Monthly Archives: August 2011

The Great Pizza Sauce Mystery! Help Me Solve the Crime!

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                 In crime scene analysis, detectives are trying to answer the questions of who, what, why, when, and how?  That happens at our house too…a lot.  The most recent mystery involved a strange substance on the wall in our living room.  On Sunday, as I stood in the kitchen gazing into the great room, musing about what would best adorn the large empty space above the windows, my eyes fell upon an unfamiliar spot.  Now granted, I have spent months trying to determine the best way to decorate the space, but that quarter sized spot wasn’t quite what I had in mind for home décor.  And I was pretty sure this wall had just been recently “decorated” by the unfamiliar spot.

                  My mind ran through the normal questions that people would ask in a situation like this.  What is that?  How did it get there? Etc., etc., etc.  Actually, I’m lying.  My first thought was, “What the hell have the crumb snatchers done NOW?”  And the investigation began.

           

 “We’ve got a mystery to solve,” I yelled to Chief Money Maker.

                Mumbling to himself, “What the hell is it this time?” he entered the kitchen and I pointed out the spot.  “I’ll go get the crime scene kit.”

             He climbed the ladder identifying the curious spot to be about ten feet high.  Next, we took pictures of the matter before removal.  “Is it a bug?” I asked.                

                “Doesn’t appear to be,” he replied.

  As I climbed up the ladder to take the crime scene photos, it reminded me of something I had just recently cleaned from our kitchen floor.  “I swear that looks like pizza sauce!”

             By this time, Aunt Sassy (Chief Money Maker’s sister) had dropped by, as she often does when she needs to be amused and once again we didn’t fail her, and she asked, “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”  Only she used more choice words than that.

                We explained that we were crime solving and she took pictures as I bagged and tagged the evidence, making sure the chain of evidence was properly documented.  We sent the evidence off to the lab for scientific testing.  We received the results about two minutes later.

  

              “Mmmmm, yep, it’s pizza sauce!” Chief Money Maker notified us.

             I scored highly on my ACT and attended Ole Miss, Chief Money Maker has his Masters degree, and Aunt Sassy worked her way through college earning her Bachelor’s degree, yet not one of us could come up with a logical explanation of how one single lone solitary spot of pizza sauce could end up ten feet high on our living room wall.  However, we are well enough educated to know that if we asked the crumb snatchers, they would blame it on Not Me…again. 

                Aunt Sassy suggested that we have a contest giving each crumb snatcher the opportunity to come up with the most creative explanation of how pizza sauce ended up in that particular spot.  We also hoped that somewhere in their zeal to win the contest, we would glean the truth of this episode, because this stuff is just too hard to make up!  Brilliant, we thought!  A ten dollar Yogurt Mountain gift certificate was now at stake for the winner. 

                Wolfy was first to offer up his creative explanations.  There was no limit to the number of scenarios they could offer; again hoping we would glean the truth somewhere in their explanations.

                Wolfy explanation one:  A fly landed in my pizza.  I didn’t see it.  The fly flew away covered in pizza sauce and landed on the wall.  (Chief Money Maker decided this scenario wasn’t the truth, as the spot was about one inch in diameter.  Maybe if it were a Texas fly?)

                Wolfy explanation two:  Elves had a food fight with pizza rolls.  (Chief Money Maker contemplated this theory, but laser analysis based on the average height of an elf placed the most likely point of impact at seven, not ten, feet.)

                Wolfy explanation three:  Mama Bread Baker put the pizza sauce on the wall so she would have something to write about.  (This theory was immediately discounted as Chief Money Maker didn’t want to be hit upside his head with a cast iron skillet by Mama Bread Baker.  Not to mention that it most likely would have been a bon bon stain if I had planted it myself!)

                The Eldest had this scenario:  I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but Gummi Bear did it.  (Chief Money Maker considered this theory as a plausible truth, but Gummi Bear had a pretty solid alibi for the time frame in which we believe the crime occurred.  For once.)

                The Nephew gave this explanation:  There was a clan of Chinese midget ninjas known as the Yumgudi.  The Yumgudi are notorious ninja thieves who break into homes, solely to steal their food and goodies. On one particular night, they were on a quest for pizza rolls. After finding a location (our house), they struck.  Silently and stealthily sneaking into our house, they headed toward the freezer, only to find their rival clan, the Nogudi with the pizza rolls in hand!  After an epic battle, both clans had but one ninja left, and both decided to split what was left of the pizza rolls, and to clean up the mess of battle. The two ninjas were just about done when they heard someone open a door and had to vanish early, leaving behind one tiny clue to the epic battle of the pizza rolls.  (I found this theory to be quite reasonable, as it would also explain the numerous bumps, thumps, and yells of “Owwwww” that I hear drifting down the stairs in the middle of the night.  Chief Money Maker discounted it based on a previous case in which the Yumgudi’s were found to prefer burritos over pizza rolls.)

                Gummi Bear had this theory:  Elves came to have a paintball fight, only the paintballs were filled with pizza sauce.  The fight began with one shot, and then they realized that’s all they had.  The End.  (What’s up with their obsession with elves???)

                Sweet Pea thinks this happened:  Wolfy and Gummi Bear were throwing pizza rolls at each other because Gummi Bear stole one from Wolfy.  (Ok, so she decided to work the “most likely scenario” angle rather than the “creative” angle.  Kudos for her originality!  Chief Money Maker wonders if she is possibly diverting the investigation away from her and her boyfriend, given that she has the detective wrapped around her little pinkie!)

                Needless to say, this will most likely be stored away in the “unsolved mysteries of the Thacker Reservation file”, given that the only way to really learn the truth would be to deny food to all crumb snatchers until the offender comes forward.  The last time we did that, the lady from Child Protective Services asked that we find another way to get to the bottom of things.  Geez, doesn’t she realize that they will eventually get hungry and come forward…or rat out their sibling?

                So anyway, I am seeking your help.  Please comment and vote for your favorite crumb snatcher explanation.  That way we can take them to Yogurt Mountain, dangle all those tasty little flavors and toppings in front of them, and then torture the truth out of them!  Hey, we didn’t say they could actually use the gift certificate!

Thanks for stopping by again!  Check back for next week’s episode of Unsolved Crumb Snatcher Mysteries!

© 2011 CThacker

My Quest to Insure the New Driver

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As was previously mentioned in an earlier blog, Sweet Pea recently turned sixteen. In honor of that great achievement, Chief Money Maker has been awarded the opportunity to pay one arm, one leg, and three of the nine toes (yes, he does only have nine, but that’s another blog) he has left, to add her to our auto insurance. He also voluntarily offered his right ear and his left pinkie as a deposit for November when he will once again be afforded (afford my @$$) the opportunity to add another inexperienced teenage driver, Wolfy, to the auto insurance. So I decided to gather quotes from other insurance companies, in hopes of saving Chief Money Maker’s other arm.

Dear Mr., Mrs., or Ms. Insurance Guy or Lady:

I am seeking a quote from your company to provide auto insurance for our family. Sweet Pea, our band new inexperienced, giggly teenage daughter will be driving a restored 1994 Chevrolet Camaro. Red, of course. She has promised not to gather six of her other giggly teenage friends, pile them in her car, and squeal out of the parking lot with all of them yelling at gawking teenage boys. Of course, she probably will, but still, she promised.

Next we’ll need to add our nineteen year old nephew who only has three accidents involving only him.  Hey, shouldn’t we get some credit for his consideration of others? He doesn’t have a car because we’ve told him we don’t believe he’ll have it long enough to make it worth it before he wrecks it. We only let him drive ours. Please credit us for our outstanding parenting skills.

Third, we’ll need to add our twenty-one year old son who drives a suped up, flame striped Honda Civic with heavily tinted windows. He has only  had one accident…that was his fault…well, that was really the cops fault…he says…and he only rear-ended his girlfriend’s car…with her mother in the passenger seat, anyway.

In regards to those pesky tickets, (I’m not sure just how many there are) he has always paid them. Even the one that I learned about in these ten easy steps:

 

1) Received ticket in mail

2) Called son to ask him about it.

3) He said, “I was gonna pay it.”

4) I said, “How were you going to pay for it? You don’t have any money?”

5) He said, “It’s only twenty-five dollars.”

6) I said, “Twenty-five dollars? What ticket are you talking about?”

7) He said, “What ticket are YOU talking about”

8 ) I said, “Nu-uh, you first.”

9) He said, “Seatbelt violation.”

10) I said, “Rolling a red light – videoed!”

Please consider that he continues to vehemently claim that it was a local Germantown, TN conspiracy, and that the video-tape had been tampered with. He does have his convictions….I mean beliefs. Really, he doesn’t have any convictions. I don’t think.

Next, you’ll need to add me, Mama Bread Baker. I am a very safe driver. The Xanax really helps me deal with all those people honking and yelling at me when I’m driving. People are so rude these days!

Finally, you’ll need to add Chief Money Maker. He doesn’t drive a whole lot, partly because all of the vehicles, including his, are usually gone, and partly because….well, just between you and me, it’s really more like a case…he drinks about six beers a night.

I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Mama Bread Baker – Thacker Reservation

I sent the email to several of the insurance companies, and it wasn’t long before the responses came rolling in. With hands, and email, reaching out, I was offered a years supply of Xanax and quoted the price of, “$Please-take-two-of-these-each-month-and-send-us-a-blank-check.00.” With a very neighborly quote, we received this offering, “Please move out of our neighborhood, and we will pay you each month. This will save us the claims on others we have insured in your area.” On a basket straight from the farmer’s market, we received this quote, “Bwwhahahahahahahahahahaha.”

I determined that we would have to stay with our current insurance carrier, because obviously that creepy little talking lizard thing is one of the crumb snatchers pets. Otherwise, why else would they insure us? Nevertheless, our health insurance has offered to pay for replacing Chief Money Maker’s leg before completely terminating us.

Hey Honey, I know you’re out of town but, if you happen to be reading this, let me take this opportunity to make a point. If we go ahead and get that back yard, in ground pool you can drown yourself at home instead of driving down to the river! I love you!

© 2011 CThacker

Ceiling Height, Truck Mileage, and Grenade Shrapnel! What a Bizarre Set of Questions!

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                What do ceiling height, truck mileage, and grenade shrapnel have in common?  Give up?  They are all things that could potentially involve crumb snatchers in our household!  If you know me, and you know my family, you would probably find it hard to believe that I’m having some difficulty figuring out what to write about today.  On the other hand, you might guess that the difficulty is coming from figuring out which story to write about, given that these crumb snatchers provide me with more than adequate fodder for this blog.  Which is a really good thing since I officially joined the Post a Week Challenge today!  And then I received a text from Chief Money Maker, out of town again on one of those important business trips, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the insanity that is our life.  Our conversation is pictured below, but it went like this:

                ME:  12:03 PM “Are our ceilings 8 or 9 feet?”

                ME:  3:12 PM “How many miles did you say were on the truck?”

                ME:  6:06 PM “Does a grenade have shrapnel in it?”

                CMM:  7:33 PM “I think. 9 Ft ceilings. 105k no on truck. & most grenades have shrapnel. What a bizarre set of questions.”  (Complete with his fat fingered keyboard mistakes!)  

      

          Now I can only imagine what Chief Money Maker was thinking when he got out of training and read this trio of questions.  And since I know he sometimes talks out loud to himself, I can imagine it went something like this, “Is my wife losing it again?  Have the crumb snatchers driven her to purchase grenades?  Have the crumb snatchers purchased grenades?  Does she need to know how tall the ceilings are so she can calculate how many grenades fit in a room?  Did one of the crumb snatchers fall through the ceiling again?  Are the crumb snatchers making bombs again?  And where is my truck that she can’t look at the odometer herself???”  All perfectly reasonable questions, at least for our household.

                First of all – I know, this part is going to be hard for you to believe but – I do occasionally lose it.  And the crumb snatchers know I can lose it as well, and that isn’t such a bad thing.  There was one particular day when Gummi Bear crumb snatcher had driven poor Mama Bread Baker to the brink of insanity and I snapped like a bungee cord with a one thousand pound Sumo wrestler jumping from the Empire State Building!  I call it my “I lost time” moment, a common complaint of those suffering from multiple personality disorders, and a line from the excellent movie “Primal Fear” starring the ever sexy Richard Gere. 

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     All I remember from the time I regained consciousness was the silence in the house, the look on Chief Money Maker and Gummi Bear’s face, and the rest of the crumb snatchers huddled together in the man cave like a bunch of refugees from Cuba in a row boat caught in a hurricane in the Atlantic Ocean!  Oh yeah, and Chief Money Maker’s nephew was here and he quietly departed the house in the midst of my episode (that’s how we refer to it now) seeking the safety and shelter of his own home.  He apparently, however, was quite impressed by my “going HAM” abilities.  He told his mother, “Mama Bread Baker rocks!”  Gummi Bear and I patched things up later that evening, given that his primary concern was whether or not I would still make him a hot breakfast in the morning!

                And yes, Chief Money Maker would also have every reason to wonder if the crumb snatchers were making bombs….again.  On our commute home from work one day, we received a call from one of the crumb snatchers (herein to remain nameless due to his witness protection agreement in return for his snitching) alerting us to some odd activity by Gummi Bear and Wolfy.  We arrived home to observe small round BB-like pellets, a white powder, and some rather guilty looking crumb snatchers holding lighters in our driveway.  Upon interrogation by Chief Money Maker, the guilty parties admitted to filling containers with ball bearings and baby powder (for a cool “poof” effect) and then lighting them with fire crackers.  Yes, folks, this is in essence a bomb.   I blame You Tube for their degeneracy!  Just do a search on it for baby powder bombs. 

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                We brought them inside to discuss the seriousness of their actions.  The two somberly sat at the table, while Chief Money Maker returned to the garage to perform the crime scene analysis, and collect and bag the evidence.  While waiting, I asked the two, “Were you both born stupid?  Or do you just practice very hard?”  Ok, so once again, I realized my parenting skills needed a little tweaking and I apologized for the question and began speaking to them about how their actions could have harmed them or someone else.  Then Chief Money Maker entered the kitchen and said, “You two are dumb@$$es!”  Ok, maybe my parenting skills weren’t so off target after all! 

                So, as you can tell, it isn’t so farfetched for Chief Money Maker’s imagination to run wild when receiving a trio of such questions while out of town.  To make matters worse, Sweet Pea and I were in the movie theater when Chief Money Maker responded, and he had to wait two and a half hours before receiving an explanation for the odd combination of requested information.  When I finally spoke with him, he was quite relieved to learn that the house was still standing, the truck was still in our possession, and neither the crumb snatchers nor I, had been igniting grenades.  Mama Bread Baker was simply gathering auto insurance quotes, home owner’s quotes, and utilizing grenades as an analogy in another writing project.  But hey, no reason he shouldn’t have to sweat it out a little.  He does leave me at home alone with sanity snapping-bomb making crumb snatchers!

© CThacker 2011

I Need a Social Security Number for Not Me

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            We apparently have another crumb snatcher in our household that needs to be claimed on our income taxes.  However, I first have to obtain documentation for this household member so I placed a call to the Social Security Administration and it went something like this:

                ME:  “I need to obtain a Social Security number for a member of our household.”

                EXTREMELY OVERWORKED-UNDERTRAINED SOCIAL SECURITY GUY (HEREAFTER REFERRED TO AS SSG):  “No problem ma’am.  Congratulations on your new baby.”

                ME:  “Oh, it’s not a new baby.  They’ve apparently been around a while.”

                SSG:  “Ok, well, how old is the household member?”

                ME:  “I’m not really sure, but I’ve been hearing about them since The Eldest crumb snatcher was old enough to talk.  So maybe….nineteen or so?”

                SSG:  “Ummmm….ok.  Is the member a male or female?”

                ME:  “It’s hard to say.  I don’t think anyone has ever mentioned the gender of this household member.”

                SSG:  “I’m a little confused ma’am.  You’re seeking a social security number for a member of your household but you don’t know the age or sex?”

                ME:  “That’s correct.”

                SSG:  “Can you hold on a second?  I may need supervisory assistance with this one.”

                ME:  “No problem.”

                Wow, this is going to be a bit easier than I had hoped.  Normally, when I call government agencies, it’s usually such a hassle to get such a helpful employee on the line.  Is that Phil Collins they are playing?  Cool!

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                SSG:  “Thank you for holding ma’am.  I have my supervisor on the line and we are going to record this conversation if that’s okay with you.”

                ME:  “That’s no problem at all.  I usually have to repeat phone calls and tell the same thing over and over with you government agencies, so I appreciate your offer.”

                SSG:  “What is the name of the household member for which you wish to obtain a social security number?”

                ME:  “Not Me.”

                SSG:  “Yes ma’am you explained that earlier.  I understand it’s not you, but I need a name.”

                ME:   “Oh, that IS the name.  Not Me.”

                SSG:  “Ummmmm, ok.  Is that a first and a middle, or first and a last?”

                ME:  “That’s a really good question.  I never really asked.  That’s just what they’ve always gone by…Not Me.”

                SSG:  “Ok, do you have a birth certificate for Not Me?”

                ME:  “Oh gracious no.  I didn’t give birth to this one.  Two was enough for me!”

                SSG:  “Do you have a passport, a photo ID, a library card, or maybe a pre-approved credit card offer mailed to Not Me?  We need to have some kind of evidence of this individual’s existence.”

                ME:  “Well, why didn’t you just say so?  I have plenty of evidence that Not Me exists!”

                SSG:  “Let’s hear it!”

                ME:  “Well, for example, we had Sweet Pea’s – that’s my daughter – 16th birthday party the other day and when Chief Money Maker and I went to bed, there were six hamburgers and about twelve hot wings left in the refrigerator.  When Chief Money Maker went to make some lunch the next day, they were all gone.  We asked all the crumb snatchers – we have five – who ate them, and they all said Not Me.”

                There was a pause in the conversation, as I’m sure Overworked Undertrained Social Security Guy was jotting down the details.

                ME:  “Oh and I forgot to mention that Not Me is apparently disabled.”

                SSG:  “You don’t know the age or gender of Not Me, but you know they are disabled?  How do you know this?”

                ME:  “Well, it’s pretty obvious that they only have one foot….or maybe just one leg…because I have sixty-two single socks in the laundry basket right now.  All my other crumb snatchers have two feet, so Not Me is obviously wearing only one sock at a time.”

                Another pause, as I’m sure Overworked Undertrained Social Security Guy was absorbing this new information.  I suspected he was calling in more assistance for this complicated situation because I could hear shuffling of people in the background.

                SSG:  “Ma’am, your case appears to be very complex so my supervisor has authorized me to bring in some of my associates to assist and we are going to place you on speaker now, if that is okay with you.”

                ME:  “Oh, absolutely.  You people have been so helpful today.  I usually end up getting very frustrated trying to work with government agencies.”

                SSG:  “We’re happy to assist.  Can you provide us with more evidence of Not Me’s existence?”

                ME:  “I could provide you with hundreds.  This person has been hanging around our family for a while.  Not Me has colored on my walls when my children were little, drinks the last of the milk and leaves empty jugs in the refrigerator, eats entire bags of chips just brought home from the grocery store, takes change and small bills.  Oh, and they might have some emotional trauma because they sometimes cause arguments that lead to hitting with the crumb snatchers.  Every time we ask who started the fight, it’s ALWAYS Not Me.  Can we get some help for Not Me’s mental health issues as well?”

                SSG:  “Oh, I definitely think my supervisor is looking into mental health assistance even as we speak!”

                ME:  “Great!  I have one more proof of evidence of Not Me, and after that you should really understand why we need assistance.  Last year, Chief Money Maker and I came home to a giant hole in our ceiling and it was apparent someone had been in the attic and had fallen through the sheetrock into our bedroom.  At the time, Gummi Bear crumb snatcher and Wolfy crumb snatcher – the two youngest – were the only one’s at home.  At least we thought.  Unbeknownst to us, Not Me was apparently here because when we asked who was in the attic and fell through the ceiling; both boys confirmed it was Not Me.  That was really frustrating, and cost us quite a bit of time to repair the hole in our ceiling!”

                I suddenly heard laughter and snickering in the background and wondered if my call was running into some sort of celebration that had been pre-planned.  Perhaps a birthday celebration or a retirement ?  Because this gentleman had been so helpful, I wanted to help him wrap up his call.

                ME:  “Sir, do you have enough to start the application process now?”

                SSG:  “Oh yes ma’am.  We have plenty, and we certainly appreciate your call.  We’ll be sending you something in the mail soon.”

                I thanked the gentleman for his time and hung up the phone satisfied with the morning’s efforts.  Once we obtain a social security number for Not Me, Chief Money Maker can claim them as a deduction on our taxes!  Perhaps we could use the additional refund to add on a room for all the items Not Me leaves laying around the house, and all the single socks!

Postscript from Mama Bread Baker:  This blog is based on a true story.  Some details have been dramatized for literary effect, but the actions of Not Me are real.  Really real.  Just ask the crumb snatchers!

© 2011 CThacker

Watching “Jerry Springer” IS Working! I Swear!

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                As most of you know, Chief Money Maker brings in the primary yeast for this family’s bread baking needs.  Because of this, I’ve discovered that there is quite a disparity between the way the crumb snatchers perceive his job and mine.  There is a slim possibility it is because he doesn’t go around telling stories about them, but I’m still not convinced that is the main issue.  I believe the crux of the issue is that no one understands the life of a writer (or a wanna-be writer to be more accurate.)

                Chief Money Maker has blessed me with the opportunity to stay at home and pursue this life-long dream of mine, and to make sure I bring him lunch every day, pack his suitcase when he goes out of town, call the air conditioner repair man when needed (see previous blog titled Clean House, Dirty Air Conditioner), and refill his coffee as needed.  Hmmmm, did I just describe the job of a secretary?  If you factor in the make-out sessions he asks for on the rare occasions when we get rid of all the crumb snatchers, then I believe I just did.

                Anywho, the life of a writer isn’t easy.  I’ve encountered a few issues in my new profession, the first being that I must share an office space with Chief Money Maker now that he works from home as well.  I pride myself on being a pretty good cube mate.  Chief Money Maker on the other hand has been afforded the opportunity of the solitude of his own private office for many years.  The kind of solitude that allows him to crunch on ice at whim, to giggle out loud at the latest People of Wal-Mart joke arriving in his inbox, and to repeatedly click his pen when on important business calls discussing WANS, LANS, and I think I even once heard him discussing hams. 

                Writers, however, need solitude to reach inside the depths of their creative, or some might say warped, minds and generate the words that will entertain the masses that subscribe to their blog (or the fifteen people currently subscribed).  Either way, I need my own space.  Unfortunately, with a crumb snatcher housed in every spare inch of our home, it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting that opportunity anytime soon.  Perhaps I need to amp my efforts to encourage The Eldest crumb snatcher and his cousin to move out on their own, vacating the upstairs Man Cave so I can take it over as a writing studio. 

                Although Chief Money Maker understands and supports my new objective, the crumb snatchers have some trouble understanding the requirements of my current job.  This has been the second, and more challenging obstacle to overcome in my new career.  When Sweet Pea recently wanted an impromptu trip to the mall, I had to explain that I was working.

                “But Mom, you’re just sitting on the couch watching “Jerry Springer” and eating those bon bon thingies!”

Show host Jerry Springer

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                “No honey,” I explained sensitively, “Mommy is getting story ideas.  Today’s story is about this woman’s brother-cousin Bo that just had a sex change and has become a pole dancer at her favorite lesbian biker bar!  Fascinating stuff, don’t you think?”  Sweet Pea just rolled her eyes and walked away.

                A few days later, The Eldest crumb snatcher brought home a new friend of the female persuasion and brought her into our home office to introduce her to us.  Chief Money Maker was busy working on a 600 page spreadsheet filled with those WAN, LAN, and ham thingies, crunching ice, and clicking his pen repeatedly.  The Eldest explained that Chief Money Maker had a very important job that no one could accurately explain and that he had to go on really important business trips where he sent pictures of himself and his “team” sitting in bars nightly discussing “work”.  The female friend seemed quite impressed.

                He then sweetly introduced me.  “This is my Mom.  She’s an aspiring writer who seems to be working on her novel,” then glancing at my computer screen, “or updating her Facebook status.” 

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                “No honey,” I explained sensitively, “Mom is networking on Facebook.  It’s not the same thing!”

                His female friend said, “Way cool!  I’ll add you as a friend and we can work on each other’s farms!”  Sigh, no one understands my job.

                The final clue that no one understands my writing goals came when Gummi Bear crumb snatcher, the youngest of the crew, asked me one night if I was going to cook dinner. 

Detailed view of a red gummi bear.

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               While lying on the couch, I responded “Ask your Dad if he can get something started.  I’m going to be working late tonight.”

                He responded, “But you’re just reading The National Enquirer!”

                I finally lost it and called everyone downstairs for a family meeting.  “Look you bunch of insensitive, life-draining, money leeching, hoodlums…”  Wait, I think it was a little more like this.  “I love you all dearly and I need to explain to you that Mama Bread Baker has a very busy job.  Writing for Dummies says that I need to network (i.e. post on Facebook), gather story ideas (i.e. watch “Jerrry Springer”), and expand my knowledge of current events (i.e. read The National Enquirer) to become a successful writer.  You all want me to be successful, don’t you, so we can get that nice built in swimming pool in the back yard, right?”

                They all glanced at each other and the bravest (or dumbest) finally spoke up and said, “Oh, we thought that was going to come from a bonus from Chief Money Maker’s real job.”

                And suddenly the light bulb illuminated.  The crux of the problem wasn’t that they didn’t understand what I was doing.  It was that they hadn’t seen a paycheck coming from my job.  Maybe they have a point.  I guess I better quit networking, gathering story ideas, and expanding my knowledge of current events and get back to work on my novel.  Those crumb snatchers may not be as dumb as they look!

© 2011 CThacker

What Do You Mean “You’re Too Old For a Lunchbox?!”

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                In just a few short days, August 14th to be exact, the Thacker Reservation will be celebrating the sixteenth anniversary of crumb snatcher Sweet Pea’s arrival into this world.  It seems like only yesterday I was enduring the nine months of heartburn, nausea, backaches, and headaches that came from carrying Sweet Pea in utero.  I’ve always said if she had been my first, she would have been my last.

                I’d love to be one of those mothers that can look at their children and say, “But it was all worth it sweetie.”  I’d love to, but then what would I have to hold over their heads when I’m trying to guilt them into accepting my particular point of view?  It’s especially hard when talking about the birth of Sweet Pea.   I endured sixteen hours (how ironic) of labor with no pain medication because my stupid baby delivery doctor told me “you don’t look like you’re in labor”, sent me home, and told me not to come back until the labor pains created sweat on my lip!  They never did, but I’m pretty sure I saw a drop or two of sweat on his brow when I screamed at him in the labor and delivery room, “Do I look like I’m in labor now @$$hole?”  That was a few moments after my sister and husband forced me upstairs at the hospital because they were afraid they would have to deliver the baby in the lobby.

                I’ll never forget the moment they placed Sweet Pea, screaming at the top of her tiny lungs, into my outstretched arms.  I looked down at my brand new baby daughter and thought, “Awwww…..I’ll love you anyway.”  Ok, so you have figured out that Mama Bread Baker isn’t always the most sensitive of mothers.  But seriously folks, she wasn’t the prettiest baby birthed in that hospital.  She had big round blue eyes taking up half her face, not a stitch of hair on her pointy little head, and cheeks so puffy that the nurses checked three times to make sure she wasn’t storing anything in there.  I’m not kidding.  Just ask her brother, The Eldest crumb snatcher.  He used to stand over her bassinet pursing his lips and blowing his cheeks out as far as he could just to make fun of his new little sister.

                Fortunately, especially for her, within the first two years she grew into her cheeks, her eyes became proportionate with her face, and she finally had enough hair on her head to pull into a small, but obvious, ponytail complete with a bow to indicate yes, she is indeed a girl!  And now, sixteen years later, she has enough hair to cost Chief Money Maker a small fortune every few months to touch up her highlights.  She has indeed blossomed into a beautiful young lady and I’m having a little trouble accepting that my baby girl is growing up.  Sweet Pea has noticed this also.

                It’s that favorite time of year when every stay at home mother celebrates by running naked through the house at seven a.m. with a glass of wine in her hand screaming, “They’re back in school, they’re back in school!”  Or is that just me?  Anyway, Sweet Pea and I went school shopping last week and she wouldn’t let me buy her a cute little lunch box.  They had Hello Kitty lunchboxes, Fairy Princess lunchboxes, and my personal favorite, the Disney Princess “Handbag Style” lunchbox tote.  Check it out on lunchboxes.com.  (I don’t get a commission but it’s the easiest way for me to reference the usage in my blog so I don’t incur any copyright violations.)  I told her she was going to miss having her lunches packed with my special notes and her heart shaped peanut butter jelly sandwiches.  She just rolled her eyes and said something like, “Mom, can we stop at Claire’s and get my ears double pierced and my cartilage pierced?”

                It’s apparently not just Sweet Pea that is growing up.  I also tried to buy lunchboxes for the other two crumb snatchers heading back to school, and I thought I had the youngest crumb snatcher on board with my promise of homemade chocolate chip cookies, until his stupid meddling brother said, “Dude, do you really wanna be beat up every day?”  When did seventh graders stop carrying lunchboxes?

                I also received some flak from The Eldest crumb snatcher when I helped him get ready for sleep away camp this summer.  Being the dutiful mother that I am, we went through his list twice to make sure he had everything he needed.  I reminded him that he might get homesick, but it would only be a week, and he would be home before he realized it.  I promised to write him every day.  He also rolled his eyes and said something like, “First of all, Mom, I’m a COUNSELOR not a camper!  Second of all, you don’t have to write me, you can text.”

                Ok, ok, I get it.  They are growing up and I just have to accept it.  But no one said I have to like it.  So I guess this means that I should take the Sponge Bob Square Pants themed party paraphernalia back to Party City, huh?  Happy Sweet Sixteen Sweet Pea.  Mama loves you.  Really.

© 2011 CThacker

How an Automatic Firing Nerf Gun Lost the War

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                In a blended family such as ours, equality among the crumb snatchers is a constant balancing act.  Chief Money Maker has always wanted a little girl to spoil, but instead has been provided two crumb snatchers of the male gender by his ex wife.  And the only oven that I, Mama Bread Baker, will be baking in will be the double ovens residing in the kitchen at the Thacker Reservation.  My baby making store is out of business!  So needless to say, when my daughter decided to live with us, Chief Money Maker was excited to start his campaign of spoilage.  And crumb snatcher Sweet Pea had no complaints either.  I now face the constant challenge of reigning in Chief Money Maker to balance his treatment of Sweet Pea in comparison to that of the male crumb snatchers.

                I first realized we might have an issue that needed to be addressed when Sweet Pea was invited to play nerf gun wars with her softball teammates.  Sweet Pea is only fifteen and this would be the first outing with friends that drive.  I was a little nervous.  Sweet Pea and I discussed the outing with Chief Money Maker and he thought it would be perfectly fine for her to join her teammates.  We discussed what time she would return, and I suggested a curfew of seven-thirty.  He glanced at his watch and wondered if I should give Sweet Pea a later curfew given that it was currently seven fifteen.  Sigh, he was spoiling her already.  I acquiesced to a curfew of ten-thirty.  Sweet Pea batted her lashes and thanked him.

                Together, they ran upstairs to check out the nerf gun arsenal of the other male crumb snatchers in the household.  They returned empty-handed and I asked Sweet Pea what she was going to do for weaponry.  She replied that the team said they had an extra nerf gun if she didn’t have one of her own, and bounced back up the stairs to get ready.  Meanwhile, Chief Money Maker and his truck had disappeared.  Something was a little fishy here.

                Fifteen minutes later, Chief Money Maker returned with a bag from Wal-Mart and a guilty sheepish grin on his face.  “What have you done this time?” I asked, as he unloaded the latest and greatest model of automatic firing nerf gun machinery.

                “You can’t send that baby off to her first nerf gun war without her own gun!  You know they will give her the worst one they have!”

                “And you can’t start spoiling her!  What was wrong with the nerf guns upstairs?”

                “They weren’t automatics,” he replied as he began loading the nerf bullets into the rotating holder, installed the batteries, and packed extras in a waist pouch for easy access.

                Sweet Pea came down the stairs and squealed in delight, throwing her arms around Chief Money Maker’s neck.  He showed her how to work the gun, and she and Chief Money Maker tested it out….on ME!

                Battered and bruised from the repeated firings, I piled in the truck with Chief Money Maker and Sweet Pea, and we delivered her to her friend’s house. They would carpool from there to another teammate’s house to begin the war.  I walked up the driveway with Sweet Pea where we were suddenly stampeded with a squealing herd of teenage girls.  After the initial introductions were made, and the inquiries into who would be driving, what speed they would be driving, would both hands remain on the wheels at all times, and would the radio be tuned to a volume of no greater than one, I released my baby girl into the hands of her friends.  While walking back to the truck, I heard someone squeal, “Your gun is sooooooo cool.  That’s much better than the one we were going to give you!”  And Chief Money Maker, watching from the truck with his window rolled down, smiled.

                “I told you!” he said as I climbed back into the truck. 

                I think I replied with something like shut up and drive, given that I didn’t have my cast iron skillet to hit him with. 

                After an agonizing three hours of avoiding the urge to text and ask if she arrived safely, if she remembered what time her curfew was, and if she just wanted me to go ahead and come get her, she arrived home ten minutes before her curfew.  Chief Money Maker was more than anxious to hear the results of the nerf gun wars.

                “Well, the gun was cool and all, but I lost.” 

                Chief Money Maker was shocked.  “How in the world could you lose with that gun?”

                She explained that they had decided to play indoors…and in the dark.  Apparently the latest and greatest model of automatic firing nerf gun machinery also went “ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch” when turned on, alerting the other girls to her location inside the house.

                I smiled at Chief Money Maker and said, “I told you not to spoil her!”

                Mama Bread Baker knows best after all.

© 2011 CThacker

Clean House, Dirty Air Conditioner

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          Let me introduce myself.  I am Mama Bread Baker.  I run a blended family of seven that consists of Chief Money Maker, five crumb snatchers, three dogs, and I.  One thing you should know about me is that I like a clean house. The crumb snatchers once asked me why I liked cleaning so much.  I told them it wasn’t the cleaning that I liked, it was the result. Unfortunately, the only way to achieve that result was to do it myself, with the aid of the crumb snatchers, or hire a maid with their allowance money.  They were suddenly all for chipping in to help.  With the cleaning that is, not their allowance, of course.

            Chief Money Maker appears to be neutral on the subject, certainly not minding the organization I’ve provided since moving into his home. He also doesn’t complain when things get a little behind.   He provides the yeast for the bread baking, and I bake it.  It works well for us that way.  His honey-do-list isn’t very long and he usually (take special note of “usually”) does what is asked.  Mostly because he wants to partake in that fresh-baked bread!  So when Chief Money Maker recently received a quarterly bonus he was agreeable when I asked to purchase a new vacuum.  I immediately began my consumer research, excited about the opportunity to obtain a new house cleaning tool.

            Meanwhile, because I’m Mama Bread Baker, our crumb snatchers come to me when things need to be fixed, and when they want something to eat.  The primary issue the past two months has been the temperature on the second floor of our house where the five crumb snatchers live.  We have separate units for each floor and I had been quite comfortable downstairs.  But I soon began hearing cries of, “It’s so hoooooottt,” from the inhabitants of the upstairs.  “Keep your doors closed,” I yelled back at them.  I wondered how cool does it have to be to sit and watch TV and play video games anyway?  I wasn’t really that concerned although I did relay the complaints to Chief Money Maker.

            However, when the downstairs unit froze up during the week Chief Money Maker was in the Minnesota wilderness with absolutely no electronic connection to the civilized world, I did begin to agree with the crumb snatchers.  Maybe there were some air conditioning issues that needed to be addressed.  Yet for some reason, the 85 degree temperature upstairs was suddenly better than the 180 degrees downstairs and I didn’t hear “It’s so hoooooottt,” once that week.  At least not from them.  I said it quite a few times myself and usually threw in a few other choice words.

            When Chief Money Maker arrived home from the wilderness, where the average daily temperature was 60 degrees, he asked me if I missed him.  While drenched from head to toe with sweat generated by the Memphis summer heat, I hit him upside the head with the cast iron skillet and asked him, “What do YOU think?!”  Shortly thereafter, with an ice pack applied to his head, he contacted a friend of ours who kindly replaced the coil for the main unit, to the tune of a large portion of the bonus money. He also mentioned to Chief Money Maker that cleaning the outside units once or twice a month would help minimize repair costs.  Later, when the cries of “It’s so hoooooottt,” drifted downstairs again, I asked Chief Money Maker if he would clean the outside unit to see if that might resolve the issue.  He replied, “Chief Money Maker do it soon.”  Whatever! Mama Bread Baker was cool and happy once again.

             I counted the remaining eggs of the bonus and there was still enough for the vacuum.  Until the electric bill arrived.  It was twice as much as I had expected, chipping away at more of the bonus.  “It’s so hoooooottt,” was still drifting downstairs from the crumb snatchers.  I showed Chief Money Maker the electric bill and reminded him he was costing us more money by not cleaning the outside unit.  He replied, “Chief Money Maker do it soon.”  And the unit ran constantly for forty days and nights as the children of the Thacker Reservation roamed the upstairs desert complaining as much as the children of Israel did to Moses.  So finally, when I passed an air conditioning crew at a neighbor’s house, I unilaterally decided to schedule a call for them to come to our house the next morning.

            When they arrived, Chief Money Maker explained the recently replaced coil in the main unit, and I played the recordings of each crumb snatcher crying “It’s so hoooooottt.”  Two and one half hours later, we learned that it wasn’t functioning properly because it was DIRTY!  I was so embarrassed.  The woman that keeps a clean house had a dirty air conditioning unit! I wondered what the neighbors would think. 

            Then the bill for cleaning the unit was presented.  The repairman must have known exactly how much bonus we had left, because his bill totaled it all.  I watched the dreams of my new vacuum disappear as the air conditioning repair man drove away with our check.  Mama Bread Baker was no longer happy.  The only consolation is that the cries of “It’s so hoooooottt,” have been replaced with the sound of my husband vacuuming the entire house with my old vacuum.

Post script from Chief Money Maker:  Me highly advise switching off the breaker to your outside air conditioning unit and hosing down at least once a month.

© 2011 CThacker