Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Dirty Rotten Scoundrel


Remember this picture?

Come on.  Surely you must.  I just posted it YESTERDAY in fact.

It was his 'wedding' attire.

Well, a few moments ago, I got an email from Aunt Jodi, who liked the pics of the kids, but wrote to me in an email, AND I QUOTE:

"I'm still searching for the RIGHT comment to post on the photo of Jake...."

I started to write her back, and stopped midstream with the following sentence - "Forget it.  This is a blog post.  Go there instead."

There are no 'wrong' comments to post in regards to the Captain whose ship never sails, that's for DAMN sure!

Just minutes ago (and please keep in mind, his room looks exactly the same as it did a month and a half ago, when Aunt Jodi was last in our home, but of course, worse)....

In fact, I simply don't go in 'there', for fear that one of the ROUSes (Rodents of Unusual Size) from The Princess Bride's fire swamp, might just lurch at me from under a stack of legos, well aged and rotten green apple cores, 'weapons of mass destruction' aka light sabers and Incredible Hulk fists, clean laundry from 2007 buried underneath dirty laundry from yesterday, empty juice boxes, drums, alleged 'science' experiments in different stages of analysis (no, he doesn't take science, yes he's only in kindergarten, and no, I have no idea whatsoever what this new laboratory nonsense is all about, but yes, I am absolutely certain this spawn of mine will never be a scientist, let alone a 'rocket' scientist, if you knowwhadimeanverne), and.....oh, where do I finish?

Heckfire, where do I start? 

First, let me beg of you, please don't call the Department of Children and Families and alledge that we have Rodents of Unusual Size in our home.  

The Bug Man was just here for his REGULARLY scheduled appointment.  

On Friday.

From like, four days ago, Friday.

One of my children could most definitely be considered 'vermin', but no, we are not rodent-infested.

Where was I?  
Oh, yeah, Aunt Jodi wanting to comment on Jake's picture.....


Billy Two Swords had morning duty this morning - sometimes we do it together, sometimes we take turns, no biggie, it just works out.  

Well, since Billy has had some handyman work lately (thank YOU GOD!), he's up early every morning, seven days a week, and finishes up at about 430 pm, which he very astutely structured to fit perfectly into our afternoon/evening/baseball/music lesson schedules.  (We just need to focus a bit harder on Sundays, cuz we've been missing worship, and yeah, we're all 'missing' worship...)

So, Jake is not a morning person. 

This is well documented. 

In fact............yeah, y'all have ridden this horse before.  No further details needed.

As I'm half awake/half asleep, still snuggled under the covers in my 'Sanctuary', I don't hear any barking, neither the human nor the dog kind, whining.....actually it's pretty quiet.  

So I figured BBD (Big Bad Dad) had it under control, and I learned was schooled by Big Bad Dad a lonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng time ago, that if everything is going smoothly, just stay the hell in bed, I got this, and when you come out here you upset the equilibrium of the morning and the proverbial feces hits the fan and if I need you, I'll tell you to get your fat lazy butt out of bed and help me with.........

the SPAWN.

Suddenly I hear the wrath of Two Swords.  

I'm certain you heard him in ASS-TAH-TOO-LUH, Florida, if not in AND-A-LOSE-YAH, Alabama.

Yeah, it wasn't a sonic boom from the Space Shuttle re-entering the earth's atmosphere.

It was Two Swords, with his deep, deep, Wolfman Jack-esque voice, hitting a note that can only be 'hit' when the 'song' is 'sung' to a certain.....SPAWN.

Capitalizing it, bolding it, italicizing it......I simply can't convey to you the true effect of what THIS sounds like:


Trust me on this one.

So I rolled over, and literally ROLLED my CLOSED eyes.

Unfortunately, this tactic of mine didn't aid Two Swords' morning duty menagerie in any fashion.
Especially when I heard the next outburst:

"JAKE!  It is SEVEN TWENTY FOUR (um, they have to be AT the bus stop at 730, even though the bus stop is our driveway, however comma) and you are STILL.......NAKED!  GET   DRESSED     NOW!"


Off went the covers.

Feet hit the floor.

One Eyed Fred crawls out from under my bed and follows suit.

I go straight to the Fire Swamp Jake's bedroom, as Two Swords has now switched gears to 'trash duty', which is Jake's JOB....never mind.  Two Swords is taking out the trash.

Jake is wearing the black dress socks from the wedding we attended on SATURDAY, the white undershirt from the wedding we attended on SATURDAY, and the underwear from the wedding we attended on SATURDAY, and is struggling to put on the dirty, wrinkled, covered-with-dog-hair-chicken nuggets-Hershey's kisses - patches of dirt and sand from unknown origin - dress shirt from the wedding we attended on SATURDAY, and I observe that his choice of leg covering yet to be put on is in fact the dirty, wrinkled, blah blah blah, dress pants from the wedding we attended on SATURDAY.

Today is NOT "Picture Day" at school.

Today is NOT "Wear Your Dirty SATURDAY Wedding Clothes To School On Tuesday Day" at school.


Oh, if I only had Dumbledore's crystal ball and could read the mind of the Captain whose ship never sails.

But alas.

I don't.

I pull the wrinkled dress shirt from SATURDAY off of Jake.

And he starts with the buts.

"BUT I wanted to wear that today!"

I ignore him, and find a clean t-shirt (Remarkably, there are clean clothes in his room. The ones that only get  into his dresser when his mother risks her life to put his clothes away).

I shove the tshirt over his head and pull his arms through.

Yeah he's still BUT-ing, BUT I am still IGNOR-ing.

I then locate a folded-nicely-and-put-in-his-dresser- pair of jeans.

The BUT-ing is now accompanied with full blown CRY-ing and MELT-ing and face SPLOTCH-ing.

Talk to the hand, pal, talk to the hand.

I marshal him out of the fire swamp his room, freshly dressed accordingly:

1).  Blue camo boxer briefs that he wore on Saturday, took off on Saturday night, strewn aside on the floor of his room, and put BACK on this morning.  I tell you this so you don't think the kid has been wearing the same underwear for four whole days.  No.  He wore them one day, and for some reason decided they were 'wearable' again today.  And I'd bet my left kidney that he doesn't know what the 'smell' test is so.....

2). Black SATURDAY dress socks.

3).  Clean! West Virginia University football t-shirt.

4).  Clean!  Jeans.

In the midst of me dressing The Sparrow and ignoring him at the same time, Two Swords re-enters the house from minor trash duty and lets it fly with, "WHAT THE HELL?  I HAD YOUR CLOTHES ALREADY PICKED OUT FOR YOU TWO HOURS AGO AND PUT THEM IN THE LIVING ROOM AND ARE YOU WEARING THE UNDERWEAR FROM THE WEDDING ON SATURDAY????"

Oh buoy.

The CRY-ing continues.

The WHIN-ing begins.

To the tune of, "Why are you guys ALWAYS so mean to me?"


Captain:  "whine cry whine cry whine cry ad infinitum"

I am now in the beach/pirate bathroom, toothbrush cocked and loaded with toothpaste, rinse cup filled with water, ready to brush the Captain's teeth on his behalf.  No, I don't do this on a regular basis, but I was bound and determined to  GET THIS KID OUT OF MY HOUSE AND OFF TO SCHOOL.

I brush his teeth for him.

He cries the whole time.

He locates his shoes.  Blue vans with skulls on them, that look oh-so-cool with black dress socks.  NOT.  

And he knows it. 

"THESE socks look STUPID with THESE shoes."

You are correct, sir, but you done dug your hole quite a while ago, so, um, in the words of your muthuh, 


Still CRY-ing.

Still WHIN-ing.

It is now 730 am.

Wow.   Those were like, the longest six minutes of my life.  They are also six minutes of my life that I will never get back.  Sigh.

Jake runs out the garage door.

Sans backpack.

I open the garage door and scream:  "BACKPACK!  JAKE!  BACKPACK!"

He walks at the pace of an inchworm.  And elderly inchworm.  With a back injury.

I toss his backpack to him.

He injuredly inches incrementally towards the edge of the driveway.

Just as the bus arrives.

And then....

And ONLY then........
Do I collapse in exhaustion on the couch.

Six minutes.

I feel like I just ran a six minute mile.

Dirty rotten scoundrel.




  1. Tooo-hooo funny! You poor girl! I bet a lot of moms have had mornings like that, but your humorous reaction/retelling of it may help us to see our own "six minute mile mornings" with a sigh and a grin next time!

  2. Thank you, @Jocelynn for making me feel like one of the gang, rather than the lonely kid who eats by themselves at lunchtime.

  3. @Jocelynn - did you notice/like my alliteration?