Turkey Boycott - CONTINUED

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So.

I thought we were through with the Turkey Costume nonsense.

We talked it to death.

Two Swords bribed the Captain into wearing the Hat.

The Captain wrote the apology note to his teacher, the Infamous Dot Giver, on Wednesday, and she loved it, and she cried, and she framed it on the wall of her classroom.

Done.

HA!

You must have been reading someone ELSE's blog.

Someone who has constant peace and calmness and serenity in their lives.

Someone who probably took their kids to Disney World on leashes.

Yeah, that someone is definitely NOT Hurricane Rojo.

And The Turkey Boycott story was definitely NOT over.

Let's see.....where did I leave off?

(Why do I feel like Peter Falk reading The Princess Bride to his grandson Fred Savage)?

I digress..........

So yes, the Captain goes to school on WEDNESDAY, gives the apology note to his teacher, the Infamous Dot Giver, proceeds to practice the Thanksgiving songs with his mateys, makes his Turkey hat, and goes on about his day.

Rojo and Two Swords make plans to attend said feast on Thursday afternoon.

It was an uneventful evening (NICE!) and we all were nestled in our bed linens, I in my kerchief, he in his cap, when suddenly.................

3:10 A.M.

A BAWLING Captain Jake Sparrow approaches my side of the bed.

(For the record, we are anti-co-sleeping parents. The children have not slept in our bed. Our children do not sleep in our bed, except on the rarest of occasion where it is necessary for one of us to be with them so that we can help them get to the toilet quicker than they could on their own, or because little ones just need and want their mama when they are ailing. That being said, it was highly unusual for the Captain to approach my bed in the middle of the night, crying.)

"Jake? Honey? What's wrong?"

He climbs into bed with me, crying and crying and crying.

I can't get him to talk to me.

I assess him in the dark.

No fever.

No runny nose.

No wet pants.

No distended tummy.

Nothing is physically wrong.

Still bawling.

Now that he has a 'big' bed, I opt to go with him to his room, rather than disturb Two Swords peaceful slumber.

I pick him up and carry him to his bedroom.

I turn his little man lamp on.

He's still crying pretty hard, but somewhat quietly, in a respectful sort of way. Not bad for four, if you ask me.

I go to the kitchen, to get him some water and a straw.

I come back to his room, shut the door, keep the little lamp on, and just hold him for awhile, rubbing his back, and "shhhhhhhh"ing him.

A few minutes later, I asked the Captain, "Did you have a bad dream?"

Sniff Sniff and a very pathetic, "No."

I stroke his back some more.

"Are you hurting any where?"

Sniff Sniff and a very pathetic, "No."

I stroke his back some more.

"Jake? Are you feeling bad? Are you sick?"

Sniff Sniff and a very pathetic, "No."

Okay, I'm done. Totally perplexed. No injuries. No nightmares. No need for a CT Scan that I can discern. I'm not a nurse so that rules out bloodwork. Hmmmm.

I stop stroking his back, and make him "look me in the eye".

"Jake?"

In the mousiest, whiniest voice one has ever heard, "yes, Mama?"

"What's wrong?"

"I don't want them to eat me."

Humm-in-a?

Say What?

Did you just say - I don't want them to eat me, when you previously said you had NOT had any bad dreams?

"Um, Jake, who do you think is going to eat you?"

"The Cowboys and the Indians."

Not to be sacrilegious to any and all religious sects but I believe that my revelation at this point is up there with the seven signs, the Angel Moroni, the Ten commandments, the Jamestown kool-aid festival, you name it, the plot had been REVEALED to me, friends.

Let me clarify something here.

Captain Jake Sparrow thinks that Pilgrims are in fact Cowboys. Not sure why.

What I CAN tell you is that last year for the Thanksgiving feast, when it was his turn to be a PILGRIM, he wore his cowboy boots, his wrangler jeans, a white shirt, his authentically Texan hat purchased in Dallas, Texas, and his Gi-Tar.

Yessirree, Bob.

So Jake actually thinks the COWBOYS AND THE INDIANS are going to eat him.

And so the revelation continues.

Now, for the first time, do I FULLY GRASP why he refused to be a turkey.

Because he didn't want to be roasted, grilled, deep fried, sliced, diced, scalped, skin peeled off, you name it, by the 400 guests who would be delectably eating him, after the little song-and-dance about cowboys, indians, and turkeys who we are going to chow down on with our mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, corn casserole, and cranberry sauce before we get our grimy hands on that delectable pumpkin pie sitting over there............

This child of mine is NOT dumb!

He is merely horribly confused!

NOW I was able to work it out.

Oh, thank you God for gifting me with discernment.

In oh, so very many ways You have shown me again and again the truth as You want me to see it. And I praise YOU for it each and every day!

"Jake, honey. No one is going to eat you."

"Yes they are Mommy! We sing it in our songs. After the Cowboys and the Indians become friends and share corn and bullets, they sit down together and eat ALL the turkeys."

"Jake?"

"Yes, Mama?"

"Is this why you didn't want to be a turkey?"

"Well, yeah Mama, cuz I don't want them to EAT me!"

"Okay, Jake, okay."

"Jake, I promise you, you will not be eaten."

"But, Mom! How can you be sure?"

Ladies and gentlemen, by now, it is about oh, approximately 5:03 a.m.

"Jake, what would you think if I called Mrs. Butterworth in the morning (in an hour when she gets there, ugh), and tell her that you will not be attending school today, and that I will write a note and you will be excused from the feast. What do you think about that?"

"Are you sure mama? Can you do that?" (Jake NEVER misses school. He LOVES school)

"Yeah, buddy, I can do that. Do you think it will make you feel better?"

He grabs me around the neck and starts to hug me and rub MY back! and says, "Yeah, Mama, I promise it will make me feel better, cuz I don't wanna be no stinkin turkey cuz I don't want nobody eatin' me."

Rather than attempt to re-educate him on the first Thanksgiving feast and preschool Thanksgiving feasts in general, mostly because I can barely keep my eyes open, I tell Jake, "Okay Jake, you can stay home tomorrow. Will you please go back to sleep now, because it is still nighttime."

He hugged me and kissed me, and peeps, I am telling you he was sound asleep in less than a minute.

Scared because I think they're going to EAT ME?!?!?!?!?!!??

FRICK A FRACK A FRICK A FRACK A FRICK A FRACK!

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