said. "Now what?" Katharine rolled her eyes at me. "How should I know? Help me!" "We were just discussing why Pookie doesn’t seem to want to talk," I said, sidestepping the question. "And it occurs to me that a lot of the time, you seem to know what she wants better than we do. But you know what? I think you should just let her make her own needs known. Maybe then she’ll start talking to us." "No," Kaycee said. "She’ll just get mad and scream. I don’t like it when she screams." "Nobody does, Honey," Katharine said. "That’s why she needs to learn to talk." "Hi, guys!" Peisha called down the hall. Kaycee dropped the stuffed chihuahua she’d been cradling and scrambled down from the bed. Flying out the door, she threw herself into Peisha’s arms babbling "Gramma P! Gramma P!" I looked at Katharine and shrugged and she gave me an "I told you so" look. My stepmother arrived shortly thereafter, still dressed for battle and looking quite formidable in a gray suit and heels. I loved her to death but seriously pitied anyone who had to face her in a courtroom. She and Peisha acknowledged each other, took possession of their respective charges, wished us a lovely weekend, and walked out chatting like the friends and allies they had become over the past few years. "Well," I said happily, "that went well." "Super," Katharine agreed. "Now, let’s go check into our little love nest and go crazy." She struck a hands-on-hips pose. "You’re going to have a remarkable weekend." "And what are you going to have?" "Two days of just being me, nobody crying or screaming or wanting anything from me, or telling me we need to do that one more time to get it just right—" "Well, I can’t promise that," I said. &q
"No!" Kaycee said decisively, which was not surprising, as that had become one of her very favorite words as soon as she hit the Terrible Twos. Sometimes it seemed that would never change.
"Whattaya mean, no?" I answered, feeling somewhat exasperated. Just because I was familiar with her ways didn’t mean I liked them, especially when she wanted one thing and I wanted another. "You always enjoy going with Gramma P."
Kaycee planted herself firmly on her bed amidst a crew of stuffed animals. "I’m not ready to make nice," she elaborated, and I began to regret ever introducing her to the musical group she referred to as The Dicky Chicks, or occasionally The Chickie Dicks. She wasn’t sure, she just knew she loved listening to them and singing along. And picking up annoying phrases.
"Katharine, she’s having a chick attack again!" I yelled. "You got any suggestions?"
Ask me why we decided to spend the weekend at the new hotel that had just opened up close to Westfield Fashion Center. Once we’d rendered our home child-free, it would have been just as easy to stay there, but for reasons I couldn’t quite remember, we’d decided we needed a change of scenery, if only for a couple of days. A change, as in dinner and dancing in the hotel ballroom, access to someone else’s pool, and no flying anywhere, as it was practically up the street. Katharine had just wrapped a movie but it would be quite a while before she’d be needed for major publicity, so we were going to drop everything and indulge in two days of nothing but pair bonding. She’d just spent a week at home doing nothing but reconnecting with the kids, so we both found the prospect delightful.
The movie had filmed locally and hadn’t really required a long time to complete, but as the star, Katharine had been in practically every scene and the hours had been ferocious, but she’d had a great time. Fans of an 80’s TV mystery series called The Nightengale had been delighted to find that there was interest in resurrecting the show as a feature film, and the heroine, a singer named Abigail Knight who helped her cop boyfriend solve crimes, was perfect for Katharine. We both read the script. It had Remington Steele’s cleverness, a bit of V.I. Warshawski’s toughness, and a touch of Moonlighting’s crazy comedy. And they could actually let this version of Gail Knight do her own singing.
In a few seconds, Katharine stuck her head in the door. "Don’t worry," she said lightly. "She’ll come around as soon as Mom gets here. She always does." She had Pookie slung over her hip, all dressed and packed and evidently behaving like the little blonde angel she resembled.
"You got the easy half," I grumbled.
"This time. Remember the first time we decided to have Mom take her instead of Kaycee?"
"Yeah," I said with a little chortle. "You’d have thought we were selling her to the gypsies. The kid definitely inherited your lungs. She may never need a microphone."
"Got her future all planned for her, Dad?" Katharine said mischievously.
"Well, wouldn’t you be surprised if neither one of them decided to get into music?" I said. "Don’t you suppose it’s in their genes or something?"
"Yeah, that’s probably why Kaycee likes to put splints and band-aids on all of her stuffed animals."
"That’s not genetic. That’s just being smart enough to know what it takes to make people fuss over you and go ‘Aw-w-w, isn’t that cute?’ "
"Well, that’s one of the things I wanted from you, Mr. Three College Degrees," Katharine said. "Kids with 20-20 uncorrected eyesight and the kind of a brain that lets them enjoy school."
"There’s nothing wrong with your brain," I said. "It just gets a little…overwhelmed sometimes, and you need to slow down, take a deep breath, and remember how to process things in order."
"I still turn words around sometimes," she said, frowning at Pookie as though she was trying to look through her blonde mop and see if all the little wheels under the skull were turning correctly.
I knew exactly what she was thinking. "So she didn’t start talking as early as Kaycee did," I said. "She’ll catch up. First kids are often more verbal, because for a long time it was just them and the adults, no other kids to babble at and pick up bad habits from."
"You know what I saw on TV the other day?" Katharine said without waiting for an answer. "This ad for—oh, I don’t know, something or other—and they said that one out of every 150 babies is born autistic. That’s pretty bad odds, you know that? You don’t think there’s any chance—"
"She is not autistic!" I said. "For Godssake, she relates to people."
"So why doesn’t she talk?"
"I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t have anything to say."
"Don’t be a smartass. What if it’s serious and we’re just missing something? That happens. It happened to me when I was little."
"Okay, I’ve got another reason for you. Because she’s not Kaycee. Kaycee wants everything yesterday. She’s always been that way. She’s done everything fast from the day she was born."
"Yeah, she popped right out and Pookie took two days and scared the crap out of everybody."
"See? They just have different styles," I said, anxious to find something to say that might make Katharine feel better. Setbacks in her own life she could handle, but anything affecting the kids kept her up nights, whether it should or not.
"Are you talking about me?" Kaycee wanted to know.
"Yes," Katharine said. "You’re a little girl in a hurry. So why don’t you hurry and get ready to go with Grandma? Speaking of which, I think I just heard her come in."
"And I think I heard Ildie drive up. Come on, Chickie."
"No," Kaycee said, quite predictably.
"Maybe she’d rather swap and go with Ildie," I said. "Then she’d have three people to alternately charm and terrorize. She’d love it."
"Oh shut UP," Katharine said. "This is going to be tricky enough as it is."
"What’s tissic? What’s that mean?" Kaycee asked.
"And you’re always on ME to watch my mouth around the kids," I said. "Now what?"
Katharine rolled her eyes at me. "How should I know? Help me!"
"We were just discussing why Pookie doesn’t seem to want to talk," I said, sidestepping the question. "And it occurs to me that a lot of the time, you seem to know what she wants better than we do. But you know what? I think you should just let her make her own needs known. Maybe then she’ll start talking to us."
"No," Kaycee said. "She’ll just get mad and scream. I don’t like it when she screams."
"Nobody does, Honey," Katharine said. "That’s why she needs to learn to talk."
"Hi, guys!" Peisha called down the hall.
Kaycee dropped the stuffed chihuahua she’d been cradling and scrambled down from the bed. Flying out the door, she threw herself into Peisha’s arms babbling "Gramma P! Gramma P!"
I looked at Katharine and shrugged and she gave me an "I told you so" look.
My stepmother arrived shortly thereafter, still dressed for battle and looking quite formidable in a gray suit and heels. I loved her to death but seriously pitied anyone who had to face her in a courtroom. She and Peisha acknowledged each other, took possession of their respective charges, wished us a lovely weekend, and walked out chatting like the friends and allies they had become over the past few years.
"Well," I said happily, "that went well."
"Super," Katharine agreed. "Now, let’s go check into our little love nest and go crazy." She struck a hands-on-hips pose. "You’re going to have a remarkable weekend."
"And what are you going to have?"
"Two days of just being me, nobody crying or screaming or wanting anything from me, or telling me we need to do that one more time to get it just right—"
"Well, I can’t promise that," I said.
&q