Crumb Snatcher Tales

May 31, 2012

We Must Stop “The Curse”

There’s a tragic cycle of parenting that carries from generation to generation that must be broken. It must stop with ours. It must stop now. I’m not talking about spanking, or free-will parenting, or planting your child in front of the tube to watch Sponge Bob while you sneak to the patio to down a glass of wine. I’m talking about the “One Day I Hope You Have a Child Just Like You” curse.

I have no idea who Rolan is, but he obviously has two teen crumb snatchers since this is his 2nd curse.

You know your parents said it to you, and if you’ve been blessed with a child that has reached their adolescent phase, you know you’ve at least wanted to cast it upon them. Yes, “The Curse” works but I believe the electric chair is a more humane punishment.

In the last week, I have seen “The Curse” manifest in the crumb snatchers and it isn’t a pretty sight. I know I wasn’t a piece of cake as a teenager, and I doubt Chief Money Maker was either, but did we really deserve “The Curse?” I think not!

Last night, Sweet Pea asked for my help getting her cartilage earring back in. Since I’m not a spring chicken anymore my eyesight is a little off. Like, “Mama that’s drainage ditch, not a highway exit” off. I couldn’t see the hole in her ear. So in her eyes, I suddenly became a horrible mother.

The next thing I know, Sweet Pea is in tears and throwing a tantrum. I yelled, “I hate you,” because we never fight and I forgot that the rules of Teenagedom state that she is supposed to yell that phrase at me. Later, we talked about it and she said, “I’m sorry Mama. Sometimes I just get so frustrated that I take it out on those around me. I’m just like you.” Before I could open my mouth to protest, she cut me a look and said, “You know it’s true.” Yeah, it is.

Sweet Pea has more hair than this drawing…and she’s a girl.

I also witnessed “The Curse” with G-Bear and Chief Money Maker as they father-son bonded over a woodworking project I requested for flower boxes. In between patient instructions and hammered-thumb expletives, I watched Chief Money Maker’s frustration grow. When G-Bear insisted on “doing it his way” Chief Money Maker sat back and allowed G-Bear to split the wood on the project.

Chief yelled, “Oooh, Mama Bread Baker is gonna be maaaad.” But I digress. Then he said, “I told you. But you’re so stubborn and hard-headed you had to do it your way.” G-Bear said—wait for it—“Dad, I’m just like you.” Before Chief could open his mouth to protest, I cut him a look and said, “You know it’s true.”

As you can see, “The Curse” works, although the damage doesn’t manifest until years later. I can envision our parents sitting around in their clean living rooms with their stocked pantries without the sounds of door-slamming or exclamations of “You just don’t understand!” They’re looking at their watches and smiling at one another. “Honey, it’s 2012. The Curse should have kicked in by now.”

I might be over forty, but I still say this is child abuse!

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Filed under The Insanity that is our Life

Tagged as Adolescence, child abuse, family, humor, parenting, Sponge Bob, teenagers, The Curse, wine

May 22, 2012

From A-Z Graduates Get Their Key to the Future…or the Local Convenience Store Bathroom

Prom season is over and graduation season has arrived. Unfortunately, none of the crumb snatchers are graduating this year. Not from college, high school, middle school, or Starbucks barista training. Chief Money Maker’s nephew, Rainbow, however did graduate from high school this past weekend.

graduation (Photo credit: Sean MacEntee)

In a solemn ceremony filled with speeches about their bright futures—minus the statistical data on how many will be married, divorced, and crushed under the weight of student loans by their ten year reunion—the graduates crossed the stage and received the key to their future. Given the whoops and hollers of relief that many students received, I’d venture to guess that their key will be good for opening the bathroom doors for customers at the local corner convenience store.

Graduation brings mixed emotions for the parents. It’s the day you thought was eons away when you sent your little one off for the first day of kindergarten with their Scooby-Doo lunch box and Crayola crayons. I always had the 8 count box which is why I never got to hang out with the cool kids. I bought the 24 count for the crumb snatchers. If you start them off with the 64 count, then next it’s the markers, and before you know it they expect you to make the down payment on their first home. Trust me—the lessons of moderation begin in kindergarten.

World-famous Crayola crayons are manufactured ...

It all starts with a 64 count box of crayons!

It’s also the day you fervently prayed would arrive once your child reached their teen years and knew significantly more than you. And when their rooms started to smell like a local land-fill.

Graduation also brings gift-giving time. People send money, towels, sheets, and other gifts that say, “We’re so proud of you, now get out of your parents home!”

Advice abounds during graduation season. Some of my favorites come from Wes Smith in his book “Welcome to the Real World.”

Hardly anyone cares that you chugged 13 beers without throwing up last night.
No worthwhile conversation ever began at a bar with ferns.
Never introduce your girlfriend to a wealthy widower.

And I would like to pass along a bit Mama Bread Baker’s own advice for those heading off to college.

Join a social group. You’ll need some friends that are bound by the oaths you recited on hell night to make sure the photos of the party never get posted to Facebook.
Buy the cafeteria plan your freshman year. It won’t be until after Biology 102 before you can determine if the amount of mold on your roommate’s leftover pizza is lethal.
When your roommate heads out to do laundry, offer to keep an eye on it for them. If they accept, you can toss yours in with theirs.
Call your mother once a week. You’ll want her to make you a real meal when you come home to visit.
Call your father once a week. Should the need arise, you’ll want him to be available to bail you out of jail and to keep it from your mother.

Congratulations to 2012 Seniors!

And for those with crumb snatcher graduating from kindergarten, take a few moments to check out this cute post by Jenn McClory, another blogger. Why Kindergarten Graduations Are Confusing (jennmcclory.com)

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Filed under The Insanity that is our Life

Tagged as Crayola, family, Graduation, high school, humor, parenting, Scooby-Doo, seniors, teenagers

May 15, 2012

Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car, Joey Tribbiani!

If dreams are our subconscious working out issues from our everyday life, the episode that played out in my head last night is screaming that I need a therapist—like YESTERDAY! I’ve spent most of the morning trying to analyze the weirdest dream I can recall ever having.

I was back in my rural East Texas hometown preparing to attend prom. Not as the svelte 17 year-old teenager I wish I had been, but in my current 43 year-old run-down body. I was dressed in Sweet Pea’s prom dress but not her matching shoes. Strangely enough, in reality I can actually wear her shoes. Her prom dress, though, would barely fit my right arm, and only because it’s slightly smaller than my left. I self-analyzed that this portion of my dream spoke to my weight loss efforts. It also might be addressing a deep-seeded resentment that Sweet Pea won’t let me wear her shoes.

It’s not Sweet Pea’s closet, but it’s close!

In the next part of my dream, I was standing alone against the wall at the prom as I watched my classmates dance and have a good time—actually this was more a flashback to my real senior prom. I kept hoping the DJ would play Wham!’s “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go” because this time I knew the moves from Wii’s Just Dance 2. Instead, everyone was shaking their booties to Rye Rye’s “Boom Boom.” I think the dream was telling me to let the past go, or to download more current songs to my IPod.

I left the prom and returned to my childhood home. I changed, told my mother I was going out for a while, and asked when she wanted me home. She smiled sweetly and said, “Honey, what time do you think it should be?” I explained that I had given Sweet Pea a curfew of 2 a.m. on her prom night, and as my mother frowned at me, I promptly explained, “but she was home by 12:15!” My mother smiled again and said I could stay out until 2 a.m. “if I felt I really needed to.” Outside of the obvious Freudian analysis that I still seek my mother’s approval, I think this part of the dream was telling me that I should get to bed earlier.

I went outside and climbed into the car I had in high school, a 1980 Mustang. But instead of the original automatic transmission, it was now a stick-shift. This was easy to relate to current life since we just replaced the engine in Chief Money Maker’s truck. Or, it could be that I’m a resentful middle-aged soccer/baseball/softball mini-van driving mother that wishes she had a sports car.

Yeah, this could work!

As I drove away, I saw several guys I knew from high school hanging out at the end of my driveway—in little red wagons. I think, subconsciously, I was trying to determine at what age men actually mature. But just like we’ll never know how many men it takes to change a toilet paper roll—because it’s never been done—this too is a question that will most likely remain unanswered.

And here’s where things get weird. Suddenly, I was in Officer D.A.R.’s truck (the X & Y chromosome donor for Sweet Pea & The Eldest) but Chief Money Maker was driving. We have an ex-Marine friend that claims he can legally off someone and get away with it once due to military trauma. I think my subconscious was suggesting I take him up on that offer. Or maybe we should have stolen my ex’s truck instead of replacing Chief Money Maker’s engine. I’m not real sure.

I finally shouted that I wanted to go home—but I didn’t click my heels together three times—so somehow I ended up in a hotel room. The last thing I remember is that Chief Money Maker and Joey Tribbiani from Friends were asleep on the bed and I was sneaking a picture of them to post on Facebook. I don’t even want to venture to guess how that portion of the dream relates to the rest of the dream, or how it relates to my life at all. I just want Chief Money Maker to get out of the dream and leave me alone with Joey Tribbiani!

There’s an anonymous quote that says, “Be careful what you wear to bed at night, you never know who you’ll meet in your dreams.” Tonight, I’m wearing Sweet Pea’s prom shoes.

“How you doin?”

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Filed under The Insanity that is our Life

Tagged as blended family, dreams, family, How You Doin?, humor, Joey Tribbiani, parenting, teenagers, Wham!

May 10, 2012

Calgon Take Me Away!

Prom Dress: A second mortgage
Getting Sweet Pea’s “her did”: A day’s salary WITH a 50% off coupon
Manicure/Pedicure: 56,944.57 yen–before tip
Bottle of wine: $13.79*
Locking keys in van: Remaining sanity & a Xanax
Seeing Sweet Pea off to prom with The Boyfriend:

PRICELESS

*Wine was for ME–not the underage Prom-goers

Last Saturday saw the culmination of four month’s worth of preparation that involved more planning than required to establish the government of a small country. It started in January with the search for the perfect prom dress, and Chief Money Maker’s second mortgage application to pay for it.

Then we moved along to the search for the perfect shoes that would be worn for pictures then promptly kicked off for the remaining three hours of the prom.

Then onto the search for hairstyles which lasted about a month and generated conversations like this:

ME: That’s very pretty Sweet Pea, but her hair is about 8 inches longer than yours.
SWEET PEA: But I’m taking Biotin which is supposed to make your hair grow.
ME: Yes, but it’s not Miracle Grow and your hair isn’t a tomato vine!

After all accessories were acquired, the dress was taken in for alterations where I had this conversation with the seamstress:

ME: It’s a bit low-cut. Can we adjust the neck straps to this length? (I showed her about six inches–female inches, not male inches, because there is a difference you know!)
SEAMSTRESS: Yes m’am I can, but then the bodice would be around her ears and not her…ummm…you know.
ME: Perfect! How much do I owe you?

The day before the prom we picked up the dress from the seamstress and took it to the dry cleaner to get steamed. When we hung the dress on the dry cleaner rack, Sweet Pea’s face suddenly drained of all color and she gasped in so much air that she pulled the moon closer to Earth, which is the real cause of the following night’s SuperMoon despite what scientists might believe.

In the transition, the beaded bodice of the dress caught on the hanger pulling approximately 3 of the 4,827 beads out of place–and of course she immediately spotted them. I then had this conversation:

ME: Sweet Pea, breathe, breathe–somebody get me a paper sack! She’s hyperventilating!

Finally, it was prom day. The dress was picked up, with beads intact. We had a wonderful mother-daughter bonding experience getting manicures and pedicures. The next appointment gave Sweet Pea flowing curly locks, and movie star make up. All that was left now was to go home, dress, and take pictures. And then the universe stood still……..

I HAD LOCKED MY KEYS IN THE VAN

The rest of the afternoon was a blur but I remember bits and pieces of the conversations:

ME: Oh gawd, oh gawd, please don’t cry, please don’t cry…I just paid to have your makeup done!
ME: Let’s wait in here where it’s cooler until I can get in touch with Chief Money Maker.
SWEET PEA: Mom! It’s a hot wings joint! I’ll smell like chicken at my prom!
ME: Oh gawd, oh gawd, please don’t cry, please don’t cry…I just paid to have your makeup done!
SWEET PEA: How could you do this to me???? You’ve ruined my life!
ME: Oh gawd, oh gawd, please don’t cry, please don’t cry…I just paid to have your makeup done!
ME: Chief Money Maker, get up here RIGHT NOW. I’ve locked the keys in the van.
CHIEF MONEY MAKER: Oh gawd, oh gawd, please don’t cry, please don’t cry…you’ll make Sweet Pea cry and you just paid to have her makeup done!

We finally made it home, got Sweet Pea dressed, pictures made, and we shoved her and The Boyfriend out the door.

The Boyfriend’s mother and I sat down at the table with a sigh of relief and enjoyed a glass of wine. Everything had worked out well, and I was satisfied that I had covered everything that needed to be done, until I received this call:

SWEET PEA: MOM! How do I go to the bathroom in this dress?

Sometimes I wish I had all boys!

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Filed under The Insanity that is our Life

Tagged as hairstyles, humor, insanity, parenting, prom, teenagers, wine

May 3, 2012

I’m Too Sexy For My Shirt–and Other Uncool Things To Do and Say Around Your Teenagers!

We all want to be cool, right? Word up! Except “word up” hasn’t been the code word since 1986, despite the song’s lyrics claiming otherwise. In terms of temperature, my “coolness” reading rises and falls as quickly as MC Hammer.

You can’t touch this but the IRS can!

On good days, I’m fortunate to have children that tolerate me. Let’s not even discuss the bad days. I’m just thankful that I’ve reached the age when my children know more than I do. For example, I don’t know where I would be without Sweet Pea’s fashion advice. Apparently, it isn’t cool to shop for groceries in my yellow ducky lounging pants with my “Writer Chick” t-shirt. I argued, “But I’m theme coordinated!” She hitched a ride home.

I’ve also learned that what one crumb snatcher finds cool, the others may not. I received an assignment to cover the Tennessee Titans Caravan at a local elementary school where I would also interview a Titans player. G-Bear, when I relayed the news, shrugged his shoulders and said “Eh.” My coolness temp registered below freezing. The Eldest, however, thought I was wayyyyy cool and went on the assignment with me as my photographer.

Circumstances can quickly change what I deem as cool. We checked in at the office and the staff recognized my name from my column. Cool. Then they scanned my I.D. and the computer spit out a name tag that identified me as “Reri Hacker.” Not cool—no offense to Reri. The computer gave The Eldest a name tag with only his first and middle name, which we all know means you are so cool that a last name isn’t required.

We were then taken to the Titan bus to interview Jared Cook, the Titans tight end. Cool. Then the Eldest got us thrown from the bus when he taunted that Cook would be eating turf—and not the kind normally joined by surf—on 10/11 against the Steelers. Not cool. Suddenly, being Reri Hacker wasn’t so bad after all.

It’s also strange to see what young children find cool these days. As we left the school, The Eldest received high-fives from an entire line of six-year-olds. He thinks it was because he looked cool with the camera hanging from his neck. I say they thought he was Ronald McDonald and they hoped to score a happy meal.

The shirt also explains why he was kicked from the Titans bus!

So if you want to be considered cool by your teenagers, here are some Do’s and Don’ts:

DO: Ignore them completely when they are in the midst of their peers.

DON’T: Yell out “Yo Sup Homes?”

DO: Cook a ham for Sunday dinner

DON’T: Tell your teen you’re going to “Go all HAM” on their teacher

DO: Show your pleasure when your teen brings you exciting news

DON’T: Shout out “Oh-em-gee, that’s freaking awesome fo sho!”

It’s hard to be a cool parent and the standards change from day to day. Just remember that “this too shall pass.” I gotta bounce now. The crumb snatchers might think I’m trippin’ but here’s what I have to say to that:

WORD UP!

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Filed under The Insanity that is our Life

Tagged as Happy Meal, how to be cool, humor, Jared Cook, MC Hammer, parenting, Ronald McDonald, teenagers, writing

April 25, 2012

Skipping Your Anti-Psychotic Meds Leads to Volunteerism

I forgot to take my anti-psychotic medication one day and I volunteered to chaperone six teenage girls on a softball trip to Gulf Shores this weekend. The voices in my head told me to do it. Those silly voices—they’re a hoot with their practical jokes. Now I have to go fill my Xanax prescription to quiet them.

Ahhh, surf, sand, and a team of softball girls. The voices said "It'll be fun...we promise!"

That whole “Just Say No” to volunteering campaign led by First Lady Nancy Reagan was obviously a complete failure. I can understand why she started that campaign though because I’m sure she had a lot more requests to volunteer her time than I do. What’s that you say? It was “Just Say No” to drugs? Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Does "Just Say No" include my Xanax?

I also volunteered for G-Bear’s career fair at school. The students will visit tables to learn how to become firemen, policemen, astronauts, and professional liars—also known as political candidates. I’ll tell them how they can write about those things. And provide them with my writer’s guide—“Surviving on a Writer’s Income: 99 Ways to Prepare Ramen Noodles.” I’m considering offering my follow up edition as well—“How to Hone Your Fast Food Fry Making Skills”—but don’t want to overwhelm them with information.

Chief Money Maker also volunteered for the career fair. Since I have no clue what he does, I’m not sure how he’s going to help a bunch of seventh graders understand either.

CMM: “I work for HP.”

STUDENT: “Cool, so do you make computers?”

CMM: “No, I design strategic plans for large corporations to integrate and manage their internal data structures and technology needs through continued support and help centers.”

STUDENT: “Where’s the table with the pamphlet on honing your fry making skills?”

Volunteering is simply part of parenting. If you don’t volunteer yourself, your children will volunteer for you. They do this because they don’t want to feel left out, and because they have deep-seeded resentment that they passively aggressively act out on by volunteering you and then informing you of such approximately 14 minutes and 23 seconds before you have to perform your duty.

I have to cut this short today because I just received a text that my Xanax is ready and I have to start preparing to leave at 5 a.m. tomorrow morning for Gulf Shores. This means I’ll get to bed at 3 a.m. after running around all day getting prepared for the trip while Sweet Pea does nothing but ask, “Does this swimsuit make my butt look big?”

Pray for me. Pray hard.

Tell about the craziest thing you’ve volunteered for…or your crumb snatchers have volunteered you for.

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Filed under The Insanity that is our Life

Tagged as Gulf Shores Alabama, humor, Job fair, parenting, silly voices, teenagers, volunteer, writing

April 18, 2012

The Whoopty-Do About the Whoopty-Do

I want to discuss a very delicate subject this week and I will need to tread lightly. Please note that I pondered long and hard about whether or not this subject should be broached. As an aspiring humorist, I work hard to maintain a lighthearted atmosphere in my blog posts. Oh who am I kidding!? I was ready to jump all over this topic like a 3-year-old jumps on a happy meal!

I came across an article this morning that stated some idiots parents are allowing their teenagers to have sex in their homes. Milk-a-wha?????? Apparently this topic was all abuzz on Twitter and the news this past summer. I must have missed the hullabaloo while I was busy organizing our family’s annual Barrel of Monkeys competition. I’ve decided to reopen that can of worms and fire up that topic again for several reasons:

1) It deals with sex and sex sells.

2) It’s controversial and controversy sells.

And most importantly:

3) I can’t remember…maybe I’ll think of it by the end of this post.

First of all, let me say that under certain circumstances, I would not be opposed to the crumb snatchers bumping uglies in our home. What would those circumstances be, you might ask? Well I’m glad you did, ‘cause I was going to tell you anyway.

Circumstances Under Which The Crumb Snatchers Can Have Sex In Our Home

When we’re dead and gone, you’ve bought out your sibling’s share of our home, and you’ve moved into it with your husband and children then you may “park the car in the garage of love”—the first Tuesday of every month like normal married people.

(The preceding opinion is that of the author’s. The printing herein does not necessarily reflect the opinions of the owner of this blog. However, since they are one and the same, it kinda does. I just think legal disclaimers are pretty cool.)

Ok, ok, maybe those circumstances are a little overboard. They can pick any day that first week of the month. See, I’m a flexible parent.

I was really flabbergasted at the logic behind this idea. Something about how they’re going to do it anyway and allowing it at home is cleaner and safer than the woods. I have to admit, I’m a little jealous if someone has a teenager with a room cleaner than the woods!

See that stuff on the side of the road? It's GROWING in your teenagers room!

Look, Chief Money Maker and I aren’t naïve. We know that our crumb snatchers have hormones surging through their bodies like water flows over Niagra Falls. We talk openly to them about sex, protection, consequences, sexually transmitted diseases, and how it’s not really anything like you see in the movies. Come on—you know your hair never looks that good after doing the bad boogey!

I believe there is a fine line between openly discussing sex with your teenagers and opening your home for bouncing the pogo stick. That line in our house is the six inches of personal space they must maintain at all times or Chief Money Maker gets antsy with his trigger finger. I can’t help but wonder—if you allow it to occur in your home with your knowledge, what’s the next step? Do you toss ‘em up a cigarette when they’re done with the naughty?

You might also think that teenagers across the board are all for this idea, but you would think incorrectly. In the video interview from Good Morning America, one of the teenagers on the panel said that by openly approving sex in your home, you are eliminating one of their strongest arguments to their boyfriends for not doing the naked dance—The “My Parents Will Kill Me” argument. Now that’s a girl whose had some proper raising.

Oh, that just reminded me of my third reason for this post.

3) I wanted to send a message to our crumb snatchers—See above teenager’s argument for not having sex.

I have to go now. I just read another headline that needs my attention:

“Granny ‘drug kingpin’ busted in Oklahoma”

It’s a crazy world…………

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Filed under The Insanity that is our Life

Tagged as adolescence sex, controversy, humor, My Parents Will Kill Me, parenting, teenagers

April 11, 2012

How We Make Our Marriage Last Longer Than Kim Kardashian’s

Like peace in the Middle East, I wasn’t sure making it to our one year wedding anniversary was possible. But Chief Money Maker and I did it against all possible odds—and I’m richer today for it. No really, I am. I just cashed in my bet with the Tunica bookies. I always bet the long shot. Let’s get real. Who would have thought that two Leos, both previously married, living in a house with five crumb snatchers and three dogs would have a marriage that lasted longer than Kim Kardashian’s?

I vow to love, honor, and make lots of money off our wedding.

A few of you reading this might have laid down some bets on our marriage too. Don’t pretend like it doesn’t happen. We’ve all been there. The violinist is softly playing, the usher lights the candles, the groom walks in looking like a man taking a death row walk, and the bridal march begins to play. As she reaches the alter, the bride and groom gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes and you lean over to the person next to you and say, “I give it six months.”

You might ask what is the key to our long-lasting marital bliss? Well, it’s a combination of things: good communication, unconditional love, and the threat of making good on the life insurance policy. When Chief Money Maker asked for my hand in marriage, I said yes (obviously) but I gave him this full disclosure. With love brimming over from the depths of my soul, I looked deep into his eyes and said, “I will marry you, but remember this. I won’t be divorced again. I don’t mind being a widow, but I won’t be divorced.” He’s either the bravest man on this planet, or his driveway doesn’t go all the way to the street, if ya know what I mean.

Our anniversary was ushered in without much fanfare, and we closed the night while sipping champagne on our patio. We reflected on the events of the last year. Another key to a successful marriage is to always examine where you’ve been and where you would like to go. He talked about his career success over the past year, how he’d learned what it means to have a daughter, and how he felt he could improve as a husband. I told him I wanted to go to Hawaii. I love champagne.

The bubbles make me giggly!

I also love my anniversary gift. The anniversary gift tradition goes back hundreds, maybe even millions of years. Once upon a time, some poor cavehusband screwed up big time. He stormed out of the cave and sat at the tavern drinking all night with his cavebuddies. After listening to them complain about how their cavewives never swept the dirt floors, never picked the nits out of the cavekids hair, and couldn’t fry a dinosaur egg on a rock, he decided he didn’t have it so bad. He went out and found a shiny gold rock in the creek bed and brought it home for his wife as an apology. It just happened to coincide with their wedding date, so the wedding anniversary gift tradition was born. I don’t really know if that’s true, but it certainly sounds plausible.

I've asked you three times to take out the rotting sabertooth tiger carcass!

Anyway, the traditional first anniversary gift is paper. Because Chief Money Maker loves me—and because he fears gettin’ dead—he gave me a signed contract for a swimming pool in our backyard. My paper gift to him? A signed check for the deposit—from his account, of course. Ahhh, love is bliss.

I will leave you today with one of Chief Money Maker’s favorite toasts—which Wolfy delivered perfectly at our wedding. “May the best memories of the past be the worst memories of your future.”

And with mine. “May we be friends until we are old and senile—then we’ll be new friends.”

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Filed under The Insanity that is our Life

Tagged as anniversary gifts, humor, Kim Kardashian, marriage, parenting, relationships, Weddings

April 4, 2012

“Hey Blue, Are You Blind?” And Other Things Sports-Parent Related

In my blog this week, I want to address sports etiquette. Proper sports etiquette–regardless of the sport–includes hand-shaking, saying good game, and attempting not to call the officials “fat bastards.” Oh, and the players should follow these rules too!

In high school, I earned summer money keeping score for Little League games. I quickly learned the backstop wasn’t erected to prevent balls from hitting the spectators. It was strategically placed to protect the umpires from ~~savage~~ enthusiastic Moms.

Hahaha! You can't get me through the fence!

When The Eldest began playing baseball, I will never forget the sight of nine little pairs of eyes peeking from the dugout to see whose Mom was getting thrown out of the park for yelling at the umpire. When he met me in the parking lot after the game he said, “Mom, please don’t do that again.”

While the Moms are busy yelling at the umpires, the Dads are yelling at their crumb snatchers. The Eldest has a story from his own umpping days. He recalls one particular game where a Dad constantly yelled from the stands, “Pay attention son! Get the ball son! Throw the ball son! Catch the ball son!” The Dad then moved to the right field fence and in exasperation asked, “Son, what in tarnation are you doing?”

From his position on the ground, the child gave a growl and replied, “I’m a tiger!!” Yes, it starts with Tee-ball.

T-Ball stands for "Tiny kids picking their nose on a baseball diamond while parents expect them to play a game." (Photo credit: hubertk)

Recently Chief Money Maker was initiated into the United American Men’s Right Field Club for Softball Dads—often called BUBBAS for short. I asked what they do out there, but he told me he couldn’t tell me without risk of permanently losing his man card.

I have my own suspicions about what goes on. I think they take bets on whose wife will lead the charge against the umpire. What other explanation is there for the extra cash he had in his wallet last week?

Wolfy is the goalkeeper for his soccer team. Now I know nothing about soccer except you can get flagged for offside, but I’ve yet to see a quarterback in the game.

Whereas I might be in jeopardy of getting tossed from a softball game, Chief Money Maker is thrice as embarrassing at a soccer game. Yes, you read that right…THRICE!

After years of refereeing soccer, coaching, and playing goalkeeper, I have to tether him to his chair to keep him from trying to take over all three positions at once. And believe me, the duct tape across his mouth is about as useful as dubbing Eddie Murphy’s curse words for a network showing of “Beverly Hills Cop.” It ain’t fooling anyone!

You can dub all you want, but we know what you REALLY said Eddie!

Then we’ve got G-Bear and my nephew, Lil’ Scro, teaming up as a pitch and catch duo for baseball. I spent two years keeping score for their team. Do you know how difficult it is to record the plays while holding down Chief Money Maker? I’ve insisted that he form a chapter of the United American Men’s Right Field Club for Baseball Dads—ironically also called BUBBAS—because he can’t sit by me this season.

But seriously folks, we need to keep in mind that sports activities are intended to teach our children life lessons about leadership, teamwork, organization, and lots of other stuff that–in theory–will one day be utilized in the work force. And if a parent gets a little crazy in the stands, I like to use it as a teaching moment on hypocrisy. Or more commonly taught as, “Look crumb snatchers…Do as I say, not as I do!”

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Tagged as Eddie Murphy, humor, Little League Baseball, parenting, soccer, softball, Sports, Tee Ball, teenagers

March 29, 2012

10 Lesser Known Murphy’s Laws-Mama Bread Baker Style

1. The pillows that come with your Bed-In-A-Bag set never look the same on your bed as they did in the photo. The pillows they use for the photo shoot are genetically altered, steroid-enhanced pillows. The ones you receive are their southern inbred cousins that just lie limp daring you to criticize their lazy attempt at fluff.

Would it hurt you to at least pretend you are a fluffly pillow?

2. Six months after you pay off any vehicle—give or take one day—your engine will blow. The cost for a new engine will be exactly 25% of the original vehicle price—give or take one penny. To avoid this issue, never pay off your vehicle. Refinance when you have one payment left and spread the payments out for as long as the bank will allow.

3. The minute you plan a day for yourself, at least one crumb snatcher will end up in the principal’s office and you will be called in to discuss your child’s inability to keep their hands to themselves. If you were especially brave and scheduled a massage, one or more crumb snatchers will end up in the emergency room.

4. If you decide to add an inground swimming pool to your property, you will meet every neighbor the minute the backhoe arrives—even the creepy ones who you normally only see after dark.

It's nice to meet you after living next door to each other for ten years!

5. A text you intended to send to your current spouse—that calls your ex-spouse a no good rotten piece of feces—always goes to the ex-spouse. It doesn’t matter if you checked the contact name multiple times before sending.

6. Lower calorie, healthy snack options you bought for your own snacks—whether or not they contain fiber—will be eaten by the crumb snatchers immediately before they consume the Oreos and Doritos you bought for their snacks.

7. If you decide to place your home for sale on the market, termites will swarm in protest, the roof will leak, the toilet will overflow, and the dishwasher will stop working. You can apologize to your home for your desire to leave it, but it will continue to punish you for at least six months for even having the thought.

8. The one show you set your DVR to record will be erased, leaving only 480 episodes of “Sons of Gun.”

9. You will NEVER run into anyone you know after paying your stylist an arm and a leg to highlight, cut, and style your hair. You are, however, guaranteed to run into your spouses ex when you go to the grocery store in sweats, no make-up, and with your hair in a frizzy bun on top of your head. Furthermore, they will have just come from the sylist after having their hair highlighted, cut, and styled.

10. You will not be able for the life of you to think up a 10^th lesser known Murphy’s Law when you title your blog “10 Lesser Known Murphy’s Laws.”

And with today’s bonus post, I’ll leave you with a bonus quote:

“Early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. It just makes me cranky.”

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Tagged as crumb snatchers, ex spouses, family, humor, isn't it ironic?, Murphy's Law, parenting, pillows, swimming pool, teenagers

March 27, 2012

How To Blend A Family Without Pureeing the Members

Have you ever checked out the settings on a blender? You’ve got grate, mix, liquefy, puree, and blend. I have no idea what the difference is between these settings, nor have I seen much of a difference in the output. I believe that’s how the phrase “blended family” was coined. You throw a bunch of different people together, hit one of the buttons and swirl it all around for a minute, hoping you get something that’s palpable and doesn’t look too much like baby diaper pooh.

Peanut milk in a blender before filtering.

So this mixture didn't turn out too bad!

Chief Money Maker and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on how to deal with the crumb snatchers. Sometimes we see head-to-frying pan. Now that doesn’t happen just because we are a blended family. I’ve seen biological parental units argue over whether or not they should kill their teenaged crumb snatchers too. I know one couple that has been together for over twenty-five years because they couldn’t decide who would TAKE the children if they divorced!

When I arrived in the picture, I quickly noted that Wolfy and G-Bear liked to request monetary compensation when they were asked to perform chores. At that time, it really wasn’t much of my business how he handled them, so I sat him down and asked him this question anyway. “Why did you have children?”

He thought for a moment and finally said, “So I could have joy, laughter, and share my knowledge and life experiences with them.” I said, “Yeah, but that doesn’t happen until they give you grandchildren so what are they for in the meantime?”

Grandchildren...the hope for all parents of teenagers!

He sat a little longer, and a light bulb went on above his head. Granted, I had turned on the kitchen light but it still had the same effect. Wolfy and G-Bear continue to receive compensation for chores. Now it just comes in the form of food, clothing and shelter like God intended.

The Eldest and Sweet Pea have lived this concept for years and know better than to ask Mama Bread Baker for money in exchange for chores. So now they just ask Chief Money Maker.

Chief Money Maker and I also have different approaches to discipline. I’m more of the military, get ‘em in a daily routine, it’s my-way-or-the-highway mindset. He’s more I’ll-be-on-the-golf-course-call-me-if-someone’s-bleeding mindset. This approach has led to a few problems in our blended family. I’ve been perceived on occasion as the evil stepmother. I keep reminding The Eldest and Sweet Pea that I’m their biological mother!

We’ve found that the key to successful discipline in our household is to present a united front, especially since they outnumber us. Consistency also helps, so we consistently remind them that they are free to move out while they still know everything.

The Eldest took us up on that offer back in September. He returned in February—humble, hungry, and humoring us that we might possibly know what we are talking about after all. We just thanked God that he didn’t return multiplied.

Whether you are a nuclear or blended family, there are three essential keys to dealing with teenagers—communication, setting clear expectations, and accentuating the positive. Now we all know that the last one is a little difficult to achieve when speaking of a teenager. This little tip works well for us. We communicate that if they don’t adhere to the expectations, we are positive there will be consequences. All three concepts wrapped up in one simple sentence.

It can prove to be challenging to reach common ground in a blended family. The key is to keep trying those different blender settings until you finally churn out a mixture that both parents can enjoy. We’ll call our mixture grandchildren.

Poor Poor Chief Money Maker…Literally

Chief Money Maker has a master’s degree. Along the way he took microeconomics and macroeconomics. However, he was never schooled with the financial knowledge he would need once he obtained a girl.

Last week, Sweet Pea batted her eyes and told Chief Money Maker she needed a pedicure. He said, “But we’re leaving in the morning for a softball tournament. No one will see your toes.” Sweet Pea fluttered her lashes again and said, “They will in the hotel room.” Shaking his head, he handed over his wallet and walked away muttering, “In what universe does that even make sense?” Welcome to your Ph.D. course in Teenage Girl Economics 101.

Sweet Pea: But I just CAN'T let them see my toes like this!

Sweet Pea has also been invited to the prom in May. Chief Money Maker, being a boy for most of his life, didn’t understand why we needed to begin dress shopping in January. He now knows it was to give him time to process a second mortgage. He was okay with that at first. He assumed she could wear the same dress her junior and senior year. It was like yanking a pacifier from a baby when Sweet Pea explained it didn’t work that way. He desperately sought to reason that maybe she could at least skip her junior year and wear the dress again her senior year. He’s now researching how to obtain a third and fourth mortgage.

Chief Money Maker: You heard me correctly...I need a mortgage to buy a Prom Dress. And keep the credit line open. She's got two more years!

There was a brief moment when he thought the prom economics might work in his favor. A friend of her cousin’s needed a date for prom at a different school. She explained that if she went to that prom she could wear the same dress. She smiled and said it would be like he bought two dresses for half a second mortgage each instead of one dress for a whole second mortgage. For a nanosecond he thought he’d gotten a bargain. Then he opened his wallet and realized either way, it was still empty.

Woooah! Wait a minute...you've still got cash left? Sweet Pea needs her hair did!

He is also learning about the seasonal clothing requirements involved with girls. Spring is here, mandating new flip-flops. He looked down at the Crocs he’s worn for the past five years and started to question what happened to last spring’s flip-flops. Instead he just handed us his wallet. I married him because he’s a quick learner!

The advantage of having a girl is that he has come to appreciate the boys. Last night G-Bear brought me a pair of shorts that had a rip in the derriere. He asked if I could repair them. The best I could do was to apply a patch. When I asked why he didn’t want a new pair he said, “I like these shorts. I’ve had them since they were below my knees.” Tears rimmed Chief Money Maker’s eyes. With voice cracking he said, “I love you son.”

From his sandbox days, Chief Money Maker knew girls weren’t the same as boys. He just didn’t realize how different they were until he had one. He watched in amazement this past weekend as eighteen girls prepared for their softball tournament. They sat in the hotel lobby braiding hair and choosing ribbons. Game preparation for Wolfy and G-Bear simply involves one question. “Did you remember your cup?”

There is one aspect of having a girl that Chief Money Maker is enjoying. He gets to pull out his revolver for cleaning when boys come-a-calling. Just don’t tell anyone that he can’t afford actual bullets to put in the gun.

That's right boy...you treat her right or I'll, I'll,...ummm, I'll just have to hit you upside the head with my revolver!

As summer approaches, we’ll introduce him to Teenage Girl Economics 102. Tanning salons. I have a feeling he’s going to ask, “What’s wrong with the sun? It’s free!”

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Tagged as athletic cup, children, family, humor, mortgages, My wallet is empty, parenting, prom, raising girls, softball, teenagers

March 13, 2012

Mama Bread Baker Answers Reader Mail

Since I’ve become a columnist and blogger, I’ve received thousands of emails with questions about how we manage life with five crumb snatchers. It took me a long time to create all those free email accounts and send those questions, so I feel I owe it to myself to answer them in this week’s posting.

The most common question I’ve received asks how I manage to keep a clean house with so much activity. This is a great question. G-Bear once asked why I like cleaning so much. I explained that I don’t like cleaning but I do like things clean. While he scrubbed the toilet with a toothbrush, I provided a lesson in the barter system. If I want a clean house, someone has to clean it. If he wants to eat, someone has to buy and prepare the food. We bartered. He cleans, I cook, he eats and everyone is happy.

Why pay these ladies when I have crumb snatchers?!

If your child isn’t as food motivated, you can employ the most recent method we’ve found for keeping a clean house. We placed a “For Sale By Owner” sign in our front yard and told the crumb snatchers we would move to a house with a swimming pool, media room, and a personal butler—other than me—to attend to their every need. I just hope we don’t end up with a moose in our swimming pool.

We periodically hire people to drop by and view our home. The crumb snatcher’s rooms have been immaculate, although there has been some recent concern that the asking price of one million dollars might overpriced for our home.

Just don't put your real home number on your sign!

Another common question asked is how we manage to maintain equality among the crumb snatchers. That one’s easy. We don’t give any of them anything. It eliminates all complaints of unfairness.

I’ve also been asked how Chief Money Maker and I maintain a romantic relationship with so many crumb snatchers in our home. I find that question highly personal, and I never should have asked it. But I’ll provide an answer anyway. At least once a month, we sneak out and go on a date. We do things that we are confident the crumb snatchers won’t be interested in doing. Such as attend city council meetings, PTA conferences, and medical seminars. There’s nothing better than a lecture on how to prevent toenail fungus to get those romantic juices flowing.

I’ve also received emails offering us more crumb snatchers. Although on any given night, it may appear that we are running a half-way house for teenagers, I can assure you that we are actively trying to get rid of the ones we already have. We appreciate the offer, but we don’t want any more. My doctor will only give me so much Xanax, you know?

Occasionally, I’ll receive an email that praises my child-rearing abilities, compliments my work as a writer, and reminds me that one day I’ll miss all the hustle and bustle that comes with a home as full as ours. It’s usually signed, “I love you. Please don’t leave me alone with all these crumb snatchers. Your husband, Chief Money Maker.”

So there you have it. The answers you’ve all been waiting for. Please feel free to post your own questions about life at the Thacker Plantation. And as a bonus for reading this week, I’m going to throw in my all-time favorite tip for finding peace in a home with teenagers. Disconnect the internet and cable television. They’ll spend more time at their friends’ houses.

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Tagged as For Sale By Owner, humor, parenting, Romance, swimming pool, teenagers

March 2, 2012

Mama Bread Baker Pulls a “Thelma and Louise”

Two weeks ago I packed my bags and ran away. I pulled out of the driveway, carefully trying not to run over the crumb snatchers in the road crying, “Who will feed us?” I hit the road to Atlanta for a much needed weekend of relaxation with a girlfiend–that is a friend who is a girl. Even a hamster needs to occasionally step off the wheel.

Someone PLEASE stop the spinning!

I arrived and checked into the hotel. Lo and behold, I was welcomed by a lobby full of giggling teenage girls in town for a cheerleading competition. Is there no such thing as escape?

Friday evening, I checked in at home. Chief Money Maker asked for my recipe to Mexican casserole, Sweet Pea tattled on a sibling, and G-Bear asked if he could go outside and play. I hung up the phone and let the battery run down. Accidentally on purpose, I had forgotten my phone charger.

On Saturday morning, my friend and I headed to the lobby to enjoy breakfast prepared by someone other than ourselves. The dining room was packed with cheerleaders stacking their plates with breakfast fare. The food bar screamed out for relief. The chef appeared from the kitchen door, disheveled and looking like she had just run a New York City marathon.

Just like breakfast at home, the eggs were gone. Biscuits were gone. Sausage was gone. The food-deprived teenaged athletes stood with plates extended begging for more, reminding me of Hurricane Katrina survivors waiting for humanitarian relief. Fortunately, the All-Bran cereal hadn’t been touched so my friend and I didn’t starve.

The cereal that teenagers won't touch!

Later, we ventured out to the mall for some shopping. Obviously, we didn’t think that through very well. We were once again surrounded with cheerleading competitors with their bows and perky little voices. I heard one say, “Mom, can I have some money?” Instinctively, I grabbed my wallet and almost handed the child my debit card. Chief Money Maker was unknowingly close to purchasing a Coach purse at Bloomingdale’s for some teenage stranger from Florida. Thankfully, my friend snapped me back to reality.

Later that night, we sought out a place where our chances were slim of running into teenagers. Johnny’s Hideaway seemed promising even though neither of us is named Johnny. We were thrilled to find the place packed with patrons in our age demographic—old enough to have teenagers but too young to escape to a nursing home—and spent several hours listening to music where you could actually understand the lyrics. I begged Johnny to let us hideaway forever but he said, “Hey lady, I’m not Johnny.”

I also had a wonderful dream during my get-away. I dreamed I came home and found the beds made. The towels were changed and neatly hanging on the towel rack. The dishwasher was loaded and running. All the crumb snatchers were waiting on me hand and foot. Then I woke up and realized it was only the hotel staff.

But alas, the weekend had to come to an end because Chief Money Maker’s hotel rewards points were depleted. If you get the chance, I certainly advocate taking a break every now and then. Take my advice, though, and book an adults only cruise. Just make sure it isn’t on that Italian cruise liner that keeps sinking and having fires. You’ll just feel like you never left home.

Did you say unlimited adult beverages?

It was a wonderful weekend and I enjoyed sharing some quality time with my dear friend. I returned home where the madness awaited, and alas, none of the crumb snatchers died from starvation. But, I did learn something from my weekend get-away. Our crumb snatchers aren’t that different from others across this country. They are all hungry and ask for money.

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Tagged as Atlanta, Bloomingdale, cheerleaders, Cruise ship, humor, Hurricane Katrina, New York City marathon, postaweek2012, restaurants, running away, teenagers, vacation

February 14, 2012

Mama Bread Baker Gets Busted

I got busted. Not by the cops for any type of illegal activity such as using a lasso to catch a fish, or bringing skunks into the state—which are actually laws on our books—but by Sweet Pea for breaking curfew.

I swear officer...these skunks were here when we bought the house!

I didn’t know I had one, but I learned Saturday night that apparently I do. I got quite frightened when I received her text stating that I was an hour past curfew and we would “discuss the consequences for my actions in the morning.” I personally think getting up early after a late night out to cook a complete breakfast for five crumb snatchers is punishment enough.

Oh no you didn't just ask me why I didn't make turkey bacon?!

Chief Money Maker had to travel last week, and will be travelling for the next two weeks. Every time he goes out of town some catastrophe befalls our household. This past summer the air conditioning went out in the midst of a record-breaking heat wave. Last winter the microwave blew up with a sound that resembled what the residents of Three Mile Island heard back in 1979. This past week, one of our dogs ingested something that warranted a trip to the doggie emergency room at midnight. And one time, I ran completely out of bon-bons and the cable went out during Jerry Springer.

Because of the struggles I face when Chief Money Maker is out of town, and because I incessantly remind him of them when he returns, he often feels guilty enough to take me out on a date. Saturday night we took in Trout Fishing in America at the Bartlett Performing Arts Center. We felt young and giddy being away from the kids, and because we were the “young whippersnappers” in attendance. G-Bear is now in traction at the hospital because we relayed that information at the breakfast table Sunday morning and he said, “How often do you guys get to say that?”

After the show, we decided to check out a band we had recently heard about. We were enjoying the music, watching young lovers drunkenly stare into each other’s eyes the way we used to do, and laughing about the fact that once they have kids they can forget all that mess! Then the text came in and I panicked. Chief Money Maker reminded me that we were the adults, but somehow I couldn’t rid my stomach of the knot that had formed. It was Prom Night 1986 all over again when my mother set the clock ahead an hour, and my sister set the clock ahead an hour, and suddenly the whole town was out looking for me because I was “late.” We had to get home.

We pulled into the garage, and snuck into the house trying to pretend like we had been there the whole time. Our ruse was foiled when Sweet Pea was waiting for us in the living room recliner, brows furrowed and toes tapping. We argued that we weren’t doing anything wrong, like lassoing fish or smuggling skunks. We tried a few of the crumb snatchers excuses with no luck, and finally resorted to the old standard, “But all of our friends were there watching the band too!”

The Golden Gate Bridge and San Francisco, CA a...

If all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you jump too?

We were finally released with a warning, and a promise not to worry her again. After she went to bed, I felt a swell of pride surge inside. It obviously was all done in gist, but the fact remains that the lessons we are instilling in the crumb snatchers are getting through. Well for some of them, at least. Besides, Sweet Pea was right. Chief Money Maker and I are too old to be staying out until ten thirty anyway.

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Tagged as bon-bons, curfews, family, humor, Jerry Springer, lassoing fish, parenting, smuggling skunks, teenagers

February 2, 2012

The IRS – Put It Together and It Spells “THEIRS”

Last week I prepared an account of how much money the government had taken from us in 2011 and how much more they would like us to voluntarily cough up. This is more commonly referred to as tax preparation. Before I become a nationally-read columnist—I have readers in Texas, North Carolina, and Maryland and I appreciate all three of them—I worked in the field of accounting. This background equipped me with approximately .00187% more knowledge than the average citizen regarding tax issues.

Bag O'Money

So, I did our own taxes. I utilized a tax preparation software program and walked through all the standard deductions allowed by the IRS, more commonly referred to by names that I cannot use in a family newspaper. I then did a search for “odd tax deductions” to see if there might be something I could deduct that wouldn’t land me in federal prison. Before I continue, I must disclose that I am not a tax professional, I only play one in this column. Please consult someone with actual credentials regarding your own tax situation.

The first deduction I came across was an allowance for professors to deduct expenses related to research. Although technically I’m not a professor, there is quite a bit of research conducted in our household. Last week, I researched the organisms growing on the dishes in The Nephew’s room. Surely, the cure for cancer is somewhere among the fuzzy green creatures fructifying on my Kaity Blossoms dinnerware warranting a tax deduction for research.

It looked kinda like this!

I also learned that you can deduct your gambling losses up to the extent of your winnings. Well gosh golly and thank goodness for teenage drivers, Chief Money Maker and I gamble every month. We pay our auto insurance then roll the dice yelling, “Come on seven!” hoping Sweet Pea and The Nephew make it through the month without bowling over pedestrians on the sidewalk. If that isn’t gambling, then I don’t know what is.

I also unearthed the story of a taxpayer with emphysema that was allowed a deduction for putting in a swimming pool after his doctor ordered an exercise routine. I’ve scheduled an appointment with my doctor to discuss my stress/anxiety/blood pressure/knee/hammer toe/toenail fungus and multiple personality disorders. At least one or more of these issues should warrant a prescription for exercise that I can fill at any local swimming pool construction company. I’ve tentatively scheduled the pool opening party for Memorial Day weekend.

Swimming Pool Prescription-Unlimited Refills!!

Finally, I learned that any business convention held in Bermuda can be written off without showing there was a special reason to conduct your business in this tropical paradise. This might be a good time to extend the invitation to the 2012 “How to Live With and Get a Tax Deduction for Your Teenagers” convention, date to be determined as soon as my travel agent calls me back. Your keynote speaker will be Mama Bread Baker and for an extra $19.95, Chief Money Maker will set up your pool cabana. Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back.

Overall, I believe I secured our maximum allowable deductions for 2011 without triggering any significant audit flags. For 2012, I plan to incorporate some of the tax tips contained in this article. I’ve also begun the paperwork to apply for 501(c)(3) status as a food bank. If approved, you can donate to the Crumb Snatcher Food for Starving Teenagers Foundation and deduct your generous donations on your 2012 taxes.

To quote Dave Barry, my favorite humorist, “It’s income tax time again, Americans: time to gather up those receipts, get out those tax forms, sharpen up that pencil, and stab yourself in the aorta.”

What is the oddest tax deduction you would like the IRS to allow for your situation?

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Tagged as auto insurance, Dave Barry, family, fungus, humor, IRS, tax preparation, teenagers

January 23, 2012

How To Survive January With Teenagers: One Woman’s Fantasy

I want to be the next spokesperson for Southwest Airlines “Wanna Get Away?” campaign. I haven’t had a moments peace in weeks. With few outside activities, the crumb snatchers are here alllllllllllllllllll the time. I know come March, I will write a blog complaining that I haven’t had a moments rest. Softball, baseball, and soccer will be in full swing and I’ll be running around like a mouse with a cat hot on its tail. Only I’ll be much bigger than a mouse and the cat will be the size of a lion.

Run Mama Bread Baker Run

My January schedule has developed into a stagnant rut of repetitive days. I wake up each morning between 6:00 a.m. and 6:30 a.m. to “Arf, Arf.” Exactly ten second pause. “Arf, Arf.” Exactly ten second pause. “Arf, Arf.” You get the drift. I rise and feed the starving dogs that act like they haven’t seen food in days. Then I clean the kitchen…again. Overnight, the evil kitchen fairies come and scatter crumbs and cereal, and splatter milk all over the counter before they scurry away to hiding, or get on the bus to go to school.

English: A resin statue of a Fairy in natural ...

Oh NOW you act like a statue!

I then attempt housecleaning while my Velcro dog – a term used to describe extremely needy canines that guard the bathroom door thinking you’ve devised an evil plan to desert them by escaping through the septic system – follows my every move.

Like I could REALLY escape through this?!

Eventually, I make my way to my office where I attempt to work on my novel, but the characters I’ve created simply stand around in my head laughing at my attempts to plot a serious murder. So instead of outlining the gruesome details of the horrific murder that befalls my arrogant and manipulative antagonist, I’ve begun creating a business plan for a new Mommy Day Care. This will be a little different than your normal spa-like treatment that most of us with children that drive us to the brink of insanity can’t afford anyway. This would be a cooperative effort of stressed out mothers of teenagers.

Upon arrival, each mother will receive a gift basket containing a prepared dinner for the evening. Magically – and it can only be accomplished by magic – it will be a dish that everyone in the household actually likes. You will then spend your morning playing make believe games like, “What I Could Have Been If I Never Had Children,” and “What In The World Am I Going To Do With All This Time On My Calendar?”

Next, we’ll relax on a chaise lounge where we can read several pages of a novel in one sitting while soothing music with no references to pimps or hoes – why do they rap about garden tools anyway – drifts through the air. In the afternoon, we’ll be allowed to go to a pantry where we will delightfully discover snack items that didn’t simply evaporate into thin air. At the end of the day, we’ll be dismissed with a lovely macaroni-framed calendar, made during craft time, which counts down the days until the last child graduates.

It seems, as I reread what I’ve typed, that I have a good handle on fiction writing after all. I just need to switch my genre to fantasy. I love the crumb snatchers, I really do. Spring will come soon and I’ll be cheering them on in their various efforts. In the meantime, if you are struggling, as I am, with finding a ray of hope in a teenage filled household, I would love to hear your ideas and comments for Mommy Day Care. And if you find a good two-for-one getaway vacation deal, call me.

Bermuda Triangle anyone?

The Hard Drives of Teenagers

I have a love-hate relationship with my computer. It started out simply enough. Twenty-five years ago I took a computer class in high school where I learned how to write a program. A simple set of code that allowed the computer to guess what number you were thinking of between one and ten. It hardly ever guessed correctly. The point is that back then it did what I asked of it. Once upon a time (yes, it does seem like a fairytale) the crumb snatchers did too.

Image via Wikipedia

My computer is pretty ornery. Cantankerous, contemptible, disagreeable, obstinate…I could go on and on but I’ll stop there. It threw a tantrum and suddenly decided it wasn’t going to do what I asked of it. It sat silently with its arms crossed staring me down in a game of Who Will Blink First. I did, of course. The words used to describe my computer are also synonymous with teenager.

When it comes to discipline, Chief Money Maker and I subscribe to the Bill Cosby style of parenting. I brought you into this world, I can take you out. When they become cantankerous, a threat of cell service disconnection will usually result in a new positive attitude. But what do you do when your computer decides it isn’t going to cooperate with you?

Image via Wikipedia

You get rid of it. Toss it. Upgrade. Buy a new one. Transfer files. Then admire all the new bells and whistles that come with the improved model. You suddenly realize that it has progressed and become smarter over the course of time. Then you begin to ask yourself, will the same thing happen to the crumb snatchers?

When they are teenagers, you sometimes wonder how they will ever make it to adulthood. They won’t do what you ask of them. They lock up, and they use all their memory playing games leaving essential operating systems like “common sense” with no room to run. There are certainly days when you’d like nothing more than to upgrade, but we can’t do that with our children.

Instead, we input everything we can into them. We load programs like honesty, integrity, and education on their hard drives. But just like my home computer, there will come a day when there is no more disk space to load new programs. When that time comes, you can only upgrade…to adulthood.

You hold your breath and hope all the files you’ve created over the years will transfer. In most cases, they will. Their hard drive is fresh and new with plenty of room to load the latest and greatest software programs, like perhaps a job. Adulthood may come with bells and whistles like marriage and children. That is what I envision at least.

In the meantime, the only thing we can do is defrag them every once in a while. Don’t ask me how we do that. You really don’t want to know and I can’t risk Child Protective Services finding out. We keep running the programs we’ve installed, and when they run a little slow we give them a good kick in the side. Not the crumb snatchers, I’m talking about our old computers again.

Despite my love-hate relationship with my old computer, I learned a valuable lesson. Make sure you back up everything you do because one day a new and improved version is still going to need the files you’ve created over the years. Whether you believe it or not, your teenagers will too.

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Tagged as family, humor, parenting, teenagers

December 23, 2011

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas at OUR House…It’s Crazy!

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
Not a teenager was stirring, cause that would take effort from them self
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
Cause Mama Bread Baker had her liquor stashed there.

The Crumb Snatchers were nestled all snug in their beds,
They were tweeting and texting the words in their heads.
I was in my jammies and Chief Money Maker had snapped
He had seen the credit card bill from the gifts that I’d wrapped.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I flew out the door just like a mad hatter.
I went to the curb of the street in a flash,
I didn’t see anything out there but our big bucket of trash.

The moon wasn’t out, and there wasn’t any snow,
We live in the south; I didn’t expect it ya know?
But then what to my wondering eyes did appear?
But a little old sleigh with four wheel drive gear.

The little old driver was lively and quick,
He moved too fast for me to hit with my stick.
He shouted and whistled and more teenagers came
But they wouldn’t let Rudolph join in the games (oh wait, that’s a song-back to the poem.)

There was a bunch of stuff about reindeer,
And things that could fly,
I didn’t know what was happening
And I was out of my Xanax supply.

I watched as he stood atop of our roof,
I said, “Hey, that was just replaced this summer you Goof!”
As I wagged my finger he turned around,
And he dashed down our chimney with a bound.

<At this point I have to go inside the house for the rest of the poem. You can come with me.>

He was dressed all funny from his head to his foot (he only had one apparently)
And he was dragging dirt all over my clean floor (Yeah, I know it doesn’t rhyme-but I had just scrubbed those floors yesterday!)
He had a bunch of toys all flung on his back,
I said, “Those are for our Crumb Snatchers, you put them right back!”

His eyes did twinkle and he had some dimples that’s true,
But Chief Money Maker was still snoring
And I wasn’t sure what to do
I grabbed a bottle of wine and said, “Do you want some too?”

He laughed and his belly shook like jelly,
“Of course I do,” he said, “don’t be silly.”
“How much milk and cookies can one man take?
I’m glad I came here and you were awake!”

He was chubby and round, a funny looking elf,
I handed him a drink and he set it on our shelf
He winked at me and then Chief Money Maker walked in
I said, “Look Honey, we have a new friend.”

We sat and chatted about the Crumb Snatchers for a while,
He told me things they had done and his stories made me smile,
‘Cause I knew in the morning, I could bust them all out
Oh, they’d know they were in trouble, no doubt.

He said don’t be too hard, they’re good kids you know.
I giggled (’cause the wine was kicking in) and asked for some snow.
He laughed at me again and said,
I’m NOT Mother Nature you know!

When our visit was done, he gave his sleigh a whistle
I said, “Don’t call that thing in here ’cause I’ll have to vacuum too!” (Yes, yes, I am aware it doesn’t rhyme again, but do you understand how much cleaning I do here?”

But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,
“Merry Christmas to all, and have a good-night.”

Chief Money Maker and I looked at each other and said,
How the heck did the Crumb Snatchers sleep through all that?
We shook our heads in wonderment and went off to bed.

Right before I dozed off to sleep,
I wondered if it had all been a dream
I think tomorrow night, I won’t spike the hot cocoa and cream!

: Image via Wikipedia

How to Beat the Holiday Stress

Have you ever felt so much stress that you had two thoughts collide in your mind and then spill out of your mouth causing you to sputter something totally ridiculous? Last week I told Chief Money Maker, “Preheat the oven to 400 degrees and cook G-Bear after basketball practice.” He gave me a puzzled look and asked if I would like him to boil Wolfy as a side dish.

We all deal with a certain level of stress from day to day, but the holidays amp those stress levels up to the degree of a nuclear reactor plant. It’s a lot of pressure to scour the mall searching for that last Chia Hippo that you know Uncle Bertie will love. I’m not exactly sure why we think Uncle Bertie will love a clay pot that grows what appears to be fungus, but since it’s December 24^th and you saw it on a late-night infomercial it just seems like a good idea.

As parents, we also feel the pressure to make sure we provide our crumb snatchers with that “just perfect” Christmas season. Now that I work from home, I have time to make homemade hot cocoa and hot-from- the-oven chocolate chip cookies for the crumb snatchers to enjoy after school. Then because of the stress of writing deadlines and Christmas cards that need to be sent, I eat the batch of cookies and down the hot chocolate. The crumb snatchers come home to the wafting scent of the holidays and excitedly exclaim, “Did you make cookies and cocoa?”

Image via Wikipedia

I sputter, “No, it’s a holiday scented candle.” Then I have to bake a whole ‘nother batch, just adding to the stress I already feel.

Gift-giving is also stressful. With five crumb snatchers to please, Chief Money Maker and I made our lists and checked it twice and then checked it again. We have the same budget for each crumb snatcher, but there was a disparity in the desires of each one. The number of gifts purchased was unbalanced. We knew they would scour the gifts under the tree and count how many their siblings received and complain, “That’s not fair…he got more.” Teenagers are so whiny!

So we came up with a plan to solve that problem. We wrapped all the gifts and tagged them as gifts for Mama Bread Baker or Chief Money Maker. We left one gift tagged for each of the crumb snatchers. Then we explained that the true meaning of Christmas is giving and not receiving and they better get a job so they can start giving. When they started crying we just started singing, “You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout—”

Cover of "You Better Not Cry: Stories for...

Cover via Amazon

If you find yourself struggling to manage the holiday stress, I suggest you sit back and take a little time to relax in the peace and quiet of your home. Obviously, you’ll have to get rid of everyone so here’s one of my secret tips. Send everyone in your household out to find a “22 karat gold plated unicorn lamp with three-way lighting with a brown shade.” Emphatically stress that you don’t want them to get the one with a purple shade. I searched the internet and this product doesn’t exist so this should buy you hours to watch a Lifetime holiday movie without interruption. If they want to know who the gift is for, just tell them it’s for Uncle Bertie. When they ask about his Chia Pet collection, just say, “Are you sassing me? You know Santa is watching!”

Whatever this holiday season brings, Mama Bread Baker and the crumb snatchers wish you peace and joy…and hope you find that perfect Chia pet.

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Filed under humor

Tagged as chia pet, Christmas, family, Gift, gift giving, Holidays, humor, postaweek2011, stress

December 2, 2011

Just What IS a Nebby?

It appears that I have been a bit neglectful of my blog recently. I’ve received thousands of emails asking what happened to it. (Okay, so it was really just one email, but I’m sure thousands have been wondering.) I would explain why I haven’t devoted as much time to my blog, but the Judge placed a gag order on me and I can’t explain until she dies, or has to resign the bench for accepting bribes under the table. That reminds me, I need to transfer some money from my super secret PayPal account.

Anyway, we’ve had some recent occurrences that have required discussions with the crumb snatchers about Nebbies. If you’ve never heard the word nebby, it comes from the Pittsburgh, PA area and means meddlesome or spiteful. There’s your vocabulary lesson for the week. Now all together, let’s use it in a sentence. (You can add your sentence in the comment section below.)

Nebbies also promote gossip and rumors and can often be found on the squares of small towns, or watching Jersey Shore. I believe it’s simply in the DNA of the people that thrive on such behaviors. They just can’t seem to stop being meddlesome and spiteful. These traits are more commonly seen in women.

Statistics (that I just made up) show 98% of guys really don’t care about gossip. Approach a guy with the sentence, “Did you hear about…” and once they realize you aren’t talking about a great play that was made in NFL football, they just tune you out. But those females that have the “nebby gene” (as I like to call it) will almost knock you over trying to get close enough to soak up the particles of gossip about to be disbursed into the universe. And if they’ve gone too long without someone disbursing those particles, they’ll just make something up and spread it themselves. It also doesn’t matter how untrue, or outrageous the juicy morsel of gossip is, a Nebby will fanatically hold to their fiction as if it were the Holy Spirit inspired Word of God.

I accidentally spread a rumor one time and I’ve really felt bad about it since it happened. Several years ago Chief Money Maker, Aunt Sassy, and I were at an event and we were killing time before the event’s start by noticing how many ”thin-challenged” people in the crowd were wearing the color lime green. We made it a contest to see how many we could spot. Bonus points were awarded if you actually knew the person. Lo and behold, across the auditorium I spotted a hefty female I knew and she was wearing lime green slacks. I yelled, “Twenty points for me!”

They turned in the direction of my finger pointing and Aunt Sassy said, “Where? The Lime Green Whale over there?” Now we don’t usually condone name-calling in our household, but Aunt Sassy’s filter between her brain and mouth doesn’t always function correctly. Unfortunately, there was a Nebby behind me and she also knew the person I spotted. I knew if I didn’t set things straight, it would soon be all over the town that this poor woman was actually a lime green whale.

I explained, “No, no, no, she’s not really a whale. Whales can’t live on land. Anymore.”

I could see the Nebby wasn’t truly convinced and I said, “Besides, whales have blubber. That’s only fat on her arse.” (I don’t think I actually said “arse” but I’ve always thought it looked cool in a sentence.)

The Nebby looked at me and said, “Fat IS blubber.” I knew right then that I had inadvertently started a rumor that would probably be circulated via text to everyone in town within five minutes. “Did you know so-and-so is actually a WHALE???” Next thing we knew, the village people (not THE VILLAGE PEOPLE) were forming a search and rescue team to return this poor hefty woman in her lime green slacks to Sea World. See how damaging a Nebby can be?

So because of that, Chief Money Maker and I work really hard to teach the crumb snatchers that it isn’t nice to gossip or be a Nebby. We also tell them to keep in mind the old adage, “Don’t believe anything you read and only half of what you see…and if you see it on Jersey Shore, don’t believe it all.” We think those are important words to live by.

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Filed under humor

Tagged as children, family, gossip, humor, parenting, pittsburgh, whales

November 9, 2011

And the Christmas Commercials Have Aired!

As the leaves change colors and cover the ground with their brilliance, making my sinuses go crazy, I’m reminded that the holiday season will soon be upon us. That joyous time of the year when the stores are crowded, cashiers are inexplicably rude, and my debit card screams for mercy from the depths of my purse. I’m also reminded because the crumb snatchers have suddenly taken to following us around giving us their not-so-subtle hints about what they want for Christmas.

A Danish Christmas tree illuminated with burni...

Image via Wikipedia

Sweet Pea sat at the table the other night with her chemistry book open, and her notebooks scattered around…making her Christmas list. Priorities, right? I also picked up my Touchpad the other day to find various pages of gift suggestions bookmarked in my web browser. And just moments after, G-Bear arrived on the scene to describe in detail the paintball set he’s hoping Santa will bring him. We told him that due to the recession, Santa had laid off the “war games” division at the North Pole.

I miss the days when the crumb snatchers only cared about the quantity of gifts stacked under the tree. There was a time when fifty dollars per child wisely spread between Wal-Mart and the Everything’s a Dollar Store, would bring shouts of glee on Christmas morning. Now that they are teenagers, it looks like a second mortgage on our home will be required to elicit the same response.

This whole Occupy Wall Street thing also has me thinking. The crumb snatchers need to understand the state of today’s economy and the disparity between the corporate thieves CEO’s and ordinary people like us that put a roof over their head with a corporate paycheck from HP twice a month. Right after we explain the meaning of “irony”, we’ll explain that “if it’s got stock, it won’t be bought.” Unless it’s an HP product, of course. That pretty much leaves us with no choice but to purchase their gifts from the Amish this year.

As Chief Money Maker and I review our budget and begin to strategize for the joyous gift-giving season, I’m reminded of a Christmas from my own past. I believe it was somewhere around 1980, another time our country was experiencing a recession. My father had been laid off, and my mother sat up late each night making handmade gifts for the four of us kids. And for the gifts she didn’t have time to finish, we received hand-written I.O.U’s.

That Christmas more than any other is emblazoned in my memory, not because of the lavish gifts I didn’t receive, but because of the sacrifice my mother made. And because we had snow that day…an East Texas Christmas miracle. Now that I think about it, that sounds like a sure-fire win for a Hallmark Holiday movie!

Anywho, in the next few weeks I’ll be gearing up for the holidays by getting in shape. I’ll do arm curls each night to build up the strength for all the swiping I’ll be doing with my debit card. Some cardio work will be in order to ensure I can tote my shopping bags. And I’ll practice breathing techniques that can be used to calm myself in the midst of the swarming crowds of cheerful holiday shoppers since I’m running low on my Xanax.

But most importantly, I’ll do my best to remind the crumb snatchers of the real meaning of the upcoming holiday season.

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Filed under The Insanity that is our Life

Tagged as Christmas and holiday season, family, humor, Occupy Wall Street

October 27, 2011

Halloween Hoopla

It appears to have fallen upon my shoulder to create activities for the crumb snatchers that will keep them from the pantry for several hours at a time. Chief Money Maker mandated my new role after nearly having a heart attack when he inadvertently saw the grocery receipt from my last shopping expedition. Don’t worry. I have made sure to hide the receipts for the Halloween expenditures to protect his health.

I am a firm believer in the old adage that a family that crafts together makes a huge mess that I get to clean up. So this year, in a time-honored tradition, the crumb snatchers will take perfectly good pumpkins, which have never harmed anyone mind you, and totally massacre them. I purchased four of these healthy fruits—or are pumpkins a vegetable—that this afternoon will have their guts removed, and their tender little gourd surfaces mutilated to turn them into creations intended to frighten small children. This project should protect the pantry for at least two hours.

Tonight night we will take the crumb snatchers to a haunted house because our grocery bill wasn’t quite scary enough. Here we will voluntarily enter a dark, possibly condemned, building and subject ourselves to “jell-o blood”, “spaghetti brains”, and “olive eyeballs” all in the Halloween spirit. Maybe I can garner some leftovers and serve it up for dinner, recouping some of the admission costs.

Tomorrow night, we can wander around in a perfectly good field of corn that was completely hacked with a design that can only be deciphered from a small commuter plane flown overhead. If we are really lucky, we can make our way to the exit before the crumb snatchers and, depending on whether we found parking within the county, be gone for hours before they notice. Or, we can make it a race and give the crumb snatchers a “head start” while Chief Money Maker and I head to Starbucks for a Pumpkin Spice Latte. We can then return several hours later, cover our clothes in dust and corn silk, hang out at the exit and when they emerge shout, “Ha ha you lost!” Fun times!

I can also consume several more hours of time by holding a séance in the attic to call up our “Attic Ghost.” This ghost announced his presence three years ago when he crashed through the ceiling in our bedroom and left a gaping hole and scattered insulation throughout our house. It appeared that the ghost, who apparently took on the form of G-Bear, decided he needed a Halloween costume that was stored in our attic. Obviously a ghost can’t go out on Halloween dressed as a ghost. That would just be too obvious.

So this ghost entered our attic and rummaged for a costume, slipped on one of the rafters, and burst through the ceiling of our bedroom. He then, from what we could gather, caught himself on the rafters with his little ghostly arms, and managed to pull himself back up through the wreckage. Then the ghost, not wanting to be discovered, left a trail of insulation from G-Bear’s room, down the stairs, and into our bedroom sufficiently leaving evidence that pinned the accident on G-Bear. We will hold the séance in an attempt to call up the “Attic Ghost” so he can properly apologize to G-Bear. Hopefully he won’t be at a neighbor’s house rummaging for a Justin Bieber costume.

Image via Wikipedia

Finally, we can decorate the yard with five tombstones, a crime scene, and ghouls. We may receive a call or two from the local police requesting that we confirm none of the crumb snatchers are buried beneath the tombstones, but we’ll plead the fifth.

After we observe all these fine Halloween traditions, I will begin my annual pilgrimage to the grocery store to forage for Thanksgiving food…right after I clean up the pumpkin guts.

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Filed under The Insanity that is our Life

Tagged as children, family, ghosts, halloween, humor, justin bieber, postaweek2011

October 11, 2011

Of Moose and Men….or Teenagers

Yesterday on Yahoo’s home page, I caught the headline for the video pick of the day…”9 Men Rescue Moose Trapped in Pool.” So, obviously, I wanted to check out the 9 men in the video. And while checking out the 9 men in the video, I noticed that the moose in all of its stubborn glory reminded me of our teenagers. The more the men pulled and tugged and coaxed, all in the best interest of the moose, the harder and harder the moose fought against them. Yeah, that’s teenagers.

You can check out the video here, but don’t forget to come back and read the rest of the blog. http://tinyurl.com/4yrkn93

The video made me wonder in what other ways our crumb snatchers might be likened to that silly moose that fell into some unsuspecting man’s swimming pool in New Hampshire. I’m guessing the moose, probably on a dare from his other moose friends, succumbed to the peer pressure and charged into the back yard and dove into the pool. But if you watch the video closely you will notice that all his moose friends apparently left him hanging once they realized he was in trouble. I think I’ll show the video to the crumb snatchers and let that little lesson speak for itself. Just say no!

The whole moose in the pool video also reminded me of a story that The Eldest once told me. I’ve always told the children they come to me with anything. So in that spirit of open communication, The Eldest told me of pool party held by his baseball team his senior year. He relayed how cool it was to skateboard off the roof of a house into a swimming pool. The Eldest has always excelled academically, but I’ve never claimed he held an abundance of common sense. I explained to him that there were some things you just don’t tell Mama’s and skateboarding off the roof of a house into a swimming pool was number one on the list.

Now curious as to what other ways our children might be similar to the moose, I did a little research. According to Wikipedia, I learned that the moose needs to eat about 9,770 calories a day to maintain its body weight. A quick breakdown of Wolfy’s recent eating habits confirmed that he was, indeed, eating like a moose. His school’s food service program recently began an online program where parents can log in and see what their crumb snatchers are eating at school. In one day Wolfy consumed a breakfast meal, a lunch meal, an additional lunch entrée, two sports drinks, and cupcakes. And that was just between the time he left here and returned home.

Wikipedia also notated that the moose’s energy comes from “terrestrial vegetation.” I’m not sure what exactly terrestrial vegetation is, but I’m sure it resembles the concoction that Gummi Bear recently made at Yogurt Mountain. If you don’t have one in your area, Yogurt Mountain has designed the most efficient, and apparently legal, method to rob parents of their money. Unlike your traditional ice cream parlors where you can order a single, double, or triple scoop, Yogurt Mountain has 383 different flavors of yogurt and every topping conceivable to man. They hand you a cup and allow you to make your own “yogurt mountain” and then they charge you by the ounce. Gummi Bear made his treat by combining 382 of the yogurt flavors, leaving out only pistachio because its color resembled baby diaper poo, and topped his desert with every topping available…and then topped it again. It certainly looked terrestrial to me.

I figured it would be more difficult to compare Sweet Pea to the moose, but I figured wrong. Right there in the middle of the Wikipedia page, it talked about the moose’s social structure. Apparently the moose calves like to stay near their mothers at all times, unless a cute male moose asks them to a dance. I recently went on a weekend trip to Atlanta and Sweet Pea put on an impressive display of pouting the night before I left. I explained that I needed a life too and when she responded, “I am your life,” I laughed at the joke she was making. Then she didn’t laugh. Then she asked why I was laughing. Then I realized she wasn’t joking. It appears that when the time comes, I’m going to have to chase Sweet Pea off just like a mama moose has to chase off its yearling.

And just when I thought there was no way in the world I could relate a blog about a moose and the crumb snatchers to driving and the high cost of auto insurance, I thought wrong. Wikipedia dedicated an entire section on the moose to “Vehicle collisions.” Apparently moose don’t always obey the laws of traffic, nor utilize the painted cross walks, when interacting with humans and vehicles. Moose warning signs are used in areas where the moose are especially active. I’m a huge proponent of “Teenaged Driver” warning signs in areas such as the mall, the movie theaters, and any fast food establishment.

The moose does have some redemptive qualities in that their milk can be sold and it appears they can be domesticated. This is where all similarities between the crumb snatchers and the moose ends. And now that I’ve done my research, I can’t help but wonder why I didn’t just get a moose.

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Tagged as children, crumb snatchers, humor, moose, moose in swimming pool, postaweek2011, Yogurt Mountain

October 6, 2011

Boo-boos, Band-Aids, and Bumper Benders

I’ve now reached the age where I can appreciate the stress my mother went through when my three siblings and I reached our teenage years. When my children were babies, the biggest worry I had was making sure my legs were extended in front of the rocking chair to ensure the infant would roll gently down the slope and land softly on the carpet if I fell asleep rocking them. Then they moved into the next stage where all boo-boos were patched with a Power Rangers band-aid and the offer to cut off the injured part of the body. This little trick always assured me at least thirty minutes meal preparation time as the little crumb snatchers wouldn’t come near the kitchen where the knives were housed.

But eventually our children grew into teenagers where our worries, overnight, multiplied exponentially. During this stage of life when our offspring know everything, I worry that they will have boo-boos that can’t be patched with a band-aid. Boo-boos such as a teen pregnancy, involvement with drugs or alcohol, or posing in drag for the center-fold of their high school year book. Stuff like that.

Chief Money Maker Strikes a Pose

For me, however, I have found that my greatest concern is their driving abilities. Since the time The Eldest first climbed behind the wheel, I began experiencing panic attacks whenever I heard the sound of sirens. Even when he was off at college, three hundred miles away, the site of an ambulance speeding by would give me heart palpitations. I realize my concerns are in no way rational given that I doubt the Bartlett, TN fire department would have been called to an accident site in Ellisville, MS involving my son. Then again, the fact that I had children to begin with provides proof that I’m not a very rational, or even sane, person. I now believe teenage driving is God’s way of reminding us that we are due for an EKG screening.

Image Detail

Just this morning, while standing in the kitchen wondering what I would write about in my blog, I was provided today’s subject by one of the crumb snatchers. A few minutes after departing for school, Sweet Pea walked back into the kitchen as devoid of color as an albino rabbit in a New England snow storm. Shaking like an earthquake hitting 6.0 on the Richter scale she, in extremely slow motion, uttered the words, “Mama……………………..I………………………just…………………………hit…………………….”

Her first four words immediately triggered the irrational button in my brain. She hit what? The elderly lady that walks her dog every morning, the kids waiting at the bus stop, the neighbors annoying yapping dog…..

“The Nephew’s truck!” she finally finished.

“Oh Sweetie, couldn’t you have at least hit something that isn’t also on our insurance policy?”

I wondered how in the world she managed to hit another vehicle in our household, but as we walked out to examine the damage, my answer was provided. It’s because The Nephew is an idiot to park his truck on the street directly opposite our driveway where a new teenaged driver was parked. I suddenly saw our insurance premiums increasing from $Enough-money-to-feed-an-entire-village-in-Africa.00 to $Enough-money-to-feed-the-entire-continent-of-Africa.00.

Luckily, the damage wasn’t severe. Just a little transferring of paint from one vehicle to another-we always DID try to teach the children to share-and a small dent in The Nephew’s truck. I brought Sweet Pea back inside and, once the color returned to her face, offered to drive her to school in an effort to keep our insurance premiums at a level slightly above the annual salary of the United States President. She said she was fine and would drive herself.

I helped her back out of the driveway while giving her signs like naval flight deck personnel bringing in a fighter plane on U.S aircraft carrier.

Chief Money Maker walked outside to take the garbage to the curb and, after Sweet Pea departed, I explained to him what happened. He responds, “Ugh, me have no coffee yet.”

Image Detail

Given that we still have soon to be licensed Wolfy, and Gummi Bear (already saving money for a 2004 Mustang), as well as several nephews up and coming in the ranks of new drivers, I called my cardiologist and scheduled quarterly EKG screenings for myself and Chief Money Maker.

And just now, as I sat here typing, I received a text from Sweet Pea explaining that a friend of hers also hit a vehicle in the school parking lot this morning. As I pull out my bottle of Xanax and down a pill with a swig of wine, I can’t help but wonder how these young drivers will fair against vehicles that are actually moving.

And now I have to go. Chief Money Maker just knocked on my office door and said, “Did you say Sweet Pea hit The Nephew’s truck this morning?” Apparently his coffee kicked in. I need to go add his cardiologist visits to his calendar.

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Filed under The Insanity that is our Life

Tagged as auto insurance, children, drivers, humor, postaweek2011, teenagers

October 3, 2011

Project Sanitarium:Breaking Up is Hard to Do

We last left project Building of My Sanitarium in the preparation phase. It is now in the Built But Chief Money Maker Still Has Work to Do phase. Which means my room is complete (or mostly so), I have moved in, and the crumb snatchers now have to venture through the garage to find me.

So here is how we got to this point. Chief Money Maker did a fabulous job of building the wall serving as the divider in our third garage. After eight hours of sweat, two hammered thumb mishaps, one flying nail mishap that almost speared Sweet Pea in the heart, and no less than 3,482 curse words, the wall was completed. To make sure it was safe, we had the youngest crumb snatcher sleep on the floor for several nights and told him to be sure to catch the wall if it fell. (Ok, so we just THOUGHT about doing that.) Instead, I checked each morning for several days to make sure it was still standing, not that I didn’t have FULL confidence in Chief Money Maker’s construction abilities.

The next step was painting. Keeping with the budget theme, I went to Home Depot and asked if they had any cans of paint that they had messed up. Apparently, according to the snotty little paint guy, they prefer that customers call them “mis-tints.” Ok, whatever makes you happy. So, they didn’t have any “mis-tints” that fit my decorating needs (i.e. something other than the “baby diaper poo” color he offered.) I then went to Lowe’s and asked for mis-tints. They didn’t have any, but offered some that Home Depot had messed up. Fortunately, my trip to Lowe’s wasn’t a total waste, as we found a carpet remnant that would fit the Sanitarium.

Unwilling to buy new paint, and unable to find a “mis-tint” color that suited my needs, we rummaged through the various paints we had in our garage. Chief Money Maker located an unopened can of paint.

“Wasn’t this the paint you bought to stripe the dining room wall that you never striped?” he asked. Stupidly, I might add.

I examined the can of paint, while Chief Money Maker went inside and examined the new knot I had just placed on his head, and I determined it would work for my new Sanitarium.

The next step was decorating. Chief Money Maker did more extensive internet research and discovered what has quickly become my new favorite place in the whole entire world. The Habitat for Humanity Restore. It’s like Goodwill and Lowe’s Home Improvement hooked up for a one night stand, and the Habitat for Humanity Restore is their love child. <http://www.habitat.org/restores/default.aspx>

We walked out with a light fixture, a love seat, a cabinet that I will refinish, some odd and end knick-knacks, and a pair of sunglasses that Chief Money Maker managed to slip by me at check-out. But the jokes on him…I’m taking that $3.00 out of his patio renovation budget.

I purchased a set of sheers and a rod at Dollar General. We also found several great yard sale bargains to include a wall mirror and shelves. (Ok, so Chief Money Maker really found them all by himself while I was in Atlanta, but not everyone understands that my husband’s inner David Bromstad occasionally emerges. Check out David Bromstad here. http://www.hgtv.com/david-bromstad/bio/index.html)

With room painted, items in place, and only a few odd and end touch ups remaining, moving day arrived. Breaking up really is hard to do. We sat the crumb snatchers down and explained that I would be moving out of our home office. We assured them that it wasn’t their fault (even though it partially was) and that both I, and Chief Money Maker, still loved them. We took this opportunity to explain that sometimes…in some situations…things just can’t be worked out. Basically, I said, “Chief Money Maker is a terrible cube mate!” They all had the same question, which would bring tears to even the hardest-hearted of human beings. “Will you still feed us?” they asked. With tears in my eyes, I assured them I would.

Then I ran off and locked myself in my new office and savored the silence…for about three minutes before the crumb snatchers started arriving to check it out. I had hoped that the fifteen extra steps to the garage would impact their efforts to seek me out, given that teenagers are historically known to be a tad lazy unless in immediate danger of starving to death, but it apparently had no impact on ours. Now I have to make a trip back to the Habitat for Humanity Restore and purchase a door knob with a lock.

All in all, our project remained economical. The final total was $253.51, which came in at $53.51 over budget. If you take out the five gallons of bleach we used to wash the boards, we are still over budget. But if you take out the five gallons of bleach, AND the miscellaneous yard sale items Chief Money Maker purchased, then yep, we are still over budget. BUT, if you factor in the fact that we had a great excuse to avoid going out with Aunt Sassy and picking up her bar tab, then we definitely saved money! And you really can’t place a price on my sanity. (Well, actually you can. It’s about $150 month for a therapist, Xanax prescription, and hair extensions to replace the strands I’ve pulled out.)

So there it is…the Sanitarium is done. And you have just read the first blog produced from my new writing studio. I think it’s time to stretch out on the love seat and take a nap before the crumb snatchers get home.

4 Comments

Filed under The Insanity that is our Life

Tagged as children, diy, Habitat for Humanity, home improvement, humor, postaweek2011, writing

September 28, 2011

My Argument to the ACLU Re: Ten Commandments

When I started this blog, I said that I would occasionally post my opinions whether you wanted them or not. It’s time for the disclaimer. Read the remaining paragraph very fast and in a deep voice: “By choosing to read further, you acknowledge that you are a big boy/girl and will honor and respect the author’s right to an opinion. You hereby distinctly, eminently, and proficiently proclaim that the author has not coerced or forced you to read further. You also acknowledge that if you post a comment in disagreement, the author will immediately remove it leaving only those that mirror the author’s point of view. (Just kidding.) You can post your arguments, but the author asks that you be respectful of all opinions. The author retains all rights to ridicule your argument if it’s really, really stupid. By scrolling further, you give up all rights to claim damages should your opinion change due to the author’s words. You also acknowledge that the author has not placed any magic spells or embedded programs that will force upon you her point of view.”

It’s “Just Plain Common Sense” folks! The Ten Commandments are an excerpt from the best-selling book (fact) in the world. Why can’t they be posted in our public schools?

I’m all for compromise. I’m a firm believer that there are always two sides of a story…and then there is the truth. I don’t believe in black or white, but subscribe to the opinion that there are many shades of gray. So with that said, I don’t understand all the hullabaloo about The Ten Commandments being posted in our public school classrooms or hallways.

Apparently, the American Civil Liberties Union of Virginia filed a lawsuit a few weeks ago in Roanoke VA against Giles County School Board because Narrows High School has the Ten Commandments on display. Really?

As a Christian, I believe the Bible is a Holy Spirit inspired document and is the word of God handed down to man. But I certainly wouldn’t force that opinion on you, nor do I believe the posting of an excerpt from the best-selling book (fact) in the world does either. I would simply ask you to acknowledge the FACT that it is a historical book and is at least worthy of a consideration of compromise. You (Mr. or Mrs. ACLU Attorney) want none of it posted. I want all of it posted. So let’s do what grown-ups do and see if we can reach a compromise? I say we post half.

Let’s just say, for compromise sake, that we post the excerpt from the best-selling book (fact) in the world that begins in Exodus 20:12 and ends in Exodus 20:17. Our students are asked to memorize excerpts from Shakespeare’s plays, Emily Dickinson poems, and read novels declared as American classics. (What WERE those pigs in Animal Farm trying to say anyway?) How about they be exposed to some “Just Plain Common Sense” from the best-selling book (fact) in the world. It’s apparent the youth of today could use it. Let’s examine them one at a time.

Exodus 20:12 (paraphrased) says be nice to your Mommy and Daddy. What’s the big deal with that Mr. ACLU Attorney? Are you going to argue that children have the right to tell their parents to “eff” off? If you don’t believe this is happening today, I suggest you take your uncompromising little behind down to any public school and sit in the classroom for a little bit. Sit around the lunch table and observe how a majority of kids today talk about their parents, teachers, and other people in authority. Then take your little behind back to court and tell me that the kids of today can’t stand to learn a little “honoring” and respecting.

Exodus 20:13 (paraphrased) says you shouldn’t kill people. So do the laws of the great United States of America and most states, except California where you can do it if you are O.J. Simpson. Take a look at your six P.M. News Mrs. ACLU Attorney. In the same newspaper in which I found the story that prompted this blog, I also read an article that reported on five Memphis juveniles appearing in court in ONE DAY, charged with shooting or stabbing DEATHS. These weren’t five kids that shot and stabbed ONE person. These were five separate individuals charged with five separate incidents of stabbing or shooting DEATHS. Do you understand that Mr. Uncompromising ACLU Attorney? Apparently some of our youth have a little trouble comprehending that they shouldn’t kill people. Maybe if you hadn’t taken the Ten Commandments out of school, one of these five juveniles would have read this suggestion from the best-selling book (fact) in the world at some point during their journey through public school education and reconsidered shooting or stabbing someone to death. If that were the case, then it would have been twenty-percent reduction in the deaths of people.

Exodus 20:14 (paraphrased) says you shouldn’t sleep around. Teen pregnancies have increased exponentially in the years since I graduated from high school. I think that was right around the time your uncompromising little behind began arguing that we didn’t need these Ten Commandments in our public school system. Check out your statistics on sexually transmitted diseases among teens as well. I’d do it for you, but this is what we call “give-and-take” in a compromise situation. I give you a statement and you can take it for fact or Google it yourself!

Exodus 20:15 (paraphrased) says you can’t take stuff that belongs to other people. I’m just not even going to make an argument here because it should be “Just Plain Common Sense”. And the Narrows High School handbook says the same thing, so maybe you should have it thrown out while you’re getting The Ten Commandments removed.

Exodus 20:16 (paraphrased) says don’t tell lies on folks. How would you like it if I went around telling everyone that you are really a she-male, your mother is a hooker, you don’t know who your daddy is, you’re ugly, and your Mama dresses you funny? (My apologies if any of this is true.) I bet you’d use your fancy little law degree to have me in court for slander. And if I posted it every day in my blog, you’d have me in court for libel. See, I ain’t so dumb. I know the difference between the two, but rest assured that an entire generation of youth may not understand that it isn’t nice to say bad things about folks that aren’t true once you remove The Ten Commandments from all public schools.

Exodus 20:17 (paraphrased) says you should be happy with what you have and not worry about what your neighbor has. Heaven forbid…ooops, sorry for using a Christian term…”Big area above the earth” forbid that we teach our kids to work hard and earn what they desire rather than sitting around waiting for some government program to give it to them.

So that’s my suggestion. How about we only post half of them and we can all be happy? And if you try to tell me that the removal of The Ten Commandments won’t have any impact on our youth disrespecting, murdering, sleeping around, stealing, lying, and being just plain greedy materialistic monsters, then I’m gonna say the placing of them isn’t going to have any impact on their freedom to choose their own religion. Nor is it a conflict between church and state since it’s an excerpt from the best-selling book (fact) in the world. Na-na-boo-boo <sticking my tongue out at you>. It’s “Just Plain Common Sense” in my book.

: Image via Wikipedia

7 Comments

Filed under Just Plain Common Sense

Tagged as ACLU, Bible, humor, murder, politics, religion, ten commandments

September 20, 2011

Project Sanitarium: Conception and Materials

The very lowwwww budget project, Building of My Sanitarium, has begun. As mentioned in my last blog, we plan to do this project by utilizing crumb snatcher labor because it’s free. When we told the crumb snatchers of our idea, The Eldest said, “I’m moving out.” The other four immediately chimed in unison, “Can we go with you?”

Ok, so The Eldest has really moved out, but I think it had more to do with his no longer being a child than our renovation project. I’m sad to see him go, but I guess all crumb snatchers must eventually venture out in search of their own crumbs. I will miss the time we spent together every day. I cherished the thirty seconds bonding time we would enjoy as he descended from his upstairs habitat and flew through the house yelling out, “I’m going to insert one of the following: <school, work, my friends house, none of your business>.” On the positive side, I now have a full fifty-seven seconds each day to complete a train of thought without interruption. If you read my last blog you would know that I previously had twenty-seven seconds. And-unless you are in the public education system where you receive credit simply for knowing that seconds are a measure of time-twenty-seven and thirty add up to fifty-seven! Now I can do allllll those things I’ve been putting off for years. Like this room project.

Given Chief Money Maker’s mandate to build a Queen’s castle on a pauper’s budget, he began an extensive search of the internet for ideas. Of course, any time Chief Money Maker searches the internet, it’s extensive. I can only Google for approximately one and a half minutes before inevitably pulling up some obscure porn site, yelling a curse word, then giving up and going to the library to check out the Dewey decimal system. Chief Money Maker, however, is an endless internet searcher.

After three showerless days of internet searching for a room concept-and me tossing out ideas that were either budget busting, just plain weird, or required we import products and children from China-he came up with his once a year brilliant idea. It was great timing too since Google gave him a pop up that read, “Please use another search engine. I quit!” Sitting on our back porch, he looked out at our fence and said, “What about a wall of fence boards?” I, of course, immediately responded, “Are you calling me fat?” (Fence boards, animals, pigs…come on, you get the connection!)

After assuring me that he wasn’t calling me fat, then handing me a lite beer, he explained his concept. Take old fence boards, cut them in different lengths, and place them horizontally across the wall. I suddenly envisioned a quaint New England country themed room. And the accountant inside me started calculating the amount of money I could move from his construction budget to my decorating budget. I liked it!

The next step was to figure out how to obtain the boards. He suggested we don black clothing and knock down someone’s fence under the cover of night. I suggested we just call a fence builder and ask if they were replacing anyone’s fence, and we might be able to haul off the old fence boards for them. He whined, “I thought this was supposed to be a fun project?” but acquiesced to my sensibilities. One phone call later, we were given an address where we could grab about forty-eight feet of old fencing board.

Given that all the crumb snatchers had managed to hide from us now that work was involved, we called upon Chief Money Maker’s nephew, Rainbow, to help. Fate would have it that the address where the boards were located, and the soccer field that Rainbow needed to get to, were in immediate proximity of one another. And apparently we were having a five star horoscope day, because Rainbow needed a ride! We leveraged a ride for muscle. (Don’t let the photo fool you, he wasn’t really exerting THAT much energy.)

With boards obtained, Chief Money Maker made a list of the remaining items he would need for construction. I noticed framing studs on the list so, in an effort to be of assistance, I researched the cost. Although I could see the need for them, I was worried about our budget. I brought my concerns to Chief Money Maker.

“Not THOSE kind of framing studs!” he exclaimed.

Emulating his whining tone from earlier in the day I said, “I thought this was supposed to be a fun project?”

And that’s how the fight started.

But I digress. The next step involved removing the boards from their sections and knocking out the nails. Wolfy and Gummi Bear, unable to remain in hiding for fear of starving to death, came out to ask, “What’s for dinner?”

I threw the potato sacks over their heads and yelled, “I’ve got two!” Chief Money Maker quickly appeared and assigned them the task of board/nail removal. Awwww, don’t they just look like they are never fed?

Later, Sweet Pea (with boyfriend in tow) began her hunger complaints. I lassoed them while yelling out, “I’ve got two more!” Ahhhh, the benefits of not purchasing microwavable meals are immeasurable! Chief Money Maker put them to work washing down the boards.

With operation board preparation completed, project “Building of My Sanitarium” is ready for takeoff. Chief Money Maker is still pouting a little about the framing studs incident, but I’ll feed him later and he’ll be fine. More on our project on the 6 P.M. news…or my next blog.

3 Comments

Filed under The Insanity that is our Life

Tagged as children, diy, home projects, humor, postaweek2011, writing

September 16, 2011

The Building of My Sanitarium

Have you missed me? I’ve missed me, but I haven’t known where I am or where I’ve been since I merged homes with Chief Money Maker and obtained five crumb snatchers. Just yesterday, I was getting dressed to leave the house to visit with a couple of Sweet Pea’s teachers and noticed that I only had on one shoe. I’ve had a lot of surgeries over the last year, but none of them involved the removal of either of my feet, so I generally like to wear two shoes.

I called Chief Money Maker into the bathroom and asked him to look at my feet to see if he noticed anything odd. Maybe I didn’t phrase my question properly, or maybe he’s also lost his mind since we merged homes, but it took several entertaining guesses before he got it right.

“Ummmm, you only have on one shoe????” he finally said.

“Bingo,” I said. Followed by, “And do you know why I only have on one shoe?”

After several more entertaining guesses involving elves, ninjas, and crumb snatcher mischievousness, he finally guessed the correct answer. “Ummmm, because you forgot to put on the other one?”

“Bingo,” I said. Followed by, “And do you know why I forgot to put on the other shoe?”

At this point he asked, “What is the prize in this game?” Upon discovering this was not a game, but instead a “talk”, he suddenly decided it was time for him to return to work. But due to the strategic placing of my body in front of the bathroom door, he was not allowed escape, and I supplied him with the answer.

“It’s because I put on one shoe, then thought of something that needs to go on my to-do list, then thought of something I forgot to do, then thought of George Clooney, then started doing something else, and totally forgot to put on my other shoe! I need my writing studio! NOW!”

George Clooney at the 33rd Deauville American ...

Image via Wikipedia

A few weeks ago, after one of my increasingly more frequent melt-downs, Chief Money Maker and I determined that I had no place to escape in our home. Granted, it’s a large home, but when filled with crumb snatchers that have found all my hiding places – including the washer which I didn’t know they knew existed – it’s become more difficult to find my sanity space. And thus the idea for a writing studio, and a new section of my blog, was birthed.

I want to be the next Celia Rivenbark or Dave Barry. Since USA Today quoted, “Think Dave Barry with a female point of view” in regards to Ms. Rivenbark’s writing, I’ll probably have to settle for this quote on my book. “Mama Bread Baker….think Celia Rivenbark with a different point of view, THEN think Celia Rivenbark with a Dave Barry point of view, or think Dave Barry with a Celia Rivenbark point of view, or think about George Clooney…just because he’s sexy.” Whatever quote USA Today decides to use, I want to be like Celia and Dave…published.

I imagine that the key to their success was a quiet area within their own home that allowed them the ability to have a train of thought that lasted more than twenty-seven seconds before interruption. I didn’t really research this information, so this can’t be officially confirmed, but it is what I imagined. And neither one returned my phone calls. Of course, that could be because they already assumed I had been taken to the local sanitarium after hearing my blubbering message that went something like this. “I only have on one shoe, and I forget everything, and I want to be like you. Or like Celia Rivenbark. Wait, is this Dave Barry I’m calling? If this is Celia that I’ve called, I want to be like you being like Dave. Now I’ve confused myself. See what I mean? Don’t you agree I need a writing studio? Please call back and tell Chief Money Maker you agree!”

Chief Money Maker needed to hear no more, and determined that it would be best that he provide a place for me in our home where he can lock me away, I mean, where I can get some peace and quiet. We decided to turn one half of our third garage into a writing studio. But given that I am not Celia Rivenbark or Dave Barry (i.e. I’m not yet published) we decided to do the room on a theme. A budget theme. A very lowwwwww budget theme of two hundred dollars. We will research bargain purchases, repurpose existing items in our home, and use the very cheap labor (i.e. free) of the crumb snatchers, to accomplish our goal.

We hope to go from this:

To this:

Ok, well maybe not that, but something close. Follow my blog over the next few weeks as our project comes to life and maybe, just maybe, you too can build your own escape…and stop hiding out in the washer!

2 Comments

Filed under The Insanity that is our Life

Tagged as Celia Rivenbark, children, Dave Barry, family, George Clooney, humor, mental health, postaweek2011

September 4, 2011

Simple Little Knee Scope My @$$!

Image via Wikipedia

I had knee surgery on Tuesday. I call it surgery, but my doctor said it was, “A simple little knee scope. Piece of cake.” My Doctor is a liar. There was nothing simple about it. But unfortunately, I didn’t have much of a choice. I’ve been experiencing problems with my left knee since I was sixteen.

As difficult as it is for the crumb snatchers to comprehend, I once was an active teenager. I ran track (yes, even though no one was chasing me), played softball, and volleyball. The first time my knee popped out of place, I was vacuuming. I couldn’t comprehend how I had broken my knee simply by performing this chore. With the help of my stepfather, we popped my knee back in place. You might ask why I didn’t have it looked at way back then. I’m pretty sure it was because we didn’t have Obamacare.

Also, my mother had her own philosophy about healthcare. If bones weren’t protruding, or blood wasn’t pouring out of a major vein with the possibility of bleeding out in 2.6 seconds, then just put some aloe vera or mercurochrome (apparently declared in 1998 by the FDA as “not generally recognized as safe and effective”)¹ on the injury, slap it with a band-aid, place a heating pad on it for twenty-four hours, then ice it, and all should be well! I once told her that my chest hurt when breathing in. She told me, “Well, don’t breathe in!” So given that my knee cap was only slightly six inches from where it should be, and that I could still walk on it, I didn’t see a Doctor.

I learned to live with it over the next twenty-five years, fortunate to always be in the company of at least one sadist who didn’t mind pulling my knee back into place when it would pop out. At least up until a few weeks ago when it once again popped out, conveniently while Chief Money Maker was on one of those business trips where he was hanging out in a bar with his colleagues. I yelled upstairs for the only two crumb snatchers home at the time, The Eldest and The Nephew. They came downstairs and I explained that one of them would have to pull on my leg while I screamed and cursed at them until they heard a loud pop at which time I would experience immediate relief and stop cursing. Apparently, because they are so considerate of one another and wanted to allow the other the opportunity to show me how much they love me, they fought over who would perform this task.

The Eldest said, “Dude, you do it!”

The Nephew said, “Nuh-uh Dude, she’s your mother!”

The Eldest said, “No way Dude, she’s your aunt, and I have a weak stomach!”

The Nephew said, “Yeah Dude, but that’s only when you drink more than three beers.”

Meanwhile, I sat on the couch in excruciating pain watching this sentimental display of love for the woman who cares and provides for them on a daily basis. The Nephew finally won (or lost, however you want to look at it) and began pulling on my leg while I screamed and cursed and begged The Eldest to just go ahead and shoot me. Unlike the many other times, it appeared my knee was not going to pop back into place.

Given that I couldn’t move without screaming profanities, The Eldest finally called 911 and requested an ambulance. A few minutes later, our house was swarmed with at least ten good-looking EMT’s and fire personnel all hoping to find a young naked female who had fallen in the bathtub and couldn’t get up. Once they realized it was just an old lady with a knee problem, several of them went back to the station while the others that had drawn the short stick stayed and placed me on the gurney and took me to the Emergency Room.

Image via Wikipedia

After arriving at the ER, I was soon (one hour later) whisked off to the X-Ray room where a nice young man attempted to take pictures of my good knee. I gently said, “Unless you need a comparison of the knee that has absolutely nothing wrong with it, perhaps we should X-Ray the knee that is in pain?” He thought that was a pretty good idea. Maybe I should consider a career as an X-Ray technician.

Shortly after that (one hour later) the ER Doctor came in and said he had no clue what was wrong with my knee but he would bill me thousands of dollars for my visit and refer me to an orthopedic specialist who would then bill me thousands of dollars more to figure out what was really wrong with my knee. In the meantime, he would be happy to straighten out my knee and put it in a splint so he could at least say he did something. Before doing so, he was kind enough to give me a nice little pain killer called Dilaudid. If you have never had this stuff, I strongly recommend that you go outside right now and chop off your left hand so you can go to the ER and get some. It’s that good.

I set my appointment for Campbell’s Clinic, and several X-Rays later (of the correct knee of course), and an MRI, the nice orthopedic Doctor determined that I had a torn meniscus. We scheduled the “simple little knee scope” for August 30^th2011. A day that will forever live in infamy…at least in my mind.

We arrived at the surgery center at 12:30 p.m. where I was immediately whisked to the business office where I was asked to pay what our insurance wouldn’t cover, or they could hold my knee in lay-away until the balance was paid. After Chief Money Maker offered an alternative of signing over one of the crumb snatchers and they refused, we went ahead and paid the requested amount based on the assumption that I might possibly need my knee in the next few weeks.

We then sat in the patient waiting room where I had a head-on view of a large vending machine containing all kinds of goodies, and a soda machine, each displaying a sign that read, “Patients, we know this looks really good to you, but since you have been told not to eat or drink after midnight, these have only been placed here to taunt and torture you. Please do not eat or drink any of this yummy looking stuff.”

Shortly after (two hours later), I was called back to be prepped for surgery. They were apparently smarter than the ER X-ray technician because they wrote “wrong” and “correct” on my respective legs to ensure that the Doctor didn’t make a mistake. This was very reassuring….sort of.

Shortly after (one hour later), the Doctor came in to explain to me what he would be doing. Chief Money Maker and I nodded like we knew what the hell he was talking about, and then I was taken away for my “simple little knee scope.”

Now keep in mind, over the last several years, I have had two sinus surgeries, and two bunion surgeries. I also birthed Sweet Pea (not in the last several years) with no medication by using the simple pain control method of cursing out the Doctor and nurses in languages I didn’t even know I knew, as well as telling my husband that he would never again get to do the nana with me, which may explain why we are now divorced. But when I came out of this surgery, it was worse than all of those combined.

Upon waking, I was in immediate and excruciating pain. Apparently when the Doctor described the procedure, I missed the part where he would place a blow torch inside my knee, complete with a remote control where he would sit at the nurses’ station going, “Watch this, y’all.” At which time he would turn on the blow torch with his remote and slowly increase the searing blue flame until I screamed in agony. I also missed the part where he would place a watermelon seed inside my knee area, then fertilize it with nuclear strength Miracle Grow where it would it would suddenly expand to the size of an award winning watermelon at the County Fair.

As I cried and cursed out Chief Money Maker and the nurse, once again in languages I didn’t realize I knew, they tried to minimize my pain over the course of the next hour by giving me two Percocet, Toradol, Demerol, and finally the miracle pain killer Dilaudid, whereas the pain finally leveled out to a twenty-two on a scale of one to ten. When the nurse asked how I was feeling and I replied, “In my world everyone is a pony and we all eat rainbows and poop butterflies,” they determined it was time for me to go home.²

Once at home, Chief Money Maker made sure he kept me on my pain killer schedule, not wanting me to commit suicide to escape the pain, leaving him alone to care for five crumb snatchers. The crumb snatchers were very sensitive and understanding of my situation as well. Knowing that I could not cook dinner for them, they would gently wake me from my oxycodone induced dream featuring George Clooney, Richard Gere, and Ben Roethlisberger (yes, a weird combination I know…blame it on the drugs) to ask me what I was going to order them for dinner. Sweet Pea, realizing we were low on grocery staples, and anxious to use her shiny new driver’s license, also offered to go shopping. She returned with six two-liters of Coke, two bags of tortilla chips, restaurant style queso cheese dip, double fudge caramel brownies (supposedly to help me feel better), and vanilla ice cream. When I reminded her that I like them to have something green with their meals, she replied, “I know Mom. I got guacamole dip too!” The other crumb snatchers, sensitive to my situation made sure to stay away from me as much as they could for fear of being asked to do something for me, or being cursed out in case Chief Money Maker forgot to make sure I had taken my next pain pill on schedule.

So, the moral of this blog is: Doctors lie, Dilaudid is good, and never have a “simple little knee scope” unless absolutely necessary. I have to sign off now because Chief Money Maker says it’s time for my next pain pill.

¹ As reported on this website: http://www.straightdope.com/columns/read/2518/what-happened-to-mercurochrome – Don’t ask why I was checking out a website called ”straightdope”

² As quoted by one of those weird little Dr. Suess creatures in the wonderful feature film Horton Hears a Who

2 Comments

Filed under The Insanity that is our Life

Tagged as children, Health, humor, knee surgery, postaweek2011, Surgery

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Simple Little Knee Scope My @$$!

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