TODAY'S VIEWPOINT
Having fun when the homeymoon is over
RHETA GRIMSLEY JOHNSON

The honeymoon lasted almost 30 minutes after my brother and his wife left for a cruise, and me alone with their three children.

At first, for about half an hour, I was the invincible aunt from faraway, armed with a creative schedule and a fun-laced plan, full of enticing childhood activities and energy, able to leap small buildings in a single bound. I was the aunt who would lead the troops through the Valley of Boredom for nine days.

Or, 30 minutes.

After that, my energy wilted and the cat ate my carefully conceived calendar, and the plans I had made flew out the window. The first glitch I noticed was that the 3-year-old girl did not want to do what the 8-year-old boy wanted to do. And he, in turn, didn't want to do what his 11-year-old brother suggested.

And so, at any given moment, there were three requests working, and I, being indulgent by nature, tried to be in three places at once. One cannot, as it turns out, draw homemade valentines while hiking to the creek while flipping pancakes.

Especially if one doesn't know how to work a high-tech stove with more controls than a rocketship.

Which brings me to the second problem that reared its head as my brother backed down the driveway: I couldn't operate anything at his house. The kids, including the 3-yearold, had to show me how to use the microwave, the oven, the washer and dryer, the television and DVD player, the radio, the garage-door opener, the computer and the toilet-paper holders.

They soon grew weary of explaining things to their dotty old aunt, who by now had lost her invincibility. In fact, the best solution seemed to be to punch a movie into the player and try to forget her.

I am too proud to accept defeat. I suggested that we designate an "unbirthday" date for each of them during the week. Yes, I know, I said, it's not really your birthday, but we'll pretend that it is and celebrate with a cake, a present and a supper in your honor.

The first un-birthday went reasonably well, though I forgot to buy cake mix and we were forced to raid the freezer for miniature cheesecakes left over from Christmas. There were homemade streamers hanging from the light fixture and wrapped presents. We sang "The Un-Birthday Song" to Benjamin, not quite 9, despite serious objections from Will, almost 12.

Happy un-birthday to you, happy un-birthday to you ...

You can see Will's point.

Baby Olivia's un-birthday fell two days later and included a brownie-mix cake topped with animal crackers. But there were no presents or streamers. The brothers did not attend.

By the time the preteen's un-birthday was imminent, all of us were disenchanted with the idea.

"I really don't want a cake or a party," the newest un-birthday boy said. He didn't use the word "silly," but by now all of us were thinking the same thing. Bad idea.

Considering inclement weather and the disparity in ages -- including mine -- we did quite well. At least there were no casualties, until the next to last day when Benjamin and I butted heads while trying to keep a balloon up in the air. The tooth-shaped wound on his forehead did not require stitches, and my teeth have tightened up to almost normal.

We went shopping, dining, sledding, hiking, bowling. We went to the movies but turned two thumbs down on chipmunks. We created a photo gallery from pictures the trio took with throwaway cameras.

And by the end of nine days, I knew how to pull toilet paper from a roll without it flying across the room.

(c) 2008 Rheta Grimsley Johnson Distributed by King Features Syndicate