Watermelons!

Watermelons! I have watermelons! Growing in flower pots!
I am truly amazing!

Schizophrenia

My life is spent in a constant, wild cycle of role playing. Now, before you fill your head with images of me as a dominatrix, you should know that the only role playing I'll tell you about involves my cartoon performances with my darling son. Last summer, I was usually Daphne, but I put in a few guest appearances as Shaggy or Fred. This summer, I have portrayed the likes of Trixie, Pops, X, Batgirl, the Joker, Batman, Superdog, Captain K'Nuckles, Flapjack, Scnitzel, Mung, Lennie, Tuck, and Ming Ming, too. Sometimes, I even guest star as Daddy. I was not awake for five minutes today before I had to fill in for Batgirl to fight the Joker. Try battling the imaginary and invisible forces of evil before your coffee. At least I won, and Batman was saved. I have to giggle at the thought that someone may have walked by and might have seen my performance through the window. Tee hee.

Yesterday, I had to be Pops, the mechanic, and the ER doctor (who wrapped Speed's leg in a cast). It all becomes very confusing, and I frequently have no idea who I am. At another point yesterday, I was Lennie and Ming Ming at the same time (I am offering bonus points if you know who they are).

I have learned to walk around in a daze until my boy assigns me a role: "Mom, you're ..." Then, I know what to do. My own identity has elusively slipped away, and I find myself answering everything in a Batmanesque "Of course, Robin..." For example, "Of course, Robin, that chicken MUST have sat out all night, and now the spores are festering, just waiting to seize the opportunity to escape and infect the city's entire communication system." I could have just said, "That chicken looks bad. Don't eat it." If I don't automatically revert to Batman, my second favorite is Captain K'Nuckles because he is gruff and calls Flapjack "Boy." In my best pirate voice, I can order the kids around: "Listen, boy, get in this galley on the double or you'll be swabbin' the decks while I eat ALL the candy!" Every time someone stubs a toe, we have to stop what we're doing and hop around as though we're all in agony, moaning, "Oh, it's the foot burn!" If you haven't seen the cartoon, then this just sounds nuts, but it all makes sense in context.

My favorite Flapjack lines: "How long do you want to be friends? Oh, until one of us dies."

I know, at this point, you're saying to yourself, "WTF?"

Well, let me tell you, Batman does not approve of such language, and we may have to confine you to the anti-obscenity chamber.

Am I a Bum?

I ordered my groceries online this week and had them delivered to the house. It was a wonderful luxury! My sister tried to me feel bad, saying that the delivery service is for the elderly and invalids. I had a free delivery coupon. It actually wound up being cheaper than going to the store because of the way items such as meat were priced, and then, if I factor in the cost of gas, I made out like a bandit! Everything I ordered was delivered. Nothing was forgotten. Sweet success.

How sad my life has become that I was so ecstatic about having groceries delivered. If you have kids, though, you know what torture the grocery store can be. I totally skirted the grocery store drama/trauma.

On a totally different note, my little boy can now pee standing up. He has fantastic aim! Hooray for him!

Word of the Day

Yesterday was an interesting day. My three-year-old son's word of the day was f@cking. Oh, yes, it came out of nowhere. He dropped his blanket (named bubba) on the bathroom floor, and I told him to pick it up. His response, "I don't need my f@cking bubba!" Later, he said to his sister, "Don't run into me with that f@cking scooter!" (Notice, we have successfully attached the "s" to the beginning of scooter--one problem solved.)

A few hours later, we were invited to the pool, and he answered, "Are we going to the f@cking pool?"
We came inside the house to gather our things and his sister. He interjected, "We need to get my f@cking sister."

At my mother's house, he became angry with his cousin and declared, "I don't need that f@cking A---!"

Just then, a very loud and sudden boom of thunder shook the house. I looked at my hysterically frightened boy and said, "See what happens when you use that word? Don't use it again."

He hasn't used it since.

I am impressed, however, by his proper adjectival use of the word. He even furrowed his brow and put his hands on his hips whenever he blurted it out. I just can't wait for a call from his teacher in September! I can see it now, "Mrs. B------, your son just said that he doesn't need a f@cking crayon." My boy prefers markers.

Mammograms

Today was my mammogram! One of the mammogram restrictions is that you cannot wear deodorant. Consequently, my son told me that I smell like a dead mommy. I'm not exactly sure why he is acquainted with that particular scent, but he was probably right. It was 95 degrees, and his mommy did not wear deodorant. On the flip side, it is now officially confirmed that I have perfect breasts! Tee hee

Check out the following headline and article intro:

Elkton, Md., man charged in assault with garden rake
THE (SALISBURY, MD.) DAILY TIMES • JULY 21, 2008
FRUITLAND, Md. – An Elkton, Md., man faces assault charges for allegedly attacking two Fruitland residents with a garden rake on Sunday morning.

Not at all surprising. I lived in Elkton for many years. Those people who simply could not manage to get a weapon carried around their garden tools.

Said

All right! That's it! No hitting your sister with the chicken!

Ants Part 2

I discovered the secret to finding no ants in the house. Wanna know? I stopped looking. It's wonderful and zen-like. Sigh.........

Oh, on another note, we went to see WALL-E. Oh, it was fabulous. The kids were completely engaged, which is doubly impressive because there was very little dialogue. Just for the record, I would have held WALL-E's hand. And those of you who know me know that's a very big deal because I am NOT touchy feely.

Have I Missed Something?

During the course of the past week, I have seen two different women in two different cars plucking their chin hairs at stoplights. Am I supposed to have tweezers in the car? Driver's Ed said to have a flashlight and a pair of scissors, but the course said nothing about tweezers. Then, today, I was behind a pickup truck. The driver rolled down his window and started dumping something out. Initially, I thought he was disposing of ashes from the ash tray, but when I got closer, I saw he was emptying the contents of his electric shaver. Am I the only person in Delaware not grooming my face in the car? Do I need to pack a Norelco and a pair of tweezers? What about a wax kit?

I Feel Old

I used to feel like I was still 18. I felt that way until I was 28. I loved it. Parents of my 8th grade students thought I was an 8th grader. I was carded everywhere I went. Life was grand, and I had no wrinkles.

When I was 29, I gave birth to my daughter. That added ten years right there. The next thing I knew, I had mom-wrinkles on my forearm. You might have them, too, if you carry children on your hip. I could deal with that.

When I was pregnant with my son, I felt like I was 102. I could hardly walk. How old was I then? I don't know. I'd have to do math, and I am too tired for that... Ok, I did the math: 32. And, I had wrinkles on my face! Gasp.

Not too long ago, I found old-lady-wrinkles around my mouth. You know what these are: the soft wrinkles that appear around the mouths of plump, well-powdered, Oil-of-Olay-ed, comfortably kept women in their 60s or 70s. I almost passed out. I am far too young to have old-lady-wrinkles, but at least they are the soft, happy kind, as opposed to the grumpy old sour puss kind.

On my birthday, my homeroom guestimated that I am somewhere between 29 and 103. Nice.

I recently bought a bottle of vodka--not to drown out the sorrows of age. I don't really remember why I bought it. Memory is the first to go. Either that, or I drank too much of it. Anyway, I bought the vodka. The clerk carded me. I smiled to myself, and then he said, "We have to card everyone we think is under 40." Gee, thanks. At least I don't look 40.

I tried to run the track at school and darn near killed myself. I did eek out 1/4 mile. I was running with my inhaler in my hand. How sad is that?

What really made me feel old? I saw a picture of one of the Beastie Boys. He has gray hair. You can't be rhymin' and stealin' and singing about crafty girls named Lucy (Loose) if you have gray hair. The least these boys (old men) could do for me is invest in some Just for Men. Please.

Ok, the other thing that made me feel old was the look I got from one of my students today. I stopped by camp and saw several of my former and future little darlings. We got into a conversation about computers. I mentioned how much things have changed since I was young, and I paused. Then, I said that I didn't consider myself that old. This child's eyes nearly popped right out of his head. I thought I was going to have to catch his eyeballs and reinsert them. I guess they consider me that old. And, I think that sucks.

Gone for Good

I have dismal news. An exhaustive search of the area has yielded no clues regarding the whereabouts of the famed racers Speed and X. All rescue efforts have been officially terminated. Either they were found and taken by some selfish kid, or this was their daring, desperate escape attempt, and they didn't want to be found. Perhaps they just couldn't take one more day in action figure land.

So much for that.

Speed Racer and Racer X Missing

Speed Racer and his masked brother Racer X are missing and presumed dead. It appears that at approximately 1:30 P.M. today, they allegedly took a fun, albeit brief, joyride on the front of the family car. Evidence suggests that they plummeted to their grizzly deaths within the first quarter mile.

Their disappearance was reported at 9:49 P.M. A thorough search of the area was initiated but called off at 10:28 P.M. after no clues were found and members of the search party reported being cold and afraid. One was quoted as saying, “What if a wild animal jumps out of the bushes and attacks us!?” Mom, the lead investigator, well-known for her flashlight defense techniques, warned the search party not to act like sissies. The search will continue at sunrise.

Investigators hope to recover the bodies so that the family can have some closure.

Any updates will be posted.

Overheard in the Driveway

You already know from the Peed Racer post that my son has problems with the initial "S" sound. Yesterday, as the kids were riding scooters in the driveway, I heard the boy scream, "Don't run into me with that cooter!"

Needless to say, we have already begun correcting that speech problem.

Ants

Ants. I hate them. Ugh. My last ant encounter wound up with an entire colony cascading down the kitchen wall as I removed the outlet cover. Ewwwwww! It still gives me the creepy crawlies. That was in the last house.

Now, I have found them in my McMansion (as the locals so kindly call the houses in my neighborhood). Yes, I have a Hummer and live in a McMansion. Suburban yuppie hell. With ants. Grrrrr.

I found them crawling in under the front door, so I sprayed the perimeter and the front door. Then, I found them in the bathroom, which freaked out my son and put a damper on potty training…pardon the pun. Then, I found a crack in the wall by the closet, from which they were crawling. I sprayed it right after I noticed the water damage on the baseboards. That spraying seemed effective, but it raised my concerns about water damage in the middle of the house. This can mean only one thing: plumbing. Yuck.

A week has passed, and Screams-Like-a-Girl found an ant on his racetrack. I inspected, sprayed, and found more water damage. This time, it was under the window and in the corner of the house: water from outside here, not plumbing, thank goodness. And, ants were crawling out from the water-damaged baseboard at the corner.

I have a question: Are the ants releasing liquids and creating the water damage, or is the water-damaged wood very accommodating to the ants? I don’t know what they’re eating because there is no food out there in the living room. They must be wood ants. Sigh. I have not even lived here a year.

On the plus side, this has forced me to get on my hands and knees to look in all kinds of places that I usually overlook. I have found many items to add to my year-end punch list, such as the water damage. So, it’s not all bad, I guess.

Old Bats and Swords

Highlights from the weekend:

My grandmother visited. We affectionately referred to the trip as “The Farewell Tour.” Yes, it sounds like I will go to hell for that comment, but the woman disinherited me last year when I wouldn’t leave the job I just started and pack up my children to come stare at her in the hospital. Clearly, she didn’t have one foot out the door then, so I was justified. I really don’t want any inheritance from her anyway, so that’s not what I was in it for, and the fact that she assumed such is just an insult. Then, she accused my mother of trying to kill her, so any inkling of forgiveness went right out the window. Moral of the story: watch what you say when you become old and crazy. Your passive aggressive, grudge-holding progeny will spurn you.

Her visit was such a joy. I got to sit in the dining room and watch her breath and cough. Then, my uncle changed the oxygen tank. Oh, that was exciting! Happy, happy, joy, joy.

Somebody kill me before I hit 90, please. I do not want to be confined to an oxygen tank, surrounded by my rotten grandchildren who claim I am on my farewell tour.

On a happier note, today was Hide-and-Seek-Sword-Fight Tuesday. I maintain that I still have it when it comes to hiding, and I always win the sword fights. No way am I going to let my kids win. They need to learn the spirit of competition. The only way the kids beat me is when they slay me in the eye. I usually let my guard down when that happens. Maybe I’ll wise up and wear my glasses next time. For those of you not in the know, this is almost like hide-and-seek, but with foam swords. When the hider is found, the seeker and hider engage in a battle to the loss, which means whoever loses the sword loses the match. The loser counts, and it starts all over again.

Of course, then the swords became missiles. We fought and giggled until my daughter claimed she was going to throw up. We judiciously decided to take a break at that point.

Tomorrow is Take-a-Walk-and-Shoot-the-Neighbors Wednesday. We like to pretend we are astronauts who have landed on a strange new planet. We shoot everyone we see as we yell, “Ahhhh! It’s another alien!” Most of the neighbors are familiar with the game by now. Thank goodness. At first, things were a little awkward, but now it’s all good.