Cellular Hades

Saturday mornings are supposed to peaceful. They are supposed to be leisurely. They are NOT supposed to include copious numbers of phone calls.

But, I get ahead of my story.....

This morning I gave my cell phone to one of my sons, who was going to the end of the block. The reason I gave him the phone in the first place was that he had just returned from a friend's house and left his other brother there. Other brother was sitting on the porch of this house waiting AN HOUR for his friend to return.

Now, as a Mother, I think this is patently uncool. If there was a kid sitting on MY front porch for an hour I'd feel guilty and, simultaneously, obligated to invite him in for crafts and cookies*.

So, I sent son skipping up the street, cell phone in hand, to retrieve his brother.

I know, from past experience, when one brother tries to tell the other brother something Mom said, the conversation goes like this:

Brother one: "Mom said blah, blah, blah, blah. And come home."
Brother two: "I don't have to."
Brother one: "YES YOU DO. Mom SAID so."
Brother two (head moving like a fishing bobber in a monsoon): "No I DOUGH-OH-N'T."
Brother one (practically reduced to tears): "But Mom SAID SO."
Brother two: "I don't care."

At this point, Brother one runs home, crying, and reports conversation. Now I have to take my portly butt up the street and drag Brother two home, by the ear. This inconvenience is the VERY REASON I sent Brother one in the first place.

But, I digress. Back to our previous scheduled post: With cell phone in his hot little hand, I figure "I'll reason with Brother two via phone and I won't have to exercise a bit! Brilliant." And, it seemed this plan was going to work, as a phone call indicated that porch-waiting-worthy friend had come home early and everyone was playing peacefully.

My phone, however, soon became an instrument of irritation. Every few minutes I got another phone call. Nice strategy, dipthong.

Phone call one: "Mom? He's torturing me." (Resolved by threatening other brother with an entire day of time-out.)

Two minutes lapse.

Phone call two: "Can I have the (name of latest DS game)?" (Yes, if it is age-appropriate, Daddy also wants this game, and you've saved enough money.**)

One minutes lapses.

Phone call three: "Mom, if he gets (name of latest DS game), can I have a dog?" (Yes, son. When you own your own place. Doug, the indoor pooping machine, and Tex, the semi-stupid dog, are enough for your Mommy right now.)

When I received phone call number four, a scant two minutes later, I couldn't take it anymore. I demanded the phone come home.

About five minutes passed and I again became possesser of a quiet cell phone. Serenity had returned!

Except that it was 11:30am, I was still in my pj's, and brother one announced that a contractor had just exited his car.

GREAT.



*Of course, they'd be low on sugar and gluten-free and this friend would NEVER want another cookie from our house again.

**Sorry. I don't want games in my house that include any of the following terms: WWF, mature, parental guidance, or Sponge Bob Square Pants.

Lego Building Brilliance

The babe: "Do you know why he is called Captain Fart?"

He is pointing to his Lego creation with a little Lego man perched at the front of the plane.

Me (most definitely disgusted. How many times do I have to tell them to say TOOT?): "I have NO idea."

There is this VERY long explanation about the Captain getting on the plane, the plane almost crashing, how the Captain saves the plane, and screams of "Mayday, Mayday".

FIVE minutes later...

The babe: "When he got on the plane, they didn't have any gas, so they borrowed it from the Captain."

Coming from a four-year-old, I'm thinking we're cooking with gas* in the old brain department. At least one of my kids has semi-cornered the logic market.

Well, maybe this can be his dissertation: "Converting Human Methane into Plane-Powering Jet Fuel". Coupled with cow emissions, maybe there's future hope of America discontinuing support of all the Arabian sheiks.

Or, maybe, the super-hero CAPTAIN FART has just been discovered**.....


*Not really supposed to be punny, but it was, wasn't it?!

**All rights reserved. The name, likeness, and identity of this character are strictly prohibited from use unless express crayon-written permission by the four-year-old boy genius is given.

Cursing Revisited

I hate being a person who tries my best not to use profanity but feels like it is all bottled up inside, waiting to explode at the most inopportune moment, such as in the middle of carpool line at the Christian school.

It's like buying a can of Coke out of a vending machine and then shaking it without thinking. At some point that thing is gonna belch soda water and sugar all over someone in its path.

I'm kinda like the soda. Sadly, some days I only have to be stirred, not shaken*, to feel all curse-y.

Thankfully, I learned creative cussing from a relative, so, since becoming a Mom, I can usually spill what's on my mind with a funky saying like "Holy Cats", effectively side-stepping a bomb drop.

Which leads me to a little conversation this summer:

Nice Mom** to friend's son: "When are you leaving on vacation?"

Friend's son: "My Mom and Dad are packing the car right now.*** Where were you all yesterday?"

Nice Mom: "We had some errands to run and then went to see a movie."

Friend's son: "What movie?"

Nice Mom: "Night at the Museum II."

Friend's son (all the sudden, slightly more interested in our chat): "OH. How did you like it?"

Nice Mom: "It was good. But I liked the first one better."

Friend's son: "Was there any cursing in it?"

In my head I suddenly hear screeching tires and sense that twisted metal and certain injury is about to come out of this conversation. Sadly, there is no where to go but forward.

Nice Mom (stomach lurching): "Well. Yes. There was some cussing."

Please don't ask which ones. Please don't ask which ones. Please don't ask which ones.

Friend's son: "What word?"

Somebody call 911 and have the wrecker and the ambulance start driving this way.

Nice Mom: "They used the "D" word."

Now, this is a nice kid from a nice, Christian family. I'm pretty sure we'll never see them again.

Friend's son: "OH. My parents HATE IT when I use that word!"

Holy frijole! Did he just say he drops the "D" bomb around his parents? Call off the ambulance, people. Our kids can be their friends again!

Friend's son (leaning in while cupping hands around mouth): "Yeah. They REALLY hate it when I call my brother or sister (looks around to see if anybody has snuck up on us) DUMB."

Nice Mom (crinkling up my nose, because, if I don't, I'll LAUGH): "Yeah. That's a REALLY BAD WORD."

Friend's son: "Yeah. Well, better go. See you when we get home!" Rides off on bike.

I need a good swig of Pepto Bismol after that near-miss. Thankfully, friend's son's parents think the story is adorable when I get up the nerve to tell them I almost accidentally introduced the "D" word to their son.

Me? Next time a kid asks me if there was cussing in a movie, I'm going to say "Why, yes. They used the "J" word."

And, if you don't know what that means, ask your Mom or Dad.



*Shout out to the REAL James Bond, Sean Connery.

**That would be me. This friend thinks I'm nice. I'm not sure all the friends would concur.

***Oblivious to the fact that this is the beginning of the biggest beat down of the summer--driving with family, in steamy, humid heat, with a car full of kids who all love the charming phrase "Are we there yet?" and who repeat it with astounding frequency.