No Greater Joy

~

This motley crue of mine, we live, we laugh, we love.

We suffer from time to time.

Who doesn't.

There is no sliding scale of suffering.  You don't get extra points for dropping a fire extinguisher on your foot than for birthing a spawn.  You either suffer -- or ya don't.

Right now?

Today?

We ain't suffering.

You might think we should be.

You might be.

But we're not.

We're living and loving and laughing.

Together.

And we find no greater joy than in giving, sharing, helping, and serving others.

No, you might not know that about us pirates, we Team Fallon.

'tis true though.

Rap Sheet

~

I have been 'spring' cleaning recently and came upon this gem.

Perpretrator:  Captain Jake Sparrow

Date of Incident:  Monday, November 11, 2010

Itemization of crimes:

1. Talking during morning work
2. Because said perpetrator wasn't listening during morning work, he was escorted to the math table as a punishment then claimed to get all confused with his work of numbers.
3. Perp didn't finish his morning work because he couldn't stop running his piehole, so his poor, downtrodden teacher allegedly forced him to miss recess so that he could finish his work.  In the words of the Perp, "So I missed part of my recess because of my bad behavior."
4. Perp allegedly busted again for not listening during an outdoor social studies lesson.
5. During said outdoor social studies lesson, downtrodden teacher allegedly told the students to NOT use the playground equipment during the lesson.  Perp ignored the command and went headfirst down the playground slide in the midst of the social studies lesson.
6. Perp was relegated to serving a timeout on a bench outside very far away from the social studies lesson AND the playground.  This resulted in missing most of the social studies lesson.
7. At naptime, Perp opted to secure a 'different' spot than his usual one, allegedly further angering the downtrodden teacher.
8. At P.E., Perp chose to hang upside down from the bleachers on which the chorus class was in the midst of practicing.
9. Still at P.E., Perp somehow grew seven feet and hung from a basketball hoop, warranting yet another timeout for the day, this one him requiring to sit facing a wall, Blair Witch-style.
10. Because Perp was so 'bad' all day, he was forbidden from participating in freeplay (um...DUH), and was forced to continue serving the Blair Witch timeout so as to ensure that he would have no chance at having an ounce of fun.
11. After the school day ended, Perp boarded the school bus for the ride home.  Allegedly, Perp pulled down his pants and showed a group of boys his underwear because it was camo and, well, "cool".
12. Upon return to the homestead, Perp drew on the kitchen floor with Sharpie markers.
13. Perp lied to his parents that his innocent sister drew 'x's' on the kitchen floor with Sharpie markers.
14. Perp was sent to the tub to wash off the marker stains from his body, and made the choice to enter the bathtub fully clothed.
15. Later, Perp called his Father a "Smart Mouth".  The consequence of this action remains in the 'vault' as a protective custodial order.
16. As his Mother was reviewing his list of SIXTEEN PLUS crimes for this ONE day, Perp was not listening or paying attention, started goofing off, and fell off the bed.

Sentencing Hearing:

1. Perpetrator pled nolo contendre, at the advice of his pro bono non-licensed attorney, his sister.
2. Perpetrator was sentenced to "Boredom to Death". 
3. Perpetrator's impassioned plea to the judge(s):  "You mean I can't do NUTHIN?"  "NUTHIN?"  "NO TV?"  "NO NUTHIN?"
4. Judges - You may eat.  You may sleep.  You may poop and you may pee.  But you will not have any fun.  Ever.  Or until we are done being mad.

Parole Hearing:

1. Judges issued unrestricted parole to the Perpetrator because he made them laugh two days later and they forgot why he was in trouble in the first place.  Oh, and because they wanted to go see Megamind and couldn't find a babysitter.
2. 
   

The Spawn

~

So, I know what you're going to say.

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

He is sooooooo gosh darn......C U T E!

Yeah, that's what I was thinking....

Until yesterday.

And no amount of pontifficating was going to change the situation.

He got in trouble at school.

BIG trouble.

And I can't even write about it here, that's the kind of trouble.

It made me madder than a wet hen.

Kinda like this pose right here.....

So, his punishments and consequences were dealt, and he was well prepared to receive them, I gotta give him credit for that.

But several hours later, he did something so utterly S T U P I D......and L A Z Y......and very difficult for a W O M A N to understand and accept as 'normal'.

Sigh.

The Spawn.

He was watching TV by himself in the den.

Then he emerged from the den holding a cup.

Reilly screamed, "Did you P E E in MY Busch Gardens cup?"

And the Spawn proudly said, "YEP!"

And then my head spun Linda Blair style and all the profanities I haven't said since January 1st just erupted like explosive molten lava from my volcanic mouth.

I never dreamed I'd have to ask the Spawn, "What would make you think it is APPROPRIATE to PEE in a CUP while you are watching TV on the NEW couch?  What?  WHAT?  W H A T??????"

And The Spawn replied, "I didn't want to leave my 'spot' on the couch, cuz I was really comfortable."

Me and The Spawn had a serious "Come to Jesus" meetin' after that response.

Ugh.

By the end of the night, The Spawn truly was, 'out of clever things to say'.

Dear God, let's keep it that way for about a day or so, okay?

Thank you.

Amen.

~

A Christmas Miracle

Welcome, friends.

It's high time that we had a Christmas fireside chat.

Grab your lattes, your cappuccinos, your warm milk, your hot cocoa, your Monster drink, your Gatorade, your Diet Coke, and your Mountain Dew and settle in with me for a nice winter's chat.

It is time to tell the miracle of my son.

Yes, THAT son.

He was (and still is) most certainly a miracle.

We have to go back a few years.

FOURTEEN, effective five days ago.

Yes, that screams, "Happy Birthday, J A K E!"

But we have to go back seven years and eight months.

Correct.

Eight months.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was April of 2004.

Reilly the Red was almost two, and was out of diapers.

We had been trying to have another baby.

Remember, my body doesn't typically cooperate with me and what "I" might want, expect, or NEED it to do.

I had stopped my Remicade treatments for about a year, to safely prepare my body for a pregnancy.

You see, we didn't know WAY BACK IN 2004 that Remicade was safe for pregger mamas.

Well, allegedly, they know it N O W!

Alas, it wasn't happening.

And I had rolled the dice, and started to get sick-er.

As I had stopped taking most medicines, save one or two, I was playing with God, but against time.

I only had so much time until we would have to give up our hope of having a second child, hopefully a boy, before I would have to resume my life-maintaining treatments again.

Lo and behold, on the first of May, I discovered I was pregnant!

Woohoo!

Grandmothers were alerted, bosses were notified, two year old daughter was prepped.

We started to get ready, and we started to get excited, and well, a second time Mama starts to 'show' a HECK of a lot earlier than a skinny minny first time Mama, so we couldn't hide it very well, even if we wanted to!

In mid-may, we decided to take Reilly the Red to her first trip to Disney's Magic Kingdom.

Since we're locals, we used our connections, got in for free, stayed for three rides and the requisite Disney tantrum, and headed home for a nap.

It was a good day.

I was feeling really good.

So good in fact, that my Team(s) of doctors opted NOT to mark my Obstetric file as "HIGH RISK".

SHOCKING!, I know!

Anyhoo.

For Memorial Day, we traversed the state to visit with my parents in the Gulfa Mexico.

It was a great weekend, as always.

On our way home, I noticed a few bug bites on my chest.

No matter.

The Gulfa Mexico is where mosquitoes go to breed, and where people go to die.

But by the time we got home, I was feeling really, really......B A D.

And not 'pregnancy' bad.

And not 'Crohns' bad.

Something else 'bad'.

But a friend of ours was in the hospital, recovering from a near catastrophic accident involving a chain saw, a tree, and a shoulder.  We were gladfully obligated to make a quick visit.

After we left the hospital and headed home, my 'condition', which I had since decided was either West Nile, Avian Flu, the Ebola Virus or the Plague, worsened significantly.

I had two options.

Option one - call Dr. House. 

That didn't work out so well for me, well, since HE IS NOT A REAL PERSON!  I keep forgetting that one.

Option two - summon Old Mother Hubbard's Medical Encyclopedia.

I needed a PHOTO of what my skin was starting to look like before I called my previously NON-HIGH-RISK Obstetrician and caused him to break out in pustules simply from the stress I continued to cause he and his entire practice.

I knew what I had.

I had know idea how I got it.

But Old Mother Hubbard confirmed it.

FAHRVERGNUGEN.

I had chicken pox.

I know.

Stop right there.

In answer to your questions -- HEATHER??  HOW THE HECK, I MEAN WHO THE HECK, GETS CHICKEN POX AT THIRTY FOUR AND WHO THE HECK GETS THEM WHEN THEY ARE PREGNANT AND WHY DIDN'T YOU HAVE THEM BEFORE AND DOES REILLY HAVE THEM TOO?

Well, thank you for asking.

The obvious answer is quite simply, only Hurricane Rojo gets chicken pox at thirty four and pregnant (remind me, I should call Lifetime for their "I'm Pregnant - And I Have the Chicken Pox" show) and considering the incubation period I most likely got them at Disney, so said Dr. Crop, and when my 'little' brothers got them, well, I was all grownsed up and 'away', and well, Reilly had successfully been inoculated, which gave her pediatrician absolute G L E E.

Hmmmmm.

Which was worse?

- self-diagnosing (correctly, I might add, and yes, I should have been a doctor, RUMSPRINGA.)

- alerting my OB

- telling my husband

DING DING DING!

Telling the husband is the big winner here.

Cuz the OB screamed at me to go directly to jail   the back door of the NINTH floor of the big city hospital, which would be EIGHT floors away from the other preggers.

So I did.

By myself.

All forty miles, thinking I might be staying, well, awhile.

Once there, he isolated me and gave me a room with a TV and a bed and several anti-viral infusions/injections and we waited.

Several hours later, he came back and shook his head and said, "You are seven weeks pregnant and you have the chicken pox."

And I said, "Yep."

And he continued to lament, "WE HAVE NEVER SEEN SOMEONE YOUR AGE HAVE CHICKEN POX SO EARLY IN THE PREGNANCY"

Might I add this dude was as close to Dr. House as I could get, AND he was the Director of Obstetrics for the entire HOSPITAL?

Yeah.

I was in deep doo-doo.

He tried his best not to scare me.

shaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

The following words will resonate in my mind forever, ".........we cannot even begin to predict the effect this will have on the baby.............what he/she will look like..............if you will go full-term........................if there will be scarring of the baby............."

I left the hospital, out the back door, the same way I came.

For the next two weeks, with the frightened support of my employer, I SUFFERED through the chicken pox.

OMG.

They say it's worse in grown ups.

WHATEVER.

It just plain - - - S U C K E D.

Miraculously, I don't have a single pock-mark or scar anywhere on my body.  I have no idea how that happened.  Maybe God was given me some cheese with my whine?

Two weeks later..............

I'm pock-less, still pregnant, and returning to work.

Two months later..............

I'm pock-less, still pregnant, still at work, and CONTRACTING every FOUR to SIX minutes.

It is now July, 2004.

My due date is January 9, 2005.

HA HA HA.

My weekly ultrasounds showed a healthy baby boy, albeit a very SMALL healthy baby boy.

There was some concern about his lungs.

And this elusive and alleged potential 'scarring' issue.

We named him right away.

Just cuz.

And he was a mover and a shaker, no big surprise there.

He let me AND the whole world know that he was done being in 'there'.

On Monday, December 20, 2004, I visited my high risk OB for my twice-weekly ultrasounds.

It's so much fun to have TWO Obstetricians and to have TWO appointments every week of your pregnancy.  Fun, fun, fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The ultrasound tech said the baby boy looked fine.

The doc came in.

Asked me if I had felt Jake move as usual.

I think I was more stunned than he was, when I said, "Come to think of it, I haven't felt him move since Friday."

High Risk OB goes into freak out mode.

He says the BOY is moving fine, but, um.................

"You're having this baby...........................

.....................T O D A Y."

W H A T?

The news just got worse from there, far before it got better, since y'all know I have more than a healthy baby boy.

Billy met me at the hospital, Grandma was on her way, Reilly was in safe harbour with the preacher's kids.

At 641pm, after MANY gory complicated details that belong nowhere but in the abscesses of medical infamy, Jake William Fallon arrived.

He was little.

He was jaundiced.

He was early.

He needed a teeny little bit of help breathing.

He had no scars.

He was...........

B E A U T I F U L

and

P E R F E C T.

Don't you dare tell him I said that.

Ladies and gentlemen:

May I share another miracle of my life, yet again?

This miracle is my baby boy, my Christmas miracle:

Thanks be to God...........

Amen.


PS - Happy Birthday Jake!

Amish Spring Break

So.

For those of you who 'know' me...(not in the Biblical sense, thank you very much).

Ahem.

For those of you who 'know' me.....you know that I tend to, um, er, uh......

well, I kinda like sorta, um,......

SIN with my MOUTH.

Yeah.

It's word-sinning.

Or as my dear friend Aunt Jodi tells me, "You were born without a FILTER".

Yeah.

Which means I say things that shouldn't be said, or I let out 90% of my thoughts instead of the 10% percent that are acceptable to be orated.

Yeah.

It's confession time, repentance time, and change time.

Yeah.

Cuz, there's kind of another problem with the 'Mouth of the South'.

Yeah.

I cuss like a sailor.  And a pirate.  And a sailing pirate.

I know.

It's bad.

I shouldn't.

Oh, but I promise you, it is MUCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHH improved once I had children.

No, seriously.

I save the 'bad words' for private adult conversations, or I use them in print in my writings.

I certainly still 'say' them in my head, whether I want to or not, but they don't cross my lips as much as before.

And I am very proud to say that my children do NOT use any of those words that they know are VERY bad, even if Mom (or equally as likely....BBFMD = BIG BAD FOUL MOUTHED DAD...sorry Two Swords, but we're in this one together) slips every once in awhile.  If I don't catch myself, well, don't you worry, I've got two little brilliant tattle-taling FrankEinsteins to remind me that "Mama!  You just said something I N A P P R O P R I A T E"!

But then, very recently, a very dear and most respected long time "2 AM" friend of mine mentioned that he was searching for a new job.

I responded that I would certainly pray for him, and if he needed a letter of reference, I would be more than happy to write one for him, since, well, I kinda know my way around a keyboard if youknowhatimeanverne.

He said, 'Yeah Heather, but, um, you cuss......A L O T."

SHOCKED (as I thought I had um.....stopped....doing....that.....), I said the only thing I could think of, which was:  

"I promise that I won't in your REFERENCE LETTER?"

Yeah.

That was several months ago, but it's been weighing on me ever since, like most painful sins of self-awareness tend to do.

Let's look at this like an addiction.

If you try to stop smoking, usually you use replacement therapy such as nicotine patches, gum, Kojak lollipops, Cymbalta, or, in the case of Billy Two Swords - Jolly Ranchers.

So.

I have tried to bite my tongue, but my artificial Tourette's Syndrome just spits out these words that are often bitingly sarcastic, and sometimes, yeah, they are downright M E A N.

So today, a thought (a pure one, no less) popped into my head.

I need to use replacement therapy to modify my own behavior!

DING DING!

The psych degree pays for itself...A G A I N!

For the past two hours, I've tried to think of ONE word that will encapsulate all those other 'bad' words that I have said.

And, yep, I've said every one of them.  'cept one.  There's one I've never said.  Never said it, never will.  If you want to know what it is, well, you'll have to figure it out on your own, cuz I ain't sayin' it.  My Mama and Daddy didn't raise us with THAT word in our house.

Anyway.

The point is this.

I've found THE word.

One word.

An awesome word.

A good word.

A word that will garner attention (as if I need an ounce MORE of attention, seriously).

A word that will fit when I stub my toe and need to SCREAM.

A word that works in the hospital setting when needles the size of meat thermometers are being shoved into me like I'm the Christmas prime rib.

A word that works in front of my children.

A word that works for.....ME.

You might have heard of it before, might not.

If not, go ahead and 'google' the title of this post - AMISH SPRING BREAK.

Okay, so here it goes.

Ready?

There's no turning back.

I'm heading for:

R U M S P R I N G A

~

Children's Sermons Volume XIII

~

Pastor:  Do any of you know about Mary?
Jake:  Yep.  Mary had a little lamb.


Pastor:  What do you think Jesus' friends said when he walked on water?
Jake:  They probly said, "Jesus, you look taller today."


Pastor:  There will be no more questions today.

So.......................................Much.

~

Happy Day after Thanksgiving! 

I'm not going to call it "Happy Black Friday", cuz, well, that's just w-e-i-r-d.

Today is more like, "Happy You Don't Have To Work Today Cuz You Worked So Hard Yesterday And You Gained The Entire 18 Pounds Of Turkey That You Cooked And Your Feet Feel Like They Are Going To Be Severed From The Ankles And You Might Be Just A Little Hungover From The Mysterious Blue Concoction That Your Sister In Law Is World Reknown For And Yeah There Ain't No Way We're Having A Yard Sale Today Day."

Or something like that.

We had such a great day yesterday.

Family old and new.

Traditions old and new.

As we went around the table(s) to say what we were thankful for, I realized my answer was one word.

EVERYTHING.

But I knew I had to expound, cuz, well, everyone else was expounding, and even though I am thankful for EVERYTHING, I knew I had to give a 41 year old answer instead of a 6 year old answer, although, the 6 year old answer was, "Football, baseball, and yeah, I guess my family too."

What a difference one year makes.

Flashback.

One year.

Same house.

Same hostess.

Same table.

Same invitation list.

Same menu.

Different life.

One year ago----

My husband had recently returned from the Gulf of Mexico and Kalamazoo, Michigan.

The only places that he could find WORK involved oil spill disasters.

And when the oil was cleaned up, there was still no more work at 'home'.

And his absence had adversely affected the dynamic of our family.

None of this was his, or anybody's, fault -  it just, simply, 'was'.

Concerns loomed in my head - our marriage, our house, our bank account, my failing health, his depression linked to being unemployed for far too long.

The list just went on and on.

Fast forward.

2011.

What a difference a year makes.

My husband is employed.  At a job that he loves.  With a company who is EMPLOYEE-driven, CUSTOMER SATISFACTION-driven.  A most perfect fit, in the twilight of his career.  Only God could have made this one evolve the way it did.  And we know it, believe me.

We're not going to lose our house.  HUGE Amen.  Cuz we love our house.  Cuz it was designed and built with the blood, sweat, and tears of not just 'us', but so many of our family and friends.  I can look at a wall and remember who painted it.  No, it's not just a house.  It is, and always will be, our SANCTUARY.

My kids are amazing.  They are HEALTHY and beautiful and smart and engaging and God-loving and....and....and...  yeah, you know.  They rock.

I haven't been in the hospital in 2 1/2 years.  That may not seem like a big deal, but for someone like 'me', that's downright miraculous.

The federal government finally agreed with me and my doctors and gave me a label that, while difficult to swallow, it was a label I NEEDED to be smacked with.  Finally, I have been officially labeled.

DISABLED.

Oh, what a HUGE relief.  In so many ways.

I am thankful for so..................much.

My amazing husband, so amazing in fact that he has left our home for extended periods of time simply to provide for his family in any and every way that he possibly could.

My restored marriage.  End of story.  Amen.

My Reilly and my Jake.  Joy?  Are you KIDDING ME?  There is soooooo.....much............   laughter and joy in this house, in our lives.........

Laughter.  Yes, I am thankful for laughter. 

My extended family.  Every single member.

I know there's more.

There is.........

So...................

Much.........................

..............to be thankful for.

Amen.

Forgive Me, Father...

It's THAT time again......






Some of us were mainstream in our tomfoolery.....

Even if perchance our Halloween hijinx by the mini- Wolverine involved 'claws'....

And then of course, as tends to happen in THIS family, some of us took things a bit to the extreme.

I know.  The HORROR!

It's even worse when the Cloistered Nun Zombie S-M-I-L-E-S.....

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.  I enthusiastically encouraged.RELUCTANTLY kowtowed to my daughter's blasphemous Halloween costume.  And her father gleefully assisted refused to help apply the blood lather.

The Nun Zombie pondered what might happen if she approached a 'Catholic' house in her costume.  Her parents assured her that she would probably be prayed for.  And if she happened upon an IRISH Catholic house, she might be prayed for and handed a beer all at the same time. 

Alas, the annual fright fest came to its inevitable close with two complete sugar meltdowns.

Thusly, I leave you, until next year, with the "After" pictures:

It is worth mentioning that Captain Jake "Wolverine" Sparrow swindled piggy back rides from his 'chaperone' for 2 1/2 hours.  All 41.5 pounds of Wolverine, plus 12 pounds of empty candy wrappers.  Said 14 year old chaperone returned to the house without the Wolverine.  His excuse, "That kid WIPED me out.  I couldn't carry him anymore and I couldn't keep up with him.  At one point, I sat down on the curb and said, Yeah Jake, go ahead and start eating some candy."  And then he handed the Wolverine off to the rest of the 'group' and abandoned his post and came home and went to bed! 


Can't say that I blame him one bit!  I know exactly how he feels.  Every day of my life............

See ya next year!

When Science Should NOT Be Tried At Home

photo credit to my future daughter in law, Miss Nooooon-yezzzzzzz

Jake Nye the Science Guy was in the bathroom.

With the door closed.

Alert #1.  Jake, in the bathroom, with the door CLOSED?  Hmmm. 

Jake?  Are you okay?

"Yeah Mom, nuthin to worry about here.  I'm not doing nuthin wrong."

Alert #2.  He's already confessed.

Jake.  Are you using the toilet?

"Only to put my experiment on the seat."

RED Alert #1, Alert #3

Jake.  Get out of the bathroom NOW.

"I can't leave my experiment alone, Ma."

RED Alert #2.  Forget counting the regular alerts.  We're nearing a Defcon situation.

Since we no longer have any pets, and since his sister escaped the asylum and is currently being detained in the home of a 'more' normal family, I did my best to remain calm.

JAKE.  Listen to me VERY carefully.  BRING your EXPERIMENT and YOURSELF to ME IMMEDIATELY.  YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS.

Science Guy is beaming.  Not sure if it's cuz he likes science, or because he knows it could potentially be the last time he ever displays a smile for the rest of his Earthly days.

"Here it is Mom.  But you might not ah-preesh-ee-ate how cool it is."

Red Alert #3.  Appreciate?  Used correctly in a sentence?  While beaming?  And holding a recycled plastic cylindrical Crystal Light container filled with.......oh dear Lord what hath he done?

Jake.  What is this?

Beaming Muppet of a Pretend Scientist:  "It's my experiment!  Doncha love it?"

No, Jake, what is your experiment MADE OF? (as terror starts to grip me as I realize the contents of the plastic container will soon begin to melt and burn my fingers into stumps before I can dial 911)

Science Guy, counting items off using his fingers, "Well, it's nail polish, shaving cream, ummmm oh yeah, my lemonade Crystal Lite that I was drinking, um, shampoo, and um..oh yeah my perfume (cologne, for those who need interpretation)"  And he's still beaming.

I begin to slowly walk towards the front door.  Beaming Science Guy follows.

It's been several decades since I had Chemistry, but, yeah, there's something else in his concoction, for sure.

Hmmmm.  Jake?  You sure there's nothing else in your experiement?

Beamer:  "Nope.  Oh, yeah, wait a second, yeah, um, itch cream (aka HYDROCORTISONE), and my special smell good soap (Dove Care for Men that Beamer HAD to HAVE just cuz his Dad uses it)."

Jake?  What ELSE?

Beamer:  NOTHING!

I give him 'the look', as I continue to hold the nearly dissolved, highly fumigating, mysterious concoction that I am not so sure is not about to melt several of my phalanges in an accident that I will for once, be completely unable to decipher or describe to the medical attendants and/or the social workers who will eventually want to know how it is that my 40 pound six year old son had access to shaving cream and nail polish, of all things.

Beamer:  Oh, wait, yeah, something else too.

I'm silent.  Waiting.

Beamer:  Ear drops.

THESE ear drops Jake?  THESE ear drops that come from a visit to Dr. Jill for ear infections?  THESE ear drops?

Beamer:  Um. Yep.  (And he is still BEAMING!  As if he has just solved for pi.)

Jake?  This container is EMPTY.

Beamer:  Yeah, (head nodding violently).  I used the whole thing.  It took a long time to squeeze them all out but i did it.  But then it was too watery so i added more nail polish.  But then it didn't smell so good.  So that's when I put in ALL MY PERFUME.

I open the front door.  And yes, it's 905pm, Eastern time.  And I tell him to follow me.  And he has the nerve to tell me no, he doesn't want to get his feet dirty, since he JUST HAD HIS BATH. !?!?!?!?!

I'm done with being calm, cool, collected Mom.  And become my usual PSYCHO Mom, as I came pretty close to screaming, "THEN PUT ON YOUR SHOES THAT ARE RIGHT HERE!  RIGHT HERE BY THE DOOR!  RIGHT HERE!  PUT THEM ON AND PUT THEM ON NOW!"

No longer Beaming Failure of a Scientist:  "Are you gonna hit me?"

Oh buoy.  No, I am not going to hit you, nor am I in the habit of hitting you, but I've got something even more painful up my sleeve, Bucko.

I force him to accompany me outside (where we do have outside lighting, thank you very much.)

And I give him the oozing and melting and smoking container that used to hold 5 packets of Crystal Lite, and now holds, well, to be completely honest, I HAVE NO IDEA.

And I tell him to put it over 'there'.  Not IN the trash can.  Not IN the grass.  Not NEAR a sprinkler.  Not NEAR the house.  Put it by that big plastic bucket.  And do NOT dump it.  And LEAVE it.

Science Whackjob amazingly does as he is told.

But doesn't want to come in the house.

Jake.  GET in the house.

"But Mom!  I wanna see what happens next."

"Jake?  GET IN THE HOUSE NOW BEFORE I WILL SHOW YOU WHAT HAPPENS NEXT AND I AIN'T TALKING 'BOUT NO EXPERIMENT."

He enters the house reluctantly, kicks off his shoes, and mutters something under his breath.

WHAT did you just say?

"I said, YOU don't ah-preesh-ee-ate how cool science is."

My first thought is, "Where is my Xanax?"

But I chose to deliver and elicit consequences first.

He has six more minutes to complete his essay on:

1).  WHY he thought it was a 'good' idea to try and build a Crystal Lite bomb.

2).   WHERE did he get this cockamammie idea from.


and finally:


3).  HOW it is that he can assure, aka PROMISE, his downtrodden mother that no such science 'experiment' will ever happen again unless he is in the 10th grade, in Chemistry, in a controlled environment, with a lab coat wearing teacher named Fred Savage who wears Safety Glasses every day and mixes red, green, and yellow frothing concoctions into a beaker, drinks it, smashes the beaker against the blackboard as it splinters  into glass smithereens and cackles like the mad scientist that he is/was as he informs 25 aghast teenagers that he just made 'water'.

Fast forward 40 minutes.

The MAD scientist.....is supposed to be writing the answers to his essay questions.

I hear a very weird sound involving what sounds like something being shoved into a plastic garbage bag.

So I weeble wobble myself to the living room to find out what 'science' experiment could be in process NOW.

Whatever it WAS, I missed it.

But I persued my usual line of questioning.

After a valiant attempt at warding off the interrogation, Science Boy fessed up.

"Mom.  I was trying to put my FOOT into the bag of APPLES."

Sigh.  Head down.  Eyes closed.  Prayers for the divinest of all possible interventions.

"And then my FOOT got stuck and I couldn't get it out."  (of a 3 lb. bag of Granny Smith Apples)

Jake.  How many apples were in the bag?

"You mean, like, when we got them at Publix?"

Sigh.  No Jake.  I mean, like, how many apples were in the bag when you stuck your foot in there?

"Oh.  Just one Mom.  Just one."

(I've noticed that his foot is no longer in the bag.)

So, Jake.  Whadya do with the apple that was in the bag, after you got your foot out of it?

"MOM!  Whadya think I did with it?  I ate it!  It was a perfectly fine apple!  And you and Dad are telling us all the time that we shouldn't waste food!  You can't get mad at me for eating an apple!  Geesh!"

Oh no, Whackjob.

I'm not mad.

Nope.

Bewtiched, bothered, and bewildered?

AB-SO-LOOT-LEE

Sweet Child O'Mine

~

The Summer of the Pirates has kept me, well, busy.

So unusually busy, in fact, that I have been quite remiss in my postings.

I neglected to mention and publically celebrate Reilly the Red's birthday.

It wasn't a 'big' birthday.  (Translation - there was no P A R - T E E)

But every birthday deserves mentioning and celebrating, no matter who you are, what age you are, where you are, how you are....

Reilly the Red woke up at 147am on the day she turned N I N E (9!!!!), and woke me up to tell me she 'just couldn't stand it (the excitement) any longer'.  I told her to go back to bed.

At EXACTLY 347am, she woke me up AGAIN to tell me she couldn't stand it any longer.

This time, I actually opened my eyes.  I casually reminded her that she already KNEW what her birthday present was (tickets to the American Idol concert in Orlando, thank you very much), she KNEW we weren't having a big party or anything like that, she KNEW that we would be taking her to dinner and a movie over the weekend.......why was she so excited exactly?

She exclaimed, "I just can't BELIEVE that you didn't even get me one teeny tiny surprise on my BIRTHDAY!"

I sighed.

I directed her to the dining room table.

There was a white box.

A bakery box.

She opened it and said, in classic Captain Jake Sparrow fashion, "WWWWWWW H O AAAAAA...."

Inside the box was something she requested about six months ago, saying, "THIS is what I want for my birthday, NOT a cake."

Children underestimate the power of a mother's mental Rolodex.

She was staring at a glazed donut.

A really big glazed donut.

A really big glazed donut that was in fact so big, that I think it consituted being called a glazed donut CAKE.

It weighed about 3 pounds.

As her bulged out eyes had yet to return to their appropriate sockets, I spoke again.

"Happy Birthday, Reilly.  Please use a fork."

I went back to sleep on the couch.

From what I was told, she waited a few more hours, then went and shared her big fat donut cake with her Daddy and her friends at Fox and Friends.

And she got plenty more attention and shout-outs: a gazillion Old Navy gift cards from friends and relatives (she likes those better than cash, although she got some of that too, always eliciting a smile, just like every gift or phone call or card or casual birthday wish does) , a surprise shopping trip and lunch with Aunt Mermaidelicious, a surprise shopping trip and lunch with Dirty Diana, an unexpected 'let's drop everything that we're doing and sing happy birthday to Reilly the Red' celebration at Vacation Bible School, a surprise visit from some 'old' friends (the good kinda old, not the old kinda old) wearing bathing suits and bearing gifts, and the aforementioned family dinner at the restaurant of her choice, Red Lobster, where she ordered from the adult menu, tasted and rejected her first Shirley Temple, stuffed her piehole with Cheddar Bay Biscuits, shrimp and crab and garlic mashed potatoes, the gratis strawberry cheesecake with candle and a capella serenade and inevitable miserable tummy ache due to the voluntary gluttonous birthday dinner stuffing of one's nine year old shrimp and crab hole.

She's still 'waiting' for the Cars2 viewing.  It's coming.  We like to spread things out and make her 'suffer'.

Instead of writing my annual birthday ode to my beautiful daughter, I've chosen instead to quote the lyrics of my favorite song of all time.  I have my doubts that the songwriters were in fact reminscing about a young daughter.  It matters not.  Whenever I hear this song, I think of me, and I think of her.  And yes, this song remains on my cellphone, the only ringtone I've ever had.  And no, I could not have written a better lyric, but the rock ballad certainly epitomizes the most beautiful, sweetest, blue-eyed daughter of mine.

Sweet Child O' Mine lyrics
Songwriters: Adler, Steven; Hudson, Saul; Mckagan, Michael; Rose, Axl; Stradlin, Izzy;

She's got a smile that it seems to me
Reminds me of childhood memories
Where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky

Now and then when I see her face
She takes me away to that special place
And if I stare too long, I'd probably break down and cry

Whoa, oh, oh, sweet child o' mine
Whoa, oh, oh, oh, sweet love of mine

She's got eyes of the bluest skies
As if they thought of rain
I'd hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain

Her hair reminds me of a warm, safe place
Where as a child I'd hide
And pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by

Whoa, oh, oh, sweet child o' mine
Whoa, oh, oh, oh, sweet love of mine

Whoa, oh, oh, oh, sweet child o' mine
Oh, oh, oh, oh, sweet love of mine

Whoa, oh, oh, oh, sweet child o' mine
Ooh, sweet love of mine

Where do we go?
Where do we go now?
Where do we go?

Where do we go?
Where do we go now?
Oh, where do we go now?

Where do we go?
Where do we go now?
(Sweet child)
Ooh, where do we go now?

Where do we go?
Oh, where do we go now?
Oh, where do we go ?

Where do we go now?
Where do we go?
Oh, where do we now?

Now now now now now now now
Sweet child, sweet child o' mine

Happy Birthday, Sweet Child O'Mine..........

Love,
Mama
~