~
So, once a week, I volunteer in Reilly the Red's classroom.
I'm an underground pirate.
The kids call me a most boring, "Mrs. Fallon".
They don't know about my sword-fighting skills.
Perhaps they should.
And then things like this wouldn't happen:
On the day that I volunteered in her classroom, Reilly the Red came home from school and went straight to Billy Two Swords and said, "Little Joe Pesci said YOUR WIFE SMELLS LIKE A TURD!"
Two Swords replied, "Well, did she?"
Ha Ha Two Swords, Very Well Done!
Two Swords finds me and says, "Reilly said that Little Joe Pesci said that you smelled like a turd today."
First of all, I was cracking up laughing when he said this.
For one, I'm not saying I have never smelled like a turd in my life, because I'm certain that I have.
Especially if it's one of those days where I'm farting a lot.
But this day was NOT one of those days.
In addition, on this given day, I was NOWHERE NEAR Little Joe Pesci! He didn't get close enough to me to even know if I smelled like my own turds or hamster turds or his turds or freaking daisies for crying out loud.
And what seven year old boy has the nads to go up to a seven year old girl whose MOTHER is an ESTEEMED volunteer at their school, and allege that her mom smells like a turd?
That is just plain.....DUMB!
But then again, we ARE talking about Little Joe Pesci here.
I can't imagine a better nickname for him.
Just imagine Joe Pesci in the Second Grade, and you have nailed this child's face, demeanor, attitude, and future.
Little Joe Pesci.
Yep, that's him.
So what happened next, you're wondering?
Well, future Stanford Grad Defense Attorney Reilly the Red went all Napalm on Little Joe Pesci.
"My Mom Does NOT Smell Like a Turd And I Am Telling On You!"
So she tells on him.
And Little Joe Pesci had to give up all of his sticks.
I still don't what the sticks mean, but if you have to give them ALL away on Monday, it's kinda close to death row in the second grade, but don't quote me on that.
THEN, he had to go sit in "THE HOLE" and write a note to his OWN parents, in his OWN handwriting, detailing the events of his purported crime.
Can you imagine?
Dear Mom and Dad:
Today, at school, I said that our wonderfully awesome volunteer, Mrs. Fallon, who is so kind, and nice, and sorts our papers for us, and sometimes helps us with our reading, and does this out of the kindness of her oh so very large heart, well today, I said that she um, oh yeah, did I mention she wears Tommy Girl, and it suits her and her fabulous red hair quite nicely, well today, I um, I said that she smelled like a turd. Yep. Yeah, that's what I said.
Your son.
Little Joe Pesci
HA!
What an awesome consequence!
No sticks, you have to go sit in THE HOLE and you have to write your own note!
And if a certain tattling second grader is telling the truth, he also spent some time in the office.
Just for saying I smelled like a turd!
Honestly, this is the most fun I've had in a long time.
Hasn't bothered me in the slightest.
Because I will be seeing Little Joe Pesci again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And I doubt that Little Joe Pesci has read the Art of War yet.
Oh, but I have.
Know thy enemies better than you know yourself.
Beat your enemy to the battlefield.
Deception is necessary for victory.
It is ON, Little Joe Pesci.
Oh yeah.
It is ON.
Bring it.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Not Me! Monday
~
Today, I did NOT eat a bunch of chocolate from an advent calendar.
I did NOT eat more than one day of chocolate.
NOPE.
I did NOT eat three weeks of chocolate from an advent calendar.
Also, I did NOT take a nap.
Upon waking from said nap, I did NOT have melted chocolate all over me.
It was NOT on my face.
It was NOT on my neck.
It was NOT on my clothes.
NOPE.
NOT me.
I would NEVER fall asleep while stuffing my piehole with chocolate from an advent calendar.
NEVER.
NOT me.
~
Today, I did NOT eat a bunch of chocolate from an advent calendar.
I did NOT eat more than one day of chocolate.
NOPE.
I did NOT eat three weeks of chocolate from an advent calendar.
Also, I did NOT take a nap.
Upon waking from said nap, I did NOT have melted chocolate all over me.
It was NOT on my face.
It was NOT on my neck.
It was NOT on my clothes.
NOPE.
NOT me.
I would NEVER fall asleep while stuffing my piehole with chocolate from an advent calendar.
NEVER.
NOT me.
~
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
BOO!
~
No.
This is not a Halloween post.
It is a stupid word that has entered the Captain's vocabulary as of late, and I do NOT like it.
BOO!
Each time that I ask him to do something (of a normal sort, not like, say, when I ask him to solve the quadratic formula),
the Captain utters the following:
"BOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
If you are a fan of the movie "The Princess Bride", then start thinking of Carol Kane.
Filthy, disgusting, Carol Kane, married to Mad Max.
She catches him in that horrible lie, and all she can say is:
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
And he keeps trying to lie his way out of the lie.
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
And finally, he fesses up.
But was it because he wanted to tell the truth, because it was the right thing to do?
Or was it just to get the "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" of Carol Kane to STOP?
I'll tell you what.
I'll do just about anything to make the "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" of Captain Jake Sparrow stop.
I have told him that if I hear THAT word again, he will get a Pow-Pow.
I have told him that if I THINK I hear that word again, he will get a Pow-Pow.
I have told him that if I SMELL that word again, he will get a Pow-Pow.
I think he understands.
We shall see.
I am soooo 'over' the "BOOO-ness", that I am all clevered-out related to ending this.
Can't even come up with a cliched joke.
THAT is how bad the Captain is with his BOOOOOOO-ness.
Let's hope today is the day that it stops!
Oh wait, he is once again late for school.
It is 905 am.
I won't tell you how late he is.
But he's pretty late.
He is having a horrifically bad morning.
Which means he will most likely have a horrifically bad day.
I am apologizing in advance to all of his teachers and classmates.
He is on his way.
As are my prayers for him and his behavior for the day!
~
No.
This is not a Halloween post.
It is a stupid word that has entered the Captain's vocabulary as of late, and I do NOT like it.
BOO!
Each time that I ask him to do something (of a normal sort, not like, say, when I ask him to solve the quadratic formula),
the Captain utters the following:
"BOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
If you are a fan of the movie "The Princess Bride", then start thinking of Carol Kane.
Filthy, disgusting, Carol Kane, married to Mad Max.
She catches him in that horrible lie, and all she can say is:
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
And he keeps trying to lie his way out of the lie.
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
And finally, he fesses up.
But was it because he wanted to tell the truth, because it was the right thing to do?
Or was it just to get the "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" of Carol Kane to STOP?
I'll tell you what.
I'll do just about anything to make the "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" of Captain Jake Sparrow stop.
I have told him that if I hear THAT word again, he will get a Pow-Pow.
I have told him that if I THINK I hear that word again, he will get a Pow-Pow.
I have told him that if I SMELL that word again, he will get a Pow-Pow.
I think he understands.
We shall see.
I am soooo 'over' the "BOOO-ness", that I am all clevered-out related to ending this.
Can't even come up with a cliched joke.
THAT is how bad the Captain is with his BOOOOOOO-ness.
Let's hope today is the day that it stops!
Oh wait, he is once again late for school.
It is 905 am.
I won't tell you how late he is.
But he's pretty late.
He is having a horrifically bad morning.
Which means he will most likely have a horrifically bad day.
I am apologizing in advance to all of his teachers and classmates.
He is on his way.
As are my prayers for him and his behavior for the day!
~
Monday, December 7, 2009
Not Me! Monday
Over the weekend, Two Swords and I did NOT go to warehouse clubs and very inexpensive stores buying off brand canned goods in order to save money as our financial crisis impedes on doom.
I did NOT express to him that I did not like buying some of these off brands because I did NOT want our kids growing up thinking they were poor.
He did NOT exclaim, 'Well, if we are NOT poor, then THEY are not poor!"
Anyway.
We came home, and did NOT spend several hours over the next few days organizing our stockpile of food between two fridges and freezers, and cabinets galore.
It was NOT my responsibility to put the Jimmy Dean Sausage stockpile in the outside freezer, along with bacon and assorted cheeses.
Last night, as I traipsed into the kitchen for my midnite 'GoGurt' snack, two pounds of FROZEN TO THE CORE Jimmy Dean Sausage did NOT fall on my head.
NOPE.
And I did NOT scream out in horrible pain.
NOPE.
And NO one came to my rescue.
Once I recovered from my near fatal head-injury in the middle of the night, I did NOT remember that I did NOT put the Jimmy Dean Sausage in the HOUSE freezer.
Hmmmmmmmmmm.
Upon returning to the bedroom, I did NOT reveal my suspicions to Two Swords that he was NOT trying to kill me by reason of frozen Jimmy Dean Sausage.
He did not laugh.
Oh no he did not.
He did not guffaw.
Nope.
He giggled.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Marathoners and Hurricanes
~
I am certain I have introduced you to my most fabulously delicious SIL, Mermaidelicious.
But if you have forgotten, here is her picture:
But this post is not about a picture of Mermaidelicious.
It's a post about love.
By now, all of you out there know that I have Crohn's Disease.
If you didn't know that, well you know it now.
If you don't know what it is, you can Google it.
Or you can just take my word for it.
It sucks.
But let us return to Mermaidelicious.
Do you know how sometimes you'll have someone in your life whom is hurting, or whom is suffering, or whom is just plain miserable, and you care about them so darn much, you just don't know WHAT to do?
Well, we haven't really talked about it, but I think this is how Mermaidelicious was thinking, oh about 18 weeks ago or so.
So with a most personal touch, she figured out a way to not only help me, but perhaps millions of others, as well as providing me with a visual, concrete example of her love for me.
Here it is:
Help for Hurricane Rojo
She's going to run a half-marathon in my honor.
Nope.
She's never run one before.
Never.
Not one.
And I assure you, that no matter how hard I tried, or how badly I wanted to, or how hard the world prayed....I would never be able to run a half marathon for Mermaidelicious or anyone else. But I can most certainly post her journey on my little, ole' blog.
But this isn't necessarily a fund-raising story.
Mermaidelicious and her husband, my brother, Two Fisted Chris, just moved across the country, permanently, oh say, 7 days ago.
This morning, Mermaidelicious will board yet another plane, and on a beautiful morning in Las Vegas, Nevada, surrounded by desert sand and sun, and survivors and strangers and supporters and loved ones, yes, on this date, Mermaidelicious will attempt to complete her very first Half-Marathon in honor of sick, little, old, ME.....Hurricane Rojo.
I'm not even going to try to put what I'm feeling into words.
To do so would be to dishonor her selfless action.
Instead, I will leave you with a montage of Mermaidelicious
Thank you, Mer.
I love you to pieces, and I'll always remember.
Rojo
I am certain I have introduced you to my most fabulously delicious SIL, Mermaidelicious.
But if you have forgotten, here is her picture:
But this post is not about a picture of Mermaidelicious.
It's a post about love.
By now, all of you out there know that I have Crohn's Disease.
If you didn't know that, well you know it now.
If you don't know what it is, you can Google it.
Or you can just take my word for it.
It sucks.
But let us return to Mermaidelicious.
Do you know how sometimes you'll have someone in your life whom is hurting, or whom is suffering, or whom is just plain miserable, and you care about them so darn much, you just don't know WHAT to do?
Well, we haven't really talked about it, but I think this is how Mermaidelicious was thinking, oh about 18 weeks ago or so.
So with a most personal touch, she figured out a way to not only help me, but perhaps millions of others, as well as providing me with a visual, concrete example of her love for me.
Here it is:
Help for Hurricane Rojo
She's going to run a half-marathon in my honor.
Nope.
She's never run one before.
Never.
Not one.
And I assure you, that no matter how hard I tried, or how badly I wanted to, or how hard the world prayed....I would never be able to run a half marathon for Mermaidelicious or anyone else. But I can most certainly post her journey on my little, ole' blog.
But this isn't necessarily a fund-raising story.
Mermaidelicious and her husband, my brother, Two Fisted Chris, just moved across the country, permanently, oh say, 7 days ago.
This morning, Mermaidelicious will board yet another plane, and on a beautiful morning in Las Vegas, Nevada, surrounded by desert sand and sun, and survivors and strangers and supporters and loved ones, yes, on this date, Mermaidelicious will attempt to complete her very first Half-Marathon in honor of sick, little, old, ME.....Hurricane Rojo.
I'm not even going to try to put what I'm feeling into words.
To do so would be to dishonor her selfless action.
Instead, I will leave you with a montage of Mermaidelicious
Thank you, Mer.
I love you to pieces, and I'll always remember.
Rojo
Monday, November 30, 2009
Not Me! Monday
Today, my doctor did NOT proclaim that my recent TWENTY pound weight gain was NOT the result of overeating, NOR did he say it was most likely the result of water retention and/or hormonal issues (NO, I am NOT getting old), and/or steroids (because I do NOT have a secret love of back acne and Freda-like unabrows and mustaches, NOR do I have a secret desire to run a 3.55 40).
To celebrate this WONDERFUL news, as well as the back acne, I did NOT, oh NO I did NOT, consume one entire pumpkin pie covered in REGULAR cool whip.
Oh No I did NOT!
HA.
Oh YES I did!
~
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
ARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH
~
Jake's Father, AHEM, has allowed Jake to stay home from school today.
Hence the title of this post.
I had lots I wanted to get done today, thinking I would have a house filled with NOTHINGNESS).
AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Somebody will be walking the plank by the end of the day today.
And it very well could be Hurricane Rojo!
It's a Pirate's life for Me.
~
Jake's Father, AHEM, has allowed Jake to stay home from school today.
Hence the title of this post.
I had lots I wanted to get done today, thinking I would have a house filled with NOTHINGNESS).
AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Somebody will be walking the plank by the end of the day today.
And it very well could be Hurricane Rojo!
It's a Pirate's life for Me.
~
Friday, November 20, 2009
Turkey Boycott - CONTINUED
~
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!
~
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!
~
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Turkey Boycott
~
I received an email from Captain Jake Sparrow's teacher, the Infamous Dot Giver, in the middle of the day yesterday:
The title of the invoice was: NEED YOUR HELP!
You can only imagine what was going through my head.
Did he eat all the fruit snacks from the snack pantry?
Did he poke his teacher in the eye with a stick?
Was he trying to negotiate his way out of a timeout?
Did he smear poop all over himself, the toilet, the bathroom walls, the.....
Ohhhhh.....nooooooooooooooo.
It is soooooo much more unimaginable than any of those things.
This is the email she sent me, word for word:
i presented to the class today our costume for the thanksgiving feast. jake was very disappointed to find out that we are the turkeys. he really wanted to be a pilgrim or an indian... what is your suggestion for convincing jake to be a turkey. i am usually pretty good at this, but he is not giving and even cried! HELP!
Upon receiving this email, my immediate response was:
Whack that kid on the head with a 2x4, tell him he's going to be the biggest 'effin butterball turkey there ever was, and send him to the damn principal's office.
Doesn't want to be a turkey.
Who the HELL does this TURKEY think he is?????
UGH!
Might I casually mention that at the same time, I was dealing with another of our two children who had to be taken home early from school with a one hundred degree fever and swollen tonsils, as well as attempt to get this stable of a house ready for a party of about 40 adults and children for a 'young family' party on Saturday?
Apparently, she either didn't get my email telling her to march him to the principal's office (I politely removed all the other angry mom stuff), or she chose not to use that method of punishment, because when Billy Two Swords arrived at school to retrieve the anti-Turkey Costume Wearer, the Infamous Dot Giver begged Two Swords for help on the matter.
Two Swords was able to bribe the Captain with, of all things, the privilege of helping him to grill steaks for dinner.
FRICK A FRACK A FRICK A FRACK.
That's how the Captain thinks he's swearing.
So that's how I'm going to swear right now.
FRICK A FRACK A FRICK A FRACK.
So the Captain says, "Yeah, I guess I'll be a Turkey."
OH NO! OH NO! OH NO!
You are NOT getting off THAT easy, my little ANTI-TURKEY COSTUME WEARING friend!
So I forced him to write an apology note to the Infamous Dot Giver.
Please note, the Sparrow only knows how to write about, um, three letters.
And shall I casually remind you that his name contains FOUR letters?
And the three letters that the Sparrow knows are not three of four letters in his name.
By the way.
AHEM.
I just counted the lines on this note - TWENTY.
He and I wrote the note, AHEM, together.
I squeezed his hand so hard as we were writing it, he kept begging for me to stop.
And he was complaining that his hand was too hot.
And he was complaining that it was taking too long, that we were going to miss GI Joe.
And I was hurting his pen. (Hurting his PEN? ARE YOU Frick A Frack A Frick A Frack KIDDING ME? Hurting his PEN?)
FRICK A FRACK A FRICK A FRACK.
We wrote the following DAMN apology note, painful as it was for the Turkey Costume Boycotter:
Dear Mrs. Infamous Dot Giver:
I am sorry that I was whining about my Turkey costume on Thanksgiving.
I was disobedient.
I was disrespectful.
I was disruptive to the class and I am sorry.
After talking to my parents, we have decided that it is absolutely in my best interest to gladfully accept your invitation to wear a turkey costume and participate with the class in the joyful celebration of Thanksgiving.
Please forgive me for my behavior and for my Jake-ness.
Jake
FRICK A FRACK A FRICK A FRACK
~
I received an email from Captain Jake Sparrow's teacher, the Infamous Dot Giver, in the middle of the day yesterday:
The title of the invoice was: NEED YOUR HELP!
You can only imagine what was going through my head.
Did he eat all the fruit snacks from the snack pantry?
Did he poke his teacher in the eye with a stick?
Was he trying to negotiate his way out of a timeout?
Did he smear poop all over himself, the toilet, the bathroom walls, the.....
Ohhhhh.....nooooooooooooooo.
It is soooooo much more unimaginable than any of those things.
This is the email she sent me, word for word:
i presented to the class today our costume for the thanksgiving feast. jake was very disappointed to find out that we are the turkeys. he really wanted to be a pilgrim or an indian... what is your suggestion for convincing jake to be a turkey. i am usually pretty good at this, but he is not giving and even cried! HELP!
Upon receiving this email, my immediate response was:
Whack that kid on the head with a 2x4, tell him he's going to be the biggest 'effin butterball turkey there ever was, and send him to the damn principal's office.
Doesn't want to be a turkey.
Who the HELL does this TURKEY think he is?????
UGH!
Might I casually mention that at the same time, I was dealing with another of our two children who had to be taken home early from school with a one hundred degree fever and swollen tonsils, as well as attempt to get this stable of a house ready for a party of about 40 adults and children for a 'young family' party on Saturday?
Apparently, she either didn't get my email telling her to march him to the principal's office (I politely removed all the other angry mom stuff), or she chose not to use that method of punishment, because when Billy Two Swords arrived at school to retrieve the anti-Turkey Costume Wearer, the Infamous Dot Giver begged Two Swords for help on the matter.
Two Swords was able to bribe the Captain with, of all things, the privilege of helping him to grill steaks for dinner.
FRICK A FRACK A FRICK A FRACK.
That's how the Captain thinks he's swearing.
So that's how I'm going to swear right now.
FRICK A FRACK A FRICK A FRACK.
So the Captain says, "Yeah, I guess I'll be a Turkey."
OH NO! OH NO! OH NO!
You are NOT getting off THAT easy, my little ANTI-TURKEY COSTUME WEARING friend!
So I forced him to write an apology note to the Infamous Dot Giver.
Please note, the Sparrow only knows how to write about, um, three letters.
And shall I casually remind you that his name contains FOUR letters?
And the three letters that the Sparrow knows are not three of four letters in his name.
By the way.
AHEM.
I just counted the lines on this note - TWENTY.
He and I wrote the note, AHEM, together.
I squeezed his hand so hard as we were writing it, he kept begging for me to stop.
And he was complaining that his hand was too hot.
And he was complaining that it was taking too long, that we were going to miss GI Joe.
And I was hurting his pen. (Hurting his PEN? ARE YOU Frick A Frack A Frick A Frack KIDDING ME? Hurting his PEN?)
FRICK A FRACK A FRICK A FRACK.
We wrote the following DAMN apology note, painful as it was for the Turkey Costume Boycotter:
Dear Mrs. Infamous Dot Giver:
I am sorry that I was whining about my Turkey costume on Thanksgiving.
I was disobedient.
I was disrespectful.
I was disruptive to the class and I am sorry.
After talking to my parents, we have decided that it is absolutely in my best interest to gladfully accept your invitation to wear a turkey costume and participate with the class in the joyful celebration of Thanksgiving.
Please forgive me for my behavior and for my Jake-ness.
Jake
FRICK A FRACK A FRICK A FRACK
~
Monday, November 16, 2009
Not Me! Monday
This weekend, Reilly the Red and I were NOT graciously invited to attend a world famous bell concert by the Raleigh Ringers.
We were NOT.
Reilly the Red was NOT the youngest person in attendance at said concert.
Billy Two Swords and Captain Jake Sparrow did NOT have huge 'guy' plans for a Sunday afternoon withOUT the girls.
When asked what his mom and sister would NOT be doing on Sunday afternoon, Captain Jake Sparrow
absolutely,
positively,
did
NOT
respond
with
"going to some STINKIN' bell concert with a bunch of old people."
No.
He did NOT.
NOT.
NOT I say.
NOT.
NO way.
Did NOT happen.
NOT my son.
NOT!
~
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