Dominance

Tonight we were sitting on the couch, having family time, when The Boys began wrestling.

"The timeless battle for Dominance continues!" Jeremy said
"Yeah," I said, "When you're eighty..." I began.
"When I'm Eighty-One and he's Sixty, we'll still be fighting for dominance," Jeremy completed my sentence. Switching back and forth from his 'grandpa' to his 'Future Joshua' voice, he began surmising the future conversation "'Son! Son! My diaper needs changing' 'MUHAHAHA, Old man. I'm not going to wipe you as well so you'll ITCH for a WEEK!!!!"
Josh chimed in with his 'grandpa voice' "Son!?? Son!!!?? Get back here!! I'm chafing and I stink! SON!? I think I have a rash..."

A Birthday Story.

...on December ninth, in a hospital far far away, a small boy entered the world for the first time. Deciding he preferred his former warm, snug, cozy, womb, he protested loudly to the world letting everyone know he was unhappy about his eviction. So he cried...

 And he cried:

And he cried:

And he cried some more...

Until Mom and Dad learned to wear ear plugs, because no matter what they tried, he would cry.

Then he discovered food:

And that made him happier...and chubby.

And then he discovered his toes, and that made him even more happy.

But when he learned he could make noise by banging on things? Well, that made him happiest of all.

So Pop mailed him some drum sticks.

And a drum.  Though, when he played IN the drum instead of ON the drum...

(no Joshua, you will never live this one down...)

That didn't make him happy at ALL.

Yup, it's still funny to me, after all these years.

And Mom said, "Look Dad he's not crying!!!"
And Dad said, "WHAT?!?

And Mom shouted over the drums, "I said...HE'S NOT CRYING!"
 Dad said, "HUH? I can't hear you!" Dad pointed to his earplugs and pointed to the drums.

To this very day, Joshua is most happy when he's making LOTS of noise.

Happy Birthday, Joshua

Enjoy your cake!!!

"If I made a movie..."

We were strolling leisurely back to our vacation rental, ice cream in hand (or Italian ice in my case, thank you milk allergy) satisfied after a good competitive game of miniature golf.

"So, this was nice, wasn't it?" I asked the family.
"YEAH." Joshua said, emphatically, "It sure beats sitting at the condo listening to music or watching bad girl teen dramas on television."
"Or Animal Planet."
"Thank you, Joshua, " I said, "for wrestling the remote from your sisters this afternoon."
"I KNOW!" He said, "I couldn't take 'Victorious' one more second. I mean, all those shows are the same!"
"HEY!" piped up Ruth. "I LIKE Victorious."
"But the plot is always the same: 'I'll hook you up with one of my friends and then it will all go wrong and in the end we should have just talked about it anyway," Joshua said in his 'girly voice' impression.
"Soooo," Ruth said.
"Oh, and 'GUY' shows and movies don't have the same plot?!?" I asked. "Oh, let me chase the bad guy in a car, and then shoot everyone, but I'm the good guy so I won't get even a graze when the bad guys shoot at me with automatic weapons, and in the end something HUGE has to be blown-up: a skyscraper, a helicopter, a 747..."
"Actually," Jeremy interrupted, "It's more like, the bad guy tries to kill the good guy with some elaborate and overly complicated scheme and then says 'Well, since you're going to die anyway, let me tell you my nefarious plans,' and then he leaves allowing five or more hours for the good guy to escape when in reality a bullet to the head would have allowed him to continue on in his evil merry ways."
"This is true," I replied.
"And in fact," Jeremy continued, "It's been documented there are only so many plots in the world, and everything is a variation within."
"Really?" The kids asked.
"So they say," Jeremy said.
"But what if I came up with my own plot?" Ruth asked.
"It would still be a variation of one of those documented," I replied, "According to this theory."
"Not if I made a movie," Hannah chimed in. "If I made a movie, it would be totally random. It'd start with a picture of lard, and then there'd be a duck, and it might come and eat the lard. I'm not quite sure about that part just yet."
"Yup, That'd be totally random, Hannah," I said.
"Did she said Lard?!?" Ruth asked.
"Lard?" Joshua said.
"And a duck," Hannah said. "Don't forget the duck."

Found a peanut...found a peanut...found a peanut, just now...

We were sitting side by side in the office, me on my laptop, him on the desktop. He was playing Lord of the Rings Online, when suddenly he said, "Ooh, Peanuts!"

From the corner of my eye, I saw him pick something up and pop it into his mouth.

"Ew." He said, and continued on with his game.

"Did you REALLY just pick up an old peanut off the computer desk and pop it into your mouth?"

"Yeah," he said, as if this was no big deal.

"I can't believe you did that!"

He laughed.

At least it wasn't a rotting apple core. I did manage to break him of leaving those for me to find in the office. Ugh.

Stalled.

We had just completed a successful and very pleasant dinner meeting conducting 'some things looming' business. I was feeling rather pumped up. We agreed on the name of next Spring's exhibit, mentioned some Saturday Sampler business, discussed some things about Handmade Holidays, and basically talked shop for about three hours. Good stuff. So when I got into my husband's eleven year old manual transmission car and I couldn't quite get the gear shift to go into reverse, I did what every normal human being does: I pumped the clutch a few times, and kept trying, ignoring the warning bells flashing in my head.

I got out of the Applebees parking lot, navigated past the mall, on to the highway, and was cruising along when suddenly, my car was in neutral and the stick shift had no resistance. At this point, I should perhaps explain that many Pennsylvania roads have little to no shoulder, even on the highways. I'm not sure why, other than perhaps terrain dictated the roads eons ago, and we just paved over top of the horse trails. Managing to roll my husband's car into the excuse that passed for a shoulder of the road, I was dismayed to see half my car still sticking out into the lane. I was even more dismayed to discover my cell phone battery was nearly dead; just enough life in it to make one phone call.

I tried home first, figuring the Mr. would be home by then, or at the least, The Boy would pick up. I knew he was home, and then he'd give the deets to his father. I figured wrong. On the sixth ring, I hung up, and prayed that my phone would hold out for one more call. I called my father. "Hey Papa, you think you can come rescue me?" Every time a car swooshed past, my car swayed side to side, "I'm not in a good spot," I said, and then proceeded to give garbled directions in my hyper-adrenalinized state. In the meantime, I dug through my purse, brilliantly remembering my Tom-tom was there, and the charger for that would work for my phone. I dialed the husband's cell phone, and miraculously, he had it on him, and it was charged.

"I'm stuck on the highway," I said.

"Oh no! What happened?" He asked.

I explained in detail the clutch, the stick shift, the rolling to a slow stop on the 'shoulder' and my precarious position. "Can you call Geico? We have roadside assistance. They'll send us a tow truck."

Shortly after I hung up with him, my father called looking for me. Apparently, my directions were lousy. Another five minutes, he pulled up behind me, assessed the situation and decided he was going to walk up and around the bridge I was facing to see if there was more shoulder on the other side. I was close to an off-ramp, and he figured that there might be more space as a result. "I think I'm going to use my truck to push you a little further so your butt isn't hanging out on the road anymore. It would make me feel better," he said.

"It would make me feel better too!" I said enthusiastically. I had just spent a good part of ten minutes imagining someone rear-ending me.

I watched as my father's truck slowly inched towards my rear bumper and felt a gentle nudge. After the third tap, he called out his window, "Do you still have your emergency brake on???" Oops. I took the brake off, and we began limping our way down the "shoulder" which was narrowing down to nothing the closer we got to the bridge. Calling out directions, Dad directed me around the bridge and on to a much wider shoulder. I was now at least a foot away from the lane where vehicles were still swooping past at incredible volume. "Where on earth is all this traffic coming from at 10:00 at night?" I asked. Meanwhile, my mother, who had just returned from our meeting to find no sign of my father began frantically calling his phone, my home phone... She came home to find signs of life, but no signs of his person. It was an understandable reaction.

I hadn't heard from Jeremy, my husband, in awhile, so I called the house phone. He was still on the line with Geico, who was still trying to find a tow truck. I wondered if it would have been faster to just find one ourselves and pay for the tow, rather than use road-side assistance. I hung up and told Dad what was going on. Leaning into my drivers side window, we talked about this and that for a good fifteen minutes before my phone rang. "Ray is coming to save you," Jeremy said.

At ten forty-five, my rescuer came with his big hook and flashing lights. He took my information, and my credit card number. Dad and I piled back into his truck and he drove me home. I walked into the door, greeted by my wild-haired husband. I could tell he'd been having a time of it at home.

"If the situation had been reversed," he said by way of greeting, "You'd have fallen apart."

"Gee thanks," I said. "As if what I went through wasn't traumatic?"

"No. It gets better. The lady on the phone was from Georgia."

"In other words, she has no idea where R****** is, or what it looks like, or where I actually was located on the highway. It was probably like playing whisper down the lane."

"Exactly." He said as he smoothed down his hair. "I had just gotten in the door, I hadn't had dinner, and I had a most pressing need to use the bathroom when you called. That alone would have made you a mess."

I had to concede that one.

"So while I was on the phone listening to the hold music, I noticed the toilet water was low and I flushed."

"It over-flowed."

"Exactly."

"And then I noticed Josh was still dressed and not anywhere near ready for bed. He hadn't taken his medicine, he wasn't in his pajamas..."

"He was still playing his video game,"

"Exactly. And since I had the girls with me at band practice, they were ALSO just now trying to get ready for bed..."

"And you were still on hold with the nice lady from Georgia."

"Yes. So after a bit she came back on the line and I asked her how many places she had called, and she said '38'" He imitated her accent perfectly, I'm sure. "And then I asked, 'how many more on your list?' She said, '42,' I said, '38?!? 42?!? Seriously?' " He flipped back into his Southern Belle Accent as he continued his story, "And she said, 'Well, a lot of them told me they refuse to drive in R****** at night' I said, 'seriously.'"

"The irony is, I wasn't any where NEAR R******. I was on THE HIGHWAY. My best guess is that she was calling towing places and saying 'Can you tow someone in R******?' and they tuned out," I said.

"You're probably right." Jeremy said, "So after a bit, I asked how far away she was calling for a truck. She told me as much as fifty miles away. I said 'fifty miles?!? That's practically Philadelphia! That's like an hour away!' So she told me there was this one for-pay place, and I said 'take it. I don't care if we have to pay up front and then submit the claim. Just take it.' And so she called Ray."

"I'm so glad you said that. I kind of wish we had realized sooner what was probably happening. I might not have sat so long. I'm pretty sure anyone would come to the rescue on the highway."

"I know! If she had called someone from out near Philadelphia, you'd have waited another hour."

I shuddered at the thought.

Who spilled the beans?

Because I find it difficult to find things I like to pack for lunch, I always come home half-starved after work. So, the minute I walk in the door, I set my things down and look for the nearest snack at hand. Yesterday, it was the can of cashews still sitting out from breakfast. I figured Hannah probably had had a handful along with whatever else she had scrounged up to eat before school. Since she is the master of unique breakfast cuisine, it didn't strike me as unusual. If anything, I was annoyed that the cashews had been sitting out all day.

So I opened the can of generic cashews, and noticed these small red beans mixed in with the "nuts."
"What on earth are those?" I said to myself as I shook the can around to see if it was just on the top. "They look like dried kidney beans."
"I don't know," Hannah said. I noticed her expression shone bright with curiosity. "Let me see!" I was still holding the can when she pulled the can downward to get a better view.
"Yeah, Me too," said Ruth, coming over to us to have a peek at the mysterious cashews and beans.
We all looked into the can and dug around a bit. "Maybe the manufacturing lines got crossed? But what an odd thing to get mixed in. I would think they'd accidentally mix in peanuts or something. Not dried beans."
"Yeah, that's weird," Hannah said. I looked at her again, suspicious, but her face was still a picture of innocence.
"You didn't have anything to do with this, did you?" I asked
"I don't know how that could have happened," Hannah said. We played the staring game for a few seconds, while I looked for any signs of deception. Seeing none, not even her cute but ornery expression, I tucked my misgivings into the back of my mind, and picked around the beans to eat a few cashews.

Jeremy arrived home a few hours later and I showed him the can of cashews. "Weird," he said. "Maybe we should take a picture, and send it to the manufacturer."
"Nah. It's generic. It wasn't as if this was an expensive can of nuts." I said.
"True." He picked around the beans, digging around to see how thoroughly mixed they were, stopping every so often to pick up a nut and pop it into his mouth.
"I dunno. I ate a few, but wondering if I should have just tossed the can," I said, mildly worried.
"Eh, it's probably alright." Jeremy ate a few more nuts.
"I'm sure it's fine," Hannah added.

Putting the can aside both physically and mentally, we began our hectic evening routine, and didn't contemplate the kidney beans at all until later last night. We're in the last week of the school musical which means more hustle and bustle than usual. Joshua came home from dress rehearsal, walked in the door, and noticed his father holding the cashews. Inspecting the contents once more, Jeremy said, "Yanno, I really think someone tampered with this." He subtly gestured with his head at the jar of dried kidney beans sitting on the piano, completely out of place.

I glanced surreptitiously over at the piano. "You think?" I said, feigning stupidity. "I don't know. Where on earth would they have gotten the beans? I don't think we have any dried beans laying around here..."
Losing his composure, Joshua began howling with laughter.
"You just gave yourself away," Jeremy pointed out matter of fact.
"I know!" Josh said between spurts of laughter. "I'm the worst liar in the world. I cannot lie at all! Bwaaahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaa!!!!"
"What on earth possessed you to do that?" I asked.
"It wasn't just me!" Josh said, indignantly. "Hannah was there too!"
"Well, your little sister is a little bit scary how easily she can lie to us. She didn't give anything away at all this afternoon when you weren't here."
He laughed even harder.

This morning as we sat around the breakfast table, I made eye contact with Hannah. Picking up the cashews, I shook them a few times, looking at her expectantly. She countered with a confused expression. I shook them again, and she said, "What?"
"The gig is up," I said. "Your brother gave you away last night."
Joshua started laughing again, as Hannah glared at him. If looks could kill, he'd be dead. "I'm sorry!" he told her, "I couldn't help myself!"
"It wasn't really me," she protested. "Joshua is the one who put the beans into the can and shook it up."
"But you were his accomplice," I said. "Guilt by association. Oh, and here's a tip: I would highly recommend not getting into mischief with your brother. He'll always give you away."

Dinner with the Mels

They say family dinners are important time to bond with your kids and spouse. I wouldn't argue the point, because when family dinner is summarily taken away, one begins to realize what one has missed. Last Wednesday I had minor surgery that became a much more major ordeal. Because of various factors, I've not been healing as fast as the doctor expected, or I would have liked, and pain management has been a real problem. In other words, I hurt. I hurt bad. And to combat that pain, I've been on gooood stuff. The kind of stuff that melts my brain, makes peach fuzz of my memory, and mince meat of my hand-eye coordination. Maybe someone else wouldn't blink to be put on a pain pill, but I'm a lightweight. It doesn't take much to turn me into a marshmallow.

I've not left my perch on the couch for much more than transitioning from the bedroom in the morning to the living room, back to the bedroom at night. As a result, the house has been in a state of continuous chaos as Jeremy worked sixty hours or more over the last few weeks and at the same time attempted to take over all the chores I normally do. Meanwhile I laid on the couch in a drug induced state, covered in ice bags, or heating pads, and basically whined my little heart out. The children are resentful that they now have more chores (gasp) to help pick up the slack. And they have realized (smart children that they are) I'm in too bad of shape to really be of any threat. It's not as if I'm suddenly going to get up and chase them around the house with a wooden spoon, right? One easy dodge, the child goes right, I swerve left, and there I am, sprawled indecorously on the floor. I know this, and they know this, so I've been dealing with 'tude, and emotional meltdowns, and well, pretty much everything children do when Mom is out of commission. (And this is a joke to illustrate a point in an outrageous manner. One can never be too sure these days...always better to have a disclaimer).

Today was the first day in a week and a half, I was up,  sort-of about, and off the  heavy-duty pain pills. So I decided to go one step further and have a much needed family dinner to help instill a much needed sense of normalcy. Jeremy had prepared baked chicken the night before, so it was a simple matter of reheating, and cooking up some side dishes. Thank you birds-eye for your steam-in-bag veggies and potatoes. We might all die from cancer some day from microwaving our food in plastic bags, but it sure saved us some much needed time tonight.

We barely sat down to our food on our plates when the conversation started up.

"I'm eating chicken. You know what? I need my chicken suit to eat chicken," Hannah said.

"You'd be a cannibal," Jeremy replied.

"OH! Then, I really really need my suit!" She started to get out of her chair when her spoilsport father told her to sit back down.

In his usual non-sequitur manner, Joshua decided to add to the budding conversation, "Man my lips are chapped, and I have this crack in the corner of my..."

"Then you shouldn't be kissing your girlfriend," I interrupted without skipping a beat.

"WHAT?!? I...Not...I'M NOT...WHAT?!" He stuttered, indignantly.

"AW aw aw aw!! He's guiiiilty. He's been kissing his girlfriend," Ruth and Hannah sung.

"I have NOT," Joshua said, while crossing his arms over his chest and slumping down in his chair.

"Don't worry, Josh," Jeremy said. "When they get bigger you can embarrass them in front of their boyfriends."

"Yeah, I can tell him how Hannah..."

"I'd stop right there, Sir," I said. "Because you were worse than she was..." I left the sentence dangling and looked over at the girls whose expressions could only be described as containing gleeful sibling malice.

"Yeah Josh..." Ruth added, rubbing her hands together. "Go ahead and tell stories. See what we come up with for you. Muhahahahahaha."

Joshua turned his lips in towards his teeth as he always does when thwarted but considering other strategies. "Hmm," He said as he poked a green bean with his fork, "You're right. I don't think that would be so smart."

"You know," Jeremy said changing the subject. "We need to pop a huge batch of popcorn, and take videos of us while we see who can stick the most pieces of popcorn on our tongues." He laughed when he saw my expression.

"YEAH!" Joshua said enthusiastically. "Then we can run it on repeat on the dvd player and Mom will have to watch it over and over and over because SHE'S STUCK ON THE COUCH!!!"

If that isn't motivation to get better...I'm not sure what is.

Last Night I Got a Glimpse of My Future

"Cole asked me to the fifth and sixth grade dance," Ruthie announced yesterday after dinner. The fifth and sixth grade dance is a bit of a joke. It's loud music, and packs of ten through twelve year olds roaming around the cafeteria, stopping once and awhile to graze at the food table. About five to ten people actually dance in a group.  The boys usually stay on one half of the room, the girls to the other. Being 'asked' to the dance, well, I wasn't too worried...yet. It wasn't as if I was going to let her actually get picked up at our front door for the dance. Meeting at the cafeteria door? Sure. If that's being 'asked' to the dance, well, I can't argue about that.

"Who's Cole? What is he like? Is he good enough for my little girl?" Jeremy started rapid fire questioning with in his deep, "I-sound-like-a-radio-announcer," voice. It's the same voice he used to use whenever Joshua asks a gazillion questions "why why why?" After a bit, Jeremy will use his deep voice and say "Well you see son, because of the earths gravitational pull..." It usually shuts up the "Why" questions pretty quickly.

Jeremy continued, "Will he come to the door in a suit and tie? Will he be chivalrous to you? Will he open doors? Will he hold out chairs? Will he keep his hands to himself?"
Ruthie giggled, thinking he was joking.  I kind of suspected he was beginning to set up future expectations under the guise of humor, for when it did matter.
"Daaaaaadddddddddyyyyyyyyyy," Ruthie drawled out, exasperated. "We're just meeting at the dance, and he's escorting me in."
"What do you mean by escorting? Do you even know what the word means? Maybe I should show up and talk to him."
Joshua, who was washing dishes, was thoroughly enjoying the exchange. "Maybe," he said, stirring up trouble, "Maybe you should chaperon, Dad."
"Maybe I should," said Jeremy.
"Why would you want to chaperon?" Ruthie said.
"So I can keep my eye on this Cole," Jeremy said, scrunching up his face and bulging out one eye, while raising his eye brow.  He continued to look at her, and began to scratch his chin, as in deep thought. "Hmmmm...Maybe I should make up some rules for this dance."
"Yeah," said Josh, chiming in."Strict And Un-followable Rules." He changed his voice to sound like the wicked witch of the west, "You both shall remain ten feet away from each other at all times when you dance..."
Ruthie stomped her foot on the floor, "Guuuuuyssss! Stooooop it." She mock whined, attempting not to giggle again. I peeked into the kitchen, there was a huge smile on her face.  She was loving the attention...for now.  I'm not so sure she'll like it when she's sixteen and the male members of the family actual mean these words.
"Yup," said Jeremy. "I think I'm gonna be a chaperon. Make sure this Cole is good enough for my little girl...Maybe, I'll wear a tuxedo..."
"Daddy, NO! You'll embarrass me!"
"Hmm, maybe I could wear a tuxedo and a silly hat..."
"Daddy, you wouldn't would you?"
"Maybe I'll wear a tuxedo, a silly hat, and DANCE in the middle of the floor...maybe a silly dance..."
"Daddy! You're just joking, right?"
"I don't know...am I?"
"Daddy, please don't."


Later he asked me, "Do you think I was wrong to tease her like that? Do you think I picked on her too much?'
"Nah," I said. "She'll be lucky if this Cole even says two words to her all night at the dance. Besides, It's your job. Might as well set the expectations up now. Good job keeping it light and fluffy when it doesn't really matter.  Because it will matter later on..."

"Mel, Did You Buy Something On Joshua's Account?"

Jeremy called to me from the kitchen. He had his laptop set up on the table, and was perusing his email while eating dinner.  He worked late, and we had already eaten without him.

"What?" I called from the living room, too tired and sore to get up from my cozy spot on the couch.

"You know how all of Joshua's purchases go to my email? Well, did you accidentally buy something from his account?"

I have an iPod touch, and I use the kindle reader to buy books through Amazon.com, so I was puzzling how on earth The Boy had an Amazon account.  "Amazon? Or iTunes?"  I hollered back.

Ignoring my question he said, "It says here someone bought, 'Voyage to Temptation' and 'Duchess of Mandalore' are these books of yours? They sound like romance novels."

"Um I don't think so," I said. "I can't imagine ever buying a book called 'Voyage to Temptation'." Now my mind was reeling. Was someone using our account to buy smut?  "How much did those cost?"

"$2.00 a piece."

Two dollars, two dollars. I didn't know any books that cost two dollars, even on kindle. Oh there are a few, to be sure, and some that are even free, but I found out quickly that those were not only poorly written but often along the lines of what we were imagining 'Voyage to Temptation' was all about. "And you said they're on Joshua's account? Amazon?"

"No, iTunes."

Light dawning, I remembered The Boy saying something about watching some episodes on his laptop this afternoon. Now I was wondering what on earth he was watching. "Well, Josh was saying he was watching something on his laptop this afternoon through iTunes, but what on earth could he be watching?"  Visions of our son caught up in some soap-opera like drama were floating through my mind.

"OOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh!" Jeremy said and started to laugh, "I just googled it.  Bwaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaa! They're hahahahah gasp They're episodes for that hahahahahahaha cartoon he likes to watch...Star Wars Clone Wars."

"WHAT!?"

Pushing the chair back from the table, he came around the corner and looked at me. "They're episodes from Star Wars Clone Wars. What on earth are they thinking naming their episodes things like 'Voyage to Temptation'? I swear, they sounded like bad romance novels." We laughed again, mildly relieved, mostly because a conundrum had been solved.

He came home later, and Jeremy told The Boy what we thought. He looked incredulous. "What?!?!? They're episodes from Star Wars Clone Wars!" He protested, feeling his manhood in question.

"We know. We know.  We were just a little worried there, kid."

Josh started to laugh. "How could you have thought that?"

"Well, we weren't sure what to think," I added.  "But sure made for an interesting puzzle for the night."

"I think after your name, I'll put in parenthesis, 'wife',"

Jeremy said as he loaded up his new phone contact list.

"Why? So you can remember who I am?"

He howled.

If she can't get a date, it's not my fault.

Like any mother, I've been working on manners. My biggest impetus is not the children, necessarily. Oh no. It's Jeremy. He doesn't understand the need for good manners when it comes to body functions operating normally causing loud noises to occur in public venues. Because he thinks it's hilarious, he never corrects the children.
"You can't do that," I told him once.
"What?" he said, laughing.
"That. You cannot laugh when they pass gas or burp. They need to say 'excuse me.' It's your job to remind them to excuse themselves, too, you know. When it's just me correcting them, they never learn." For years, I've been working on him but to no avail.

Last night, we were having dinner, when we heard a delicate "put put put put put put put" noise. Jeremy, bless him, did try. Holding back the laughter that wanted to come out, he said, "Hannah Noel what do you say?"
Hannah looked at her father's strained expression, and knowing he was on the edge said, "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

Jeremy howled, laughing so hard, his eyes started to water. "I tried," he said shaking his head back and forth. "I really really tried."

She's such a strange child..

Sitting at the table, a lunch of fried chicken sitting in front of her, she paused mid-bite, picked up a post-it note from the table and put it dead center on her chest, and continued to eat.  Jeremy and Joshua had been playing 3D tic-tac-toe on the post-it pad, and the crosses on the yellow sheet looked even more out of place amongst the 101 Dalmatians cavorting all over the turtle neck she wore.  Singing to herself while she ate, Hannah was a picture of pure contentment, her imaginary world more than enough to keep her happy.

Meanwhile, Ruthie, opening the cabinet doors, made a disappointing discovery. "OH NOOOO!" She wailed. 'The syrup spilled EVERYWHERE!"  During the clean-up, Jeremy and Ruth discovered some left over Hershey's miniatures that had escaped the bag a few days ago.  He noticed Hannah had finished lunch, and said, "Hey Hannah, wanna Krackle?"
"Yeaaaaaaaaaaah," Hannah said

Jeremy unwrapped the candy bar so Hannah couldn't read the wrapper.  She took a bite and started to MMMmm, when suddenly her expression turned into one of disgust.  Her father started howling with laughter.
"This isn't a Krackle!" she said, indignant. "This is that peanut one...Mr..."
"Bad Bar!" Jeremy finished. No one in this house likes the Mr. Goodbars, except for me.  Hannah started making gagging noises and rushed for the trashcan.
"I guess that makes us even for 1-2-3 Nipples!"
"What's 1-2-3 Nipples?" I was afraid to ask, but curiosity overcame trepidation.
"The other week, Hannah kept trying to grab at my nipples. And I told her to knock it off. So she said," Jeremy switched his voice to a higher pitch in imitation, " 'Can I count your chest hairs then?' So I told her Ok."  (I should probably mention, that my husband is about as hairless as a guy can get.  You really can count his chest hairs with ease). Jeremy continued as my eyes grew wider, "So, she started to count...1-2-3 and then grabbed and yelled "NIPPLES!" " He shuddered, as we all started laughing really hard.

Our laughter quickly became out of proportion to the story.  Josh, Ruth, Hannah, Jeremy and I were wiping tears out of our eyes, and gasping for breath when Hannah piped up at the end, "Well," she paused for dramatic impact. "We all just had a great chuckle there. Didn't we?"

That set off another peal of laughter from all of us, except Hannah who stood there bewildered for once, because normally she's very deliberate with her humor.

"Chuckle?" Joshua said shaking his head as he walked into the other room talking to himself "Who says chuckle?"

"On December first, I get a goat!"

He told me enthusiastically.  For weeks I've been hearing, "On December first..." this and "On December first..." that.  December first was going to be heralded as a day to end all days in our house.  Why? Well, isn't it obvious? Lord of the Rings Online was issuing it's upgrade.

"On December first, they're adding five more levels."
"On December first..."
"On December first..."
"On December first..."

I began to tune him out.  Don't get me wrong. I love my geeks to the fullest extent possible, but after nearly fifteen years of living w/ the eldest geek and surviving another thirteen with the younger, I've learned to tune the two of them out.  Or ban the activity in my presence.  That was an absolute necessity when they obsessed over Naruto together...the japanese version with the high awful female squeaky whiny voices. I didn't have to understand Japanese to know they were annoying. According to the guys, "the dubbed "American" version was just no good".

So now that my interest was piqued, I asked, "A goat?"
"Yeah. A goat. It can go into the Mines of Moria. I can't take a horse there, but I can ride a goat."

Ok then. So glad I asked. At least, he's not bringing home a real goat or something goat related. I never know with that one.

Thank goodness for small mercies.

Spelling Counts

"It's Father's Day! It's Father's Day!" Hannah sang. She had made some stuff at school for Father's day, and had it in a bright purple oversized envelope. For almost two weeks she tried to give Jeremy the envelope only to hear, "It's not Father's Day yet. I can't open this."

"Finally. Finally! It's Father's Day! I have a present for you Daddy!" Hannah handed the envelope to Jeremy.
He pulled out the first part of his present. An Acrostic Poem, using the word Father.  He paused a minute, carefully made his face blank, and then showed it to me. Hannah was beaming, waiting, anticipating his reaction to her thoughtfulness. I sucked in my breath, and whispered to Jeremy, "I'm sure it's not what it looks like. It's just not spelled right."

"Yeah I know. But what do you think it's really supposed to be?"

 "Ask her."

"Hannah, read this poem to me..."Jeremy prompted.

"Funky..." She began

"OOOH Funky! Oh ok. ah. Good. Funky. But, you know, not that I'm trying to be critical, next time you spell Funky, make sure you include the N, and uh, there's no C before the K."

Slang 101

"So, all I had to eat today was a handful of cereal, a granola bar, and a small package of tastycakes." I finished lamenting my crazy busy day to Jeremy over cheese steaks. We were all sitting at the table taking turns relating our day.  He responded by singing the jingle, "Nobody bakes a cake as tasty as a tasty cake."  After repeating it a few annoying more times, he started messing around with it in his usual manner, "Nobody bocks a cock as tosty as a tosty cock. Oh wait. That's not very good. I shouldn't have sung that!"  At that moment, he started laughing so hard, he turned red, as boys are wont to do when making up naughty songs.  The color crept up from his neck, as the humor turned into embarrassment as three pairs of eyes looked at him with great interest.

"A tosty cock?" Ruth said.
"Don't say that again," Jeremy said when he caught his breath.
Joshua gurgled.
"Why can't we say tosty cock?"
"Uh, because it isn't a good thing to say."
Joshua giggled.
"I can't say tosty cock?" Ruthie asked
"Tosty cock, tosty cock, tosty cock" Hannah said.
Eyes big and bright, Joshua covered his mouth with his hand. He snickered.
"Because." Jeremy said
"Oh, you might as well tell her," I said.
"Tosty cock, tosty cock, tosty cock," Hannah said.
Joshua nearly fell out of his chair, holding his stomach, laughing silently.
"Hannah that's enough," Jeremy said.
"Why? Why can't we say tosty cock?" Ruth persisted.
"I'll tell her later." Jeremy turned back to me, effectively ignoring Ruthie. I knew it was a stalling tactic, and that he had no intention of telling them later.
"Tell them now. Otherwise I'm gonna be somewhere with the kids, and one of our girls are gonna say it at the wrong moment." I said.
Jeremy shook his head no.
Joshua snorted and slid off his chair. "Tosty cock. Oh man!" He said from under the table.
"I want to know why I can't say Tosty cock." Ruthie said.
"Tosty cock, tosty cock, tosty cock," Hannah whispered.
"Fine. I'll tell them."

 I looked at Ruth. She looked eagerly back at me as if I was about to impart the mystery of the world. I looked sternly at Hannah. A silent warning to not let this conversation get past the table.  Hannah's eyes glittered with ornery intent. She knew, just knew this was going to be good. "Well, you see, cock is another word for either a Rooster, or the part of a guy that makes them guys."
Joshua, who managed to get back into his seat, snickered. The girls sat in silence for a few minutes, absorbing this new information.
"Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!" Ruthie said.
"Cock-a-doodle dooooooo!!" Hannah said.

Joshua lost his seat again.
I almost had to administer CPR to Jeremy.

Jeremy and Oswald have a "chat"

My husband is a big ol' softie when it comes to animals. He wanted to be a veterinarian, until he assisted the local vet with the spaying of a cat. When he nearly passed out, he figured he'd explore a different career avenue and discovered a passion for languages. He studied four languages in high school, won some award they never gave anyone else before in the history of our Alma Mater, and enlisted in the army as a translator, Russian.  Years later, that gift for languages turned into a gift for programming computers and an ability to be able to move from one language to another with little difficulty. So I shouldn't have been too surprised that his natural curiosity, combined with his interest in languages and communication led to his laying on the floor with Oswald attempting a bunny conversation.

"I've always wondered why Rabbits wiggle their nose," I said off-offhandedly while watching Oswald run through his 'obstacle course.'  Oswald has a preferred path through the living room that he takes over and over: behind the step ladder, under the entertainment center door that is never closed, hop up on the couch, get gently pushed off said couch, leap side ways as if something spooked him, run up two steps, hop back down two steps, repeat until tired.  I didn't notice Jeremy typing on the computer. He's always typing on the computer. It just didn't register in my mind.
"It says here that wiggling is a form of communication," he started to read from a page on the net, "

"Most rabbits at rest will be wiggling their noses. Rabbits don't need to do this to smell things, and they don't necessarily do it in time with their breathing, and they sometimes stop completely. So why do they do it at all? A rabbit's nose is like a thermometer for how interested it is in what's being observed. The faster the wiggling, the more attentive or agitated the rabbit is. Nose wiggle signaling is generally only used by rabbits that are already moderately relaxed.

A fast wiggle doesn't necessarily mean a rabbit is upset. It may just signal interest in something being witnessed, or some passing thought. A slowly wiggling nose indicates a calm rabbit. Rabbits usually use nose wiggling to indicate fine gradations in their mood. If you start moving around or doing something odd, that nose will start moving faster, and the rabbit may also turn its ears to focus more upon you. If a rabbit is considering fleeing, though, it will usually stop wiggling its nose completely.

One way to help calm a rabbit is to do the equivalent of whispering "there, there, it's all right" using slow nose wiggling. Of course, humans can't really wiggle their noses properly (OK, maybe you can), but rabbits will understand if you just use your upper lip. If you roll your upper lip under your top teeth and back again, this looks much like a rabbit nose wiggle. It's especially effective if you happen to have a mustache. On the other hand, some folks can actually wiggle their noses enough for the rabbit to recognize it. Experiment to see what your rabbit responds to."

Knowing Jeremy as I do, my first thought was, oh no. He's going to have to try this. So it was no surprise that within minutes, my husband was on the floor, facing Oswald making strange facial contortions in attempt to engage the rabbit's attention.  Oswald hopped off. Jeremy changed locations with the rabbit, laid on his belly again, attempted to face Oswald and tried again. Oswald stood up on his hind legs, sniffed the air, and then hopped away.  After several attempts Jeremy pushed up from the floor and said, "Well, I guess I'll just have to practice that and try again some other time. Apparently my nose wiggling skills aren't up to par." He wandered off to the kitchen for a snack. Oswald, completely unimpressed, decided to hop back into his cage and give himself a bath.

So much for rabbit/human communications.  For now.

from one male to another...

"There's this girl at school, and she gets mad at me all the time for no good reason!" Joshua complained to his father one evening. "I try to tell her something, and it just makes her furious!"

"Well, uh, what exactly are you saying to her?" Jeremy asked.

"Well, she keeps saying she's gotta diet and stuff, 'cuz she's like fat and stuff, but she's not. She's thin.  In fact, I told her she was crazy to think she needed to diet. I told her she's skinny as a twig."

Jeremy goggled at The Boy in horrified amusement. "Um, son, see uh, when a female says she's fat, and you know she's not, 'skinny as a twig' is not a compliment.  Telling her she's thin might be ok. But usually just don't touch that subject with a ten foot pole. It's a losing argument. It will never end pretty. Trust me."

"But she is," Josh insisted. "Why would she be offended by being called 'skinny as a twig' ?"

"Because you're comparing her to a branch. That's why. A branch. Do you think a branch is attractive? Do you think any girl or woman wants to be told they look like a branch?"

"Oh."

Sometimes ya just gotta laugh, even when you shouldn't

Oh she's good. She's very very good.  And if she's this good at the age of almost seven, I'm a little worried about how well she'll out maneuver her father and I when she's almost seventeen.

Hannah was making an unusual amount of racket in the back of the van last night: howling, hooting, growling, and roaring. Most of the time, I have no idea why she does the things she does. Last night, however, I suspected the noise was the fault of an over active imagination. Ruth and Josh added to the cacophony with five minutes of whining comments and unspoken promises of death, "Hannah, knock. it. off. Maaaaaaaamaaaaaaaa! Hannah's making noise!"
"Mom, can you tell her to SHUT UP!"
Of course, that enticed "the twerp within" to make Hannah roar louder, with more enthusiasm.

Jeremy had had enough. "Knock it OFF, Hannah Noel. You're not an animal, you know," he added.

"And I'm not really a dinosaur either," Hannah replied with calculated humor, and a very serious, straight, face.

I tried. I really did. I tried so hard to not laugh, to not even crack the tiniest of smiles.

I failed.

Miserably.

Hannah's Chicken Suit Pt 2.

I suppose I pride myself on being a bit of an unconventional mommy. It's not so much that I try to be eccentric. It's just that I encourage my children to discover who they are, rather than be pushed into a mold of my making.  I can't help it if they express themselves in wonderful, and sometimes wacky ways.

We spent this weekend in the mountains, snow tubing.  Hannah asked if she could bring her chicken suit, and since there was really no good reason to say no, I gave her permission.  Her cousins had great fun with the chicken suit, taking turns dressing up, dancing around, flapping their wings. The adults had fun laughing at their antics.

On the drive home yesterday afternoon, Jeremy looked in his rear-view mirror.

"Psst." He grabbed my attention from the book I was reading and said out of the side of his mouth, "Turn your head and look in the back of the van."

I did as he suggested, and guffawed. Yes guffawed. There's no other word to explain the burst of laughter that came out of my mouth.  Jeremy could hardly see to drive from the tears streaming down his face. I could barely breathe I was laughing so hard.  Joshua and Ruth were fast asleep. Hannah, however, was sitting in her booster seat, talking to herself, while wearing the head part of the costume.

So, who knows, maybe I'm setting my kids up for needing therapy in the future. But I figure, kids grow up so fast.  There's only a small portion of time in a person's life when one can get away with wearing a chicken suit while engaging in normal, every day activities. Might as well let Hannah live life to the fullest while she can.

Maybe I should take over the cooking again...

   Jan 26, '09 5:23 PM
for everyone

Sunday night, we put the kids to bed, and I went to make Chonas (that's Nachos for anyone who doesn't live with Anagram man). We eat a lot of nachos on the weekend, as it is our favorite snack food. Usually it's just tortilla chips and cheese, but that night, it was dinner not a snack, so we were going to add "Jeremy's special recipe taco meat" to the chips and colby jack cheese. I grabbed the cookie sheet and handed it to Jeremy who was already standing at the sink washing dishes.

"Hey love, could you wash this up quick?" I asked.

"Why? We only cooked French Fries on it earlier today. Just brush the crumbs off. It'll be fine." Jeremy had cooked dinner in the middle of the day as is our Sunday tradition.

I looked at him like he grew two heads.  He started to laugh because he knew he was being gross. I looked down at the pan in my hand and noticed some stuff stuck to the bottom of the pan that suspiciously looked like dried baked-on shredded cheese.  "Did you wash this pan before you cooked the fries?"

He started to laugh. "It was ok. It was all dried on. I just had to scrape it off."

I just looked at him.  His face contorted with un-vocalised laughter. I looked at him some more. He doubled over, he was laughing so hard. Tears began to stream down his face.

"I can't believe you fed my babies, MY BABIES, food off of a dirty cookie sheet," I said in mock horror. I was disgusted, but it's really hard to get angry with this man. I've been married to him for almost fourteen years. Nothing surprises me much anymore.

"It was ok. It was just baked on cheese. I scraped it off." He gasped between fits of laughter.

"Yeah, and then you were trying to convince me to scrape off the french fry crumbs and cook on it AGAIN!" Jeremy doubled over again.  I was trying hard not to smile. "You can't just use something for food, then scrape or brush off the remainders, and then cook, bake, or eat off of it again."

"It's Fiiiiiiiiiiiiine," he said with exaggerated hand gestures. He grabbed a bowl out of the sink and pretended to hand it to me. "There's only a little bit of mold on the bottom. Here, use this, have some cereal. Don't worry about the curdled milk either. Food poisoning? That's for wimps.  Where's your iron stomach, soldier?"

Sigh.