Category Archives: humor

After the Party

Driving home after a birthday celebration for my mother-in-law, we pass the site where my brother-in-law’s pastry shop is going to be.  It’s officially under construction, but so far the construction looks like a lot full of turned up dirt with a few stakes in the ground. 

Snags, riding in the back seat of the car, says “I hope Uncle Mikey isn’t an astronaut by the time they finish building his pastry shop!” And since construction generally takes six or eight months around here, and since Mikey isn’t a pilot of any kind, nor does he work for NASA, the chances of him becoming an astronaut in the next six or eight months are somewhere between pigs flying and hell freezing over.  My husband said “If Uncle Mikey is an astronaut before his pastry shop is finished, I’ll eat my hat!”

Snags thought that was pretty funny, you know, eventually… like after we spent several minutes explaining what “eat my hat” meant. But then Snags went on to demand “What hat?” and my husband said, “I don’t know, any hat…  Some hat…  A hat.  It doesn’t matter…”

Snags (the optimist) considered all this for a few minutes then said, “Well, if Uncle Mikey is an astronaut by then that’s okay because I will take over his pastry shop!”

To which I replied, “You will?  Oh really?  How are you going to do that?  What about school?”

“Oh, I’ll go to school! School can come to me while I am at the pastry shop!” Snags said, the air of a child actor in his tone.

“Besides,” he continued, “They aren’t even teaching us anything at school anyway.  At least it feels like they aren’t! I don’t think we’re learning anything.”

I called him on that.  I said “Well, what about all the sight words they’ve taught you?  And all the words you can write now?  You even write whole sentences by sounding out words yourself!”

“And math!” my husband added.  “You know how to count by ten.”

Snags obviously felt bolstered from our pointing out all the things he had learned in school.  “Yeah!” he said, “And I can count by eleven! Listen… 11, 41, 51, 61, 71, 81, 91, 101, 1000…” 

My husband couldn’t take it.  He interrupted. “How about 11, 22, 33, 44, 55….”

“You don’t know Dad!  Snags cried.  “I can count by twelve too, wanna hear?” Snags asked.

“Sure,” I said stifling a laugh.

“Okay… 12, 32, 42, 52, 62, 72, 82, 92, 102, 1000!” he proudly proclaimed.

And there, in the darkened night, with a low slung but full and bright moon shining in front of us, I thought to myself, maybe he’s right.  Maybe they aren’t teaching him anything in school afterall.

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Filed under astronaut, counting, humor, Kindergarten, learning, life, pastry shop, Snags, Uncle Mikey

Was That a Bat That Just Flew By?

So I was listening to NPR yesterday and… Yes, I listen to NPR!  You got a problem with that?  Anyway, like I said, I was listening to the Diane Rehm show on NPR yesterday morning and Diane and her guests were talking about Bram Stoker’s Dracula.  It’s a book I haven’t ever read but now I am going to.  I hope it’s not as scary as Stephen King’s Salem’s Lot because I don’t think I can take scary anymore.  When I was a teenager, scary movies and books were fun.  Now… well, now I’ve got a child and I am an adult and I’m supposed to be brave. For my child. It wouldn’t look so good to jump 10 feet in the air and scream in fear because I just read a scary passage and Snags climbed out of his bed to ask for a glass of water…

But I am definitely going to go to the library and check out that book.  This weekend, if they have it.  And the reason I am going to do it is because I learned something very valuable while listening to the story.  So I am going to read the book as a Thank You! to show my appreciation for Bram and for NPR.  If he hadn’t written the book, they wouldn’t have been talking about it on the radio.  And I wouldn’t have learned one of the finer points about vampire safety. 

You see, they said on the radio that Bram Stoker left out a few characteristics about vampires that were pretty common folklore at the time he wrote the book. One of them being that vampires like to count things.  I seem to recall that Sesame Street got that part right, but Bram Stoker, he left it out altogether. But it’s important, because according to the folklore, one way to keep vampires away is to scatter things about.  That way, if a vampire comes to get you, he will get distracted and start counting all the things you left scattered about.

Which is why, I am pretty sure, that I haven’t had a problem with vampires in my house.  I’ve got piles of shit everywhere.  Magazines, books, toys, clothes, you name it.  I was going to clean it all up, but now I’ve got a reason to keep the place just the way it is.  This isn’t clutter.  It’s vampire deterrent.  And my neck, it’s staying bite free. 

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Filed under clutter, Dracula, humor, NPR, radio, vampires

Running for Tiffany

Once upon a time there was a girl.  She liked to run.  She liked Tiffany’s.  The jewelry store, that is, not other girls named Tiffany.  Although she assumed they were very nice as well.  The girl in our story wasn’t rich enough to shop at Tiffany’s very much, and she’d never eaten breakfast there at all, but she loved looking through their catalogs.  In fact, she often flipped through Tiffany catalogs while she ate her breakfast in the mornings at her own kitchen table.  And there, with milk from the cereal bowl dribbling down her chin, she could imagine, if only for a few moments, that she was beautiful like Holly Golightly and she was adorned with glittering gems from her favorite store… Until her six year old son interrupted her glorious daydreaming by demanding something like, “Belle!  I need you to put this axe in Princess Leia’s hand.  Thanks!”  
 
Then the girl would snap back to reality and attach the LEGO axe to the LEGO Princess Leia, and the little boy would run off to play and the girl would glance at the clock, realize she was running late, and wolf down the rest of her breakfast before dashing up the stairs to get dressed for work.

This was all pretty routine until one fine fall day when the girl received an email from a running friend of hers, telling her about the Nike Women’s Virtual Half Marathon and how instead of a finisher’s medal, all participants who finished the race would receive a keychain designed by Tiffany.  Well, if THAT didn’t get the girl’s attention, nothing would.

Now the girl had already run a lot that year as it was.  Still, she had hoped to squeeze in just one more race that fall. The girl had given some thought to using her husband’s entry in an upcoming race that he had to skip due to his sore knee and his foot that he had run over with his lawnmower.  She thought long and hard about it, but in the end she chickened out because, well, it’s against the rules to run a race under someone else’s bib number.  And even though the girl suspected that other runners did that kind of thing all the time, she was afraid SHE would get caught and kicked out of racing forevermore. So she told her husband she wouldn’t use his entry after all.  Imagine! The girl was actually starting to hang up her racing shoes for the season when that fateful email arrived!

The email explained that in order to participate in the virtual race, the girl would need to purchase her very own Nike+ iPod sports kit. The kit contained a little accelerometer that the girl would attach to her shoe and a receiver that would attach to her iPod.  All wired up like that, the girl would run 13.1 miles any time of day and anywhere in the world on October 21st and the sports kit would track the distance she ran, the length of time she’d been running, and the calories she’d burned.  If she completed the miles, the Tiffany keychain would follow in the mail.

The girl decided that this was a fantastic plan and she liked it even better when she discovered the whole Nike+ iPod sports kit was fairly inexpensive at $29.  The girl compared that to the $200.00 Garmin Forerunner system that some of her running friends wore and she decided that the Nike+ iPod system was a bargain.  Plus, the Garmin system didn’t come with the promise of a Tiffany anything!

So the girl bought herself a sports kit, set it all up, and went out to run.  Once outside in the cold fall air, the girl learned very quickly that nothing keeps a girl running like trying to calibrate a new Nike+ iPod system.

The girl was the responsible sort and so she read the directions to her new gadget rather carefully.  The directions suggested the best way to calibrate her new gadget was to run ¼ mile on the inside lane of a track.  But the girl was running out of time.  The date of the virtual half marathon was fast approaching and she didn’t know where to find a track.  So the girl took her new gadget to her favorite trail and started running.  The girl ran one mile but her Nike+ iPod system said she had run 1.05 miles.  So the girl started over.  She ran a second mile, and her gadget said she had run ANOTHER 1.05 miles.  Frustrated with the inaccuracy, the girl continued on her quest to properly calibrate the device to her satisfaction.  In the end, the girl did calibrate her Nike+ iPod kit, and she did it by running 11 miles…  

A week went by while the girl dreamed about that Tiffany key chain.  Then the morning of the 21st arrived.  It was cold and dark as the girl awoke to dress for her race, but stars from the Orionids Meteor shower streaked over head and promised to help light the girl’s way as she headed out once again to her favorite trail.  She started running just as the sun rose at 7:00 a.m., her favorite songs playing faintly in her ears.  She ran and she ran and she ran until she had gone a little over 14 miles.  When she was done, she stopped.  She hopped in her car and drove home where she uploaded her running results into the computer and took a shower.  She ate some lunch then took a restless nap by bribing her six year old son into taking his own nap.  “I’ll pay you $5.00 if you sleep for an hour!” she said.

As she lay in her bed, tired and a little sore from all that running, the girl realized that everyone has their price.  For her, it was the promise of a Tiffany’s keychain that will arrive in the mail.  For her son, it was $5.00 cold hard cash. 

The girl’s husband laughs at all of this.  He says to her, “You better hope the keychain was designed by Tiffany the jewelry store and not Tiffany the teenager who used to sing in malls!”

The girl doesn’t think that is funny at all.  Regardless, she’ll be waiting by her mail box…

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Filed under humor, life, Nike+ iPod, running, Tiffany's, virtual half marathon

Letter to My Son

Dear Child of Mine,

You know those little squares of a papery material that I put in your lunch box everyday?  Those would be NAPKINS.  You are supposed to wipe your hands and face with them during and after eating your lunch.  And then you can throw them away with the rest of your trash.

You don’t have to bring the napkins back home all sparkling clean and untouched at the end of the day.

You know the SHIRT UPON YOUR BACK?  It is NOT A NAPKIN.  It is a shirt.  You are supposed to wear it, not wipe your hands and face on it.  It is a shirt.  It is not a cleaning rag.  There IS a difference.

The same goes for your PANTS.  They cover your lap and your legs up to your waist and as convenient as they may be for wiping jelly off your hands, they are also NOT A NAPKIN.

Napkins. We use them at dinner and at breakfast, too.  So I am pretty certain you have seen them before. Many times.  And yes, I understand that the dog will snatch your napkin off your lap at dinnertime and so I have to let you leave your napkin on the table while you eat here at home.  But as far as I know, there aren’t any dogs roaming under the cafeteria tables at your elementary school.  Are there?  Please, by all means, correct me if I’m wrong.

I know your grandfather likes to talk to about money and stocks and stuff.  Did he perhaps mention that he had bought you some stock in laundry detergent or stain remover?  Is your disregard for napkins a ploy to increase my purchase of those items and thereby, the value of your investments?  If so, you might want to reconsider.  Because I think we could be working at cross purposes here.  I mean, when you grow up and become wealthy off your stain removal stock, you’ll be spending at least an equal amount of money buying your own product line to clean your dress shirts if you don’t break this hand wiping on clothes habit now.  And fancy suit pants?  Honey, they have to be DRYCLEANED.

Perhaps you are concerned about the environment and you don’t want to waste paper by putting napkins in the landfills everyday?  Well, let me suggest that the stain removal chemicals going into the water supply might be a bigger problem, and your excessive use of drawing paper isn’t saving any trees either.

So PLEASE USE A NAPKIN!

Love,
Your Mother

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Filed under clothes, humor, laundry, napkins, Snags, stains

Snippets

As I was driving to work today there was a very nice looking Cadillac SUV in front of me.  It had a vanity plate that said 4 God.  And below that, on the plate’s frame, was this:

Everything I Have Is

And I thought, even your Cadillac?  Really?  How do you plan to get that pretty SUV up to God’s house in Heaven?  Are you driving it to him?  Right now?  Or is it already his and maybe he’s letting you borrow it, drive it around down here for while?

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My husband and I have been married for 14 years now.  Our Wedding Anniversary was this past Tuesday.  On that very night I heard my son say to my husband, “I wish you and mom would get a divorce already!”  My husband was taken aback.  I heard him ask “Why? Why do you want us to get a divorce?” to which my son responded, “Because then I could marry mom!”  My husband assured him that even if he did come around and divorce me, that Snags still wouldn’t be allowed to marry his mother.  There are laws against that you know.

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I was out on a long run recently when I came upon two men running toward me.  I caught just a snippet of their conversation but it was enough to make me turn around to get a second glance at the speaker.  He said to his friend, “Yeah, it’s dangerous, but I do it anyway.”  I wondered if he thought he came across as brave, because I thought he came across as stupid, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see his picture linked to a Darwin Award next year.  I am actually hoping to see this, so I can find out WHAT the dangerous thing he used to do was.

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I cannot sew.  I’m not proud of that, but it’s true, and I don’t try to hide the fact.  That is why I buy my son’s Halloween costumes.  This year, as you might have guessed, he’s going to be Darth Vader.  There is a kid in our neighborhood who copies my son’s every move and ends up with the same costume every year. This irritates my son and me to no end, and this year, as expected, neighbor kid is dressing as Darth Vader.  But neighbor kid’s mom is oblivious and happy because she has a cardboard Darth Vader mask and has decided that she can dress her kid in black pants and black shirt, and voila, she’s made a Darth Vader costume.  My son heard her telling me about this and he said “You aren’t supposed to MAKE Halloween costumes!  You are supposed to BUY them!”  Neighbor kid’s mom was not happy about that comment.  I suspect she will be considerably unhappier when she sees Snags dressed in his store bought Darth Vader finest on the 31st. 

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Filed under Halloween, humor, kids, life, religion, running

The Field Trip

You know that movie Children of the Corn?  I think I know how the kids came to live in the corn.  They were originally a kindergarten class on a fall field trip to a corn maze and the chaperones, well, they got hot and tired of walking in circles through the corn, so they told the kids they were going off to get the kids their lunches and they’d be right back…

Only, you know, they didn’t come right back.  They didn’t come back at all.  Instead they hopped aboard the school bus that brought them all there in the first place, and they took off, never to return.

Or at least, that’s how I imagined it happened.

In reality, us chaperones, we stayed.  For the whole day.  Leading children out of the corn.  Some of whom, guessing by their behavior, their parents might have been thrilled if we had left them there.  But like I said, we didn’t.

I know I should be thankful that I made it back alive, and just let it rest at that, but I have some questions I feel a need to get answers for:

1.  If the instructions given to the chaperones said for the chaperones to wear a watch, then why weren’t the teachers who wrote the instructions wearing watches?  Tell me, teachers, why did you keep asking ME what time it was?

2.  Why weren’t the teachers chaperoning any children?  How did you manage to pass them all off on the parent volunteers so the six of you could enjoy some relative quiet time at the corn maze?

3.  Does anybody know what kind of parent sends their child off on a filed trip without a brown bag lunch?  The field trip form specified a brown bag lunch.  A carton of chocolate milk is not, in my book, a brown bag lunch.  It is a drink.  And without refrigeration on a 90 degree day, the milk was likely curdled by the time your son got to drink it. I was too unnerved to check.  But just so you know, parent who didn’t bother to send a lunch, the school cafeteria supplied an emergency brown bag lunch for your child.  But he claimed to not like the peanut butter and jelly Uncrustables, the apple juice, or the cookies that were packed inside.  So, his lunch at the corn maze consisted of two sips of warm, curdled chocolate milk.

4.  And Snags?  Hello!  What was with the pedal car?  Why couldn’t you steer the thing?  I know you wanted to ride the car around the whole race track, but you kept wrecking into the tires and bales of hay.  After 10 minutes of watching this I had to make you GET OUT OF THE CAR, NOW!  NOW! LET’S GO OR THE BUS WILL LEAVE WITHOUT US! And so you didn’t get to ride them very far at all, and neither did your friend who somehow survived the long hot afternoon on only two sips of chocolate milk.  I’m sorry, really, I am, but it wasn’t my fault.  Learn how to steer or you will not, I repeat, WILL NOT be getting your driver’s license when you turn 16.

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Filed under corn maze, field trip, humor

Evil Genius Turns Six (or Happy Birthday Snags!)

My son turns six years old today.  It’s kind of unbelievable to look back at photographs from when he was born and remember the tiny baby he was, versus now, the child he has become.

He was a tiny thing, just 6 pounds, 12 ounces, and 19 ½ inches long.  Today he’s close to 60 pounds and just shy of 4 feet tall.

Back then he didn’t speak, he slept a lot and cried.  Now he won’t stop talking and he wakes up way too early in the mornings.  He still cries, but mostly only when he’s hurt or very mad.

Back then, as I struggled with my new role as a mother, I came upon a quote that immediately and ever since became one of my favorite quotes about parenting: The days are long but the years are short.  I don’t know who said that, but I believe that those are truest words ever spoken.  How did we get here?  Six years down the road from where we started?  The past is nearly all a blur.  That’s partly, I think, why I started writing.  To document the stories of our lives before they become blurry too.  The past… eventually it eludes us, stands just beyond our grasp laughing at us and at what we can’t remember because we are too busy dealing with the here and now.  And so I take the time to write things down before I forget them, before I get too busy with the next thing.  I will collect these stories, and one day I will publish them.  Most likely it will be my own personal endeavor, a book made on Blurb or somewhere similar, and bought only by myself.  But I will give the book to Snags.  And when he is 25 or 38 or 46 he can look back and remember with me, or with his own children, the things that we might have otherwise forgotten.

There’s a gentleman that I know who through the years has asked about my son and told me about his son, already an adult.  This man came to the conclusion, from the stories I told him about Snags, that my son was destined for greatness.  “The only thing is,” he said, “I’m not sure if he’s going to be the President of the United States or a criminal mastermind.  You are going to have your hands full,” he warned.  “Keep on top of your son, nurture his skills, and push him toward good.  He’s smart… too smart, too crafty and too mischievous, he could go either way.  It’s your job to lead him in the right direction.”

And I’m trying, I really am.  But the other night I got a little taste of what the future might hold, and this kid of mine, he may turn out to be an Evil Genius despite my best efforts.  It was bedtime and I was reading out loud about the planet Saturn from a book called 4000 Things You Should Know.  “Saturn,” the book states, “is so massive, the pressure at its heart is enough to turn hydrogen solid.  That is why there is a layer of metallic hydrogen around the planet’s inner core of rock.”  And it goes on to explain that “Saturn is not solid, but is made almost entirely of gas, mostly liquid hydrogen and helium.  Only in the planet’s very small core is there any solid rock.” 

I tried to explain that in terms I thought an almost six year old would understand, so I  explained that air is a gas and that if it were on Saturn it would turn it into solid chunks.   

I continued reading and after a few minutes Snags interrupted and said, “Okay! We need to destroy Saturn.  We need to BLOW. IT. UP!” I looked at my son, innocent child turned comic book villain, and said no, that wasn’t right.  We shouldn’t do that.  But then I proceed to ask him why he thought we should blow up Saturn.

“Because,” he said, “there is no oxygen is space.  That’s because Saturn takes it all and turns it into rocks.  So if we destroy Saturn the rocks will turn back into air and people will be able to breathe in space!”

I laughed.  “Okay,” I said.  “I see your reasoning.  That sounds logical, but I don’t think I explained this right…  We don’t breathe the type of gas that Saturn turns into a solid.  That’s hydrogen, and we are breathing air which is made up of mostly nitrogen and oxygen, not hydrogen…” 

The next day, as I was shopping for Snags’ birthday present in Target, I was thinking about his plan to blow up Saturn.  I had to consider whether or not I was the best person to lead Snags away from the dark side… 

I was in one of the toy aisles and reaching out to take hold of a Star Wars transformer that could turn from an X-Wing into Luke Skywalker.  As luck would have it, it was the very last one they had.  And just as my fingertips brushed the package, a little boy zipped down the aisle at breakneck speed and grabbed the toy off the hook it was hanging from. Right from under my hand!  The child’s mother saw this and reprimanded him, told him to give the toy back to me, that I was looking at it and going to buy it.  The child handed the toy over to me, and I thanked him and then his mother. I thought that was the end of our conversation.

But then the woman asked me “Are you going to buy that?” and I said “Yes, I was thinking about it.” To which she puffed herself up like the Wicked Witch of the West Target and huffed “THINKING ABOUT AND BUYING ARE TWO DIFFERENT THINGS!  WHICH IS IT?!”

I was stunned.  It took me a moment but when I recovered from her verbal slap I said I was going to buy it. Then, for fun, I continued to look at other Star Wars toys on the shelves, pulling them down, turning them over, reading the back and looking like I was weighing their merits against the transformer I said I was buying.

Eventually, I tuned my cart around and pushed my way out of the aisle.  I stopped to look at another toy, one that Snags has asked for before.  I pulled it off the shelf and put it in my cart.  Then I turned down the Barbie aisle, pulled the X-Wing/Luke Skywalker Transformer from my cart, and shoved it behind a bunch of Barbie Dolls.  I decided that I wasn’t going to buy it, but neither was the witch in the Star Wars aisle.  And that’s why I am not sure I will be much help when it comes to stopping my little evil genius from blowing up Saturn.  It’s for a good cause, after all.

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Filed under birthday, humor, Luke Skywalker, parenting, Saturn, Snags, Star Wars, transformers

My Bad

I jammed up the elementary school’s traffic circle this morning.  And I’m not sure, but I think the traffic circle parent police and the vice-principal may have taken down my license number.  So I expect a call sometime later today, if not an actual visit from the crossing guard and a real state policeman, possibly banning me from the circle forever.  They can do that you know.

But it’s not my fault.  Not really.  I mean, normally I walk Snags to school each morning.  The cold front that the weatherman was calling for was supposed to move through over night and dump all its marble size raindrops then.  And it did, at least some of it.  I mean, I heard the thunder and the rain last night.  It started right when I started watching The Office, and at the exact moment when Snags got out of bed crying that he’d hurt himself, scratched his eye. 

That turned out to be his eye lid, but one look at his claw like fingernails convinced me he’d be a bloody mess by morning if I didn’t do something right then.  So I trimmed his nails, cleaned off his eyelid scratch, and sent him back to bed amid the rain and thunder and my trying to catch all of the funniness that is The Office.

This morning was supposed to dawn clear and bright and chilly, but I take it the weather Gods didn’t get that notice from the weather man at our local television station.  Because instead, the sky was that odd blue color, the one somewhere between an enthusiastic cobalt and a depressing gray, the one that means it might be getting ready to rain, hard.  Or it might simply be the old rain burning away from the sun behind it.  And only a little more time will reveal what is to be…

I kept looking out the window, and as luck would have it, everything was fine until the very. last. second.  And then the sky split open. 

But I’m flexible, so I said to Snags, “Get in the car.  I’m driving you to school.”  And Snags complained.  He wanted to walk.  I would have walked, really, I would have.  But I promised a neighbor friend who is out of town on a cruise vacation, that I would walk her son to school each morning, leaving her mother-in-law babysitter to tend to my friend’s young twins in the morning without having to cart them up to school and back like my friend usually does.

I figured two small boys with backpacks, lunch bags, and umbrellas might not be the thing to mix with a downpour and a deadline.  School has a definite starting time, and puddles are the devils snare to that. 

So I picked my neighbor’s son up and in less than 2 minutes we had pulled into the school’s traffic circle.  I followed the rules, I followed the cars and stopped where I was supposed to.  But then I had to get out of my car to help the boys out.  The doors have to be opened by hand, they don’t glide away like those on all the minivans that were surrounding me. One door has a child lock on it so Snags couldn’t open it even if he wanted to.  The other, well, that door would have opened into the traffic.  So I got out and opened Snags’ door to let the boys out onto the sidewalk. 

Only they are five, in Kindergarten, and not fast.  Not fast like the 3rd and 4th graders hopping out of the cars in front of us.  So by the time I got them out of the car and back into their backpacks and put their umbrellas up and gave Snags a kiss, and hopped back into my car, I was the ONLY car left in the circle.  All the cars that had been in front of me had vanished.  But all the world was behind me waiting, waiting, waiting to pull in.

That’s when I noticed the looks.  The disdain.  The shaking of heads.  You’d have thought I was sitting there reading a map for 20 minutes, or talking on my cell phone and had missed the green light.  But honestly, when I got home and looked at the clock, I had been gone for a grand total of 6 minutes.  So I couldn’t have jammed up the traffic circle for too long.  But apparently, jamming it up at all is a CRIME. 

So I am off to dig out the TRAFFIC CIRCLE RULES paper.  The one I didn’t fully read when it came home because I didn’t expect to be driving Snags to school.  It’s not MY fault it started raining this morning. And I can tell you one thing…  If I end up going to jail for this, the weather man, he’s going down with me.

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Filed under humor, life, school, traffic, weather

Soccer

Snags is playing soccer this fall but if you sat and watched the practices and games, you’d think he thought I’d signed him up for Conversation 101.  All he does during practice is stand in line for the various soccer drills and talk to the kids around him.  The coach is forever calling “Snags!  Are you ready?”

Last weekend his team played their first game.  And by game I mean scrimmage and also I mean there were no referees or anybody “official” on the field.  Well, save for the two fathers turned soccer coaches, that is.  And I only count them as officials because they had whistles. 

When you are five and playing soccer, the field is pretty small and your teammates are both boys and girls.  Your team uniform consists of matching t-shirts for all the players.

There are no fouls: no yellow or red cards.  There are no free kicks or penalty kicks.  But that is probably because there are hardly any kicks at all.  Mostly the team runs in a large clump, like a herd of small animals, chasing the ball around the field.  If and when some hapless player does manage to strike the ball with his or her foot, it’s usually by accident and out of bounds, or into their own goal.  Nothing says team quite like scoring a goal against your own, now does it?

Since the games are more or less unofficial in this age group, each team member gets to take a turn trying out various positions on the field.  They can play one of three broadly defined positions: offense, defense, or goalie.

The goalie’s job is the easiest here.  The ball so rarely comes anywhere near the goal, the goalie can take a nap if he wants to and still be 99.9% guaranteed that nobody will score on him while he snoozes.  Except maybe that kid from his own team…

But back to my kid…the whole time Snags was playing defense he stood there sentinel, not moving except to chew on a finger shoved so far into his mouth it looked like he was trying to force himself, like some high fashion runway model with an eating disorder, to vomit.

I don’t know what he was looking at but it’s safe to say it wasn’t the ball, or the rest of the team as they came charging at him and he stood there, as if behind glass, or as if he was watching the action before him on a television set in Best Buy.  Occasionally he’d swat at a bee that flew his way, but that was it as far as motion goes.

The coach tried to get his attention:  “Snags!  Get ready, the ball is coming right at you!  Run to it! Snags!  Look!  The Ball!”  Eventually his coach gave up and called for the other defensive player, Tony, to take the ball.  And so did Snags.  As the ball came his way I heard Snags say, “Get the ball, Tony!” even though clearly it should have been Snags’ ball.  Being as it landed right as his feet.

Another kid on the team, Paul, isn’t much better though.  He doesn’t move unless the coach Calls. His. Name.  His mom stands at the sidelines yelling instructions:  “Paul, go get the ball, run after it, kick the ball Paul!”  And Paul shakes his head and hollers back, “But the coach didn’t Call. My. Name!”

And Paul may have a point there.  I noticed that the coach is more than a little vague in describing the rules and roles and the various soccer skills to the kids. These kids are 5 and 6 years old, playing in a league where five is the minimum age for starting to play.  Meaning, most if not all of the kids on the team have never played before. On the first day of practice, for example, the coach told the kids to dribble the ball.  One child picked up their soccer ball and started to dribble it like a basketball.  The coach sounded a bit annoyed as he said, “No!  No HANDS!  Don’t pick up the ball with your hands!  This isn’t basketball!”  He sounded, I thought, like Tom Hanks in the movie A League of Their Own, where he yells all aghast, “There’s no crying in baseball!”

So the children heard “no hands in soccer”, only to be told later, when they played the position of goalie, “Go get the ball!  Pick it up with your HANDS!”  So I think they might be just a little confused about it all. And I think the coach ought to maybe demonstrate the skill he’s trying to teach.  Then again, I tried out for the girls soccer team in high school and didn’t make it, so what do I know?

Since I’m not the coach, I merely sit and watch.  I cheer the kids on, cringe when they score on the wrong goal, and hand over Snag’s water bottle when the coach calls for a water break. Oh, yeah, and sometimes I swat at a bee that flies my way. 
 

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Filed under coaching, humor, kids, life, Snags, soccer

Don’t Try This at Home

Snags has the imagination of a crazy person’s reality.  A schizophrenic’s perhaps.  I don’t know if he actually hears voices, but he certainly holds conversations with invisible people — people that aren’t exactly real, like Darth Vader and The Mystery Gang from Scooby Doo.   He once spent weeks, or maybe it was months, talking to Eric and Dr. Kaufman and the Phantom Virus, characters that were in Scooby Doo and The Cyber Chase.  Most recently, he’s been holding his hand to his ear as if it were a telephone and having conversations with Darth Vader and The Emperor.  And he’s been known to suddenly shout out in the middle of dinner for someone to “STOP FIGHTING OVER THERE WITH YOUR LIGHT SABERS!”  Then of course, there’s the fact that Snags has changed his identity many, many, many times over the past few years.  I’m not sure how it’s taken me this long to wonder why I haven’t ever hauled him off to the doctor to get this checked out.  A visit with a psychiatrist perhaps, to reassure myself that this is just his imagination at play and that he’s not actually CRAZY…

But anyway, given his imagination, I thought it would be fun to make up a story, something utterly impossible and fun, and share it with him.  After all, Snags usually likes my made up stories.  He often requests them.  “Mom,” he asks most nights before bed, “Can I have a telling story? Please? Just one short one before I go to sleep?” 

So one afternoon a few weeks ago, I found myself a little bit bored and dare I say sick and tired of listening to Snags having one sided conversations with Darth Vader and the Emperor on his hand phone, and I decided to tell him a story…

But before I tell you more, let me give you a little bit of background on my inspiration for the story, which I took from Pinocchio, my own mother, and Bill Cosby…  Pinocchio, you may recall, is the story of a wooden puppet that gets turned into a real live boy. My mother, well she used to tell my brother when he was a kid, that she got him from a shelf in a department store and that she could return him at any time… And that sort of reminded me of Bill Cosby, and that bit where he says something like “…I brought you into this world and I can take you out, make another one that looks just like you…” 

It was with those thoughts in mind that I came up with this story. This story that I made up on the spot and thought was a pretty ingenious idea: both brilliant AND funny.  So funny, in fact, that I was chuckling in my mind the entire time I was telling it.  But oh, the wrath I brought down upon myself!

See, I told  Snags that he was originally a baby doll and that I bought him at Toys R Us. Everyone, I told him, all of our family and friends, and even strangers, thought I was crazy for carrying a doll around.  So I started to pray to God to turn the doll into a real boy and when he was 7 ½ weeks old, God did!  But, the night before that happened, right before I went to bed, I had tossed Snags the doll into my toy box because, well, he was just a doll… But then in the middle of the night a noise woke me up.  I heard something crying and there was a bad smell in my room.  Our dog had started barking, so I turned on the light to see what all the commotion was about and saw the dog barking at the toy box.  I got out of bed, went over to see what was going on, and lo and behold, there was Snags, alive and waving his arms and crying.  And he’d pooped his diaper!

I went on to tell Snags that the scar over his eye, the one we’d always told him he got from throwing himself on the floor and hitting his face on a toy when he was a baby, was really from the dog taking him out of the toy box and playing fetch with him when he was still a doll.  That, you see, is where the dog’s teeth had scratched his doll head…  Now, I thought this was all very funny, but apparently I was wrong.

Snags totally freaked out and screamed and yelled at me.  He was so stinking mad I couldn’t believe it.  “No!”  He screamed.  “You’re lying!  That’s not true!  I was never a doll!  Why would you say that?  I’m not going to trust you anymore!”

I was taken aback at his outburst and suddenly I felt very defensive.  It was just a story, after all.  A story I kind of liked, you know, since I made it up (even if Pinocchio and my mother had sort of been the inspiration for it). But still…

In my defensiveness, I’m a little ashamed to admit, I turned into a bit of a child myself and kept insisting the story was true, and that Snags shouldn’t be so upset.  In fact, I told him, “You can ask your dad and Uncle Dan when they get here.  They’ll tell you this is all true!”

And of course Snags did.  He ran screaming to my husband and his Uncle the moment they walked in the front door.

“Dad!”  He yelled. “MomsaidIwasadollandGodturnedmeintoaboyandIknowsheslying!”

“What?!” my husband responded. “She said what?”

“MomsaidIwasadollandGodturnedmeintoaboyandIknowsheslying!” Snags repeated.

My husband looked at me, shook his head in disgust and said, “Now WHY would you tell him THAT?” and my brother, Snags’ Uncle, started laughing.

“It’s NOT FUNNY!” Snags cried.  “It’s not true, either, is it Uncle Dan?” he insisted.

But my brother, well, he’s a lot like me and can’t resist a good moment when he sees it.

“Well yeah it’s true!” he said, with a big smile spreading across his face.

To which, Snags got even angrier.  My husband had to calm him down, and I had to admit that it was just a story.  But I still maintained it wasn’t such a big deal and he shouldn’t have gotten so upset about the whole thing.

And my brother, he seemed a little deflated when the truth came out. But I think that’s because up until the point where I had to come clean and admit that the whole “Snags was once a doll” story wasn’t true, my brother was probably thinking that if my mom ever did return him to that department store, at least there was a chance his nephew might be sitting on the shelf next to him. 
 

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Filed under dog, God, humor, identity, insanity, parenting, Scooby Doo, Snags, Star Wars, telling stories