Super Heroes in My Midst

I never believed in reincarnation. Until tonight.

I looked up the term "banshee" for another post and discovered that Marvel Comics had created this character, whose alter-ego is Sean Cassidy*, back in the late 60's.

BANSHEE'S abilities were noted as

1. Superhuman hearing
2. Sonic screams
3. Flight
4. Concussive blasts
5. Sonic energy lances
6. Ability to cause nausea, disorientation, or unconsciousness

Holy cats! They've encapsulated my children and given them a superhero name!

I could fart in Columbus and they'd hear it. But, if I whisper two inches from their ears, they act deaf.

Sonic screams? Have you heard The Babe? I really think the child could shatter crystal with his screaming. Let's just say that hearing aids need to get much more discreet or better looking in the next few years because, at this rate, I'll need on by the time I'm 50.

Flight is part of the Nowell DNA. Someone is off the ground in this family at every moment, of any day. Up a tree, jumping off a couch, climbing on the counter in the kitchen, hurtling their body toward a sibling. The list is exhaustive. I fully expect a Nowell child to complete his dissertation with a discussion of "A Case for Gravity: The Falsehood of Flying without Actual Wings."

Concussive blasts? Did I mention The Babe's uncanny ability to cause stock in hearing aid companies to shoot sky-high? That's not to mention the several times a day I wonder, sometimes aloud, "What was THAT?" as I stand in one room and hear what sounds like a hurricane and tornado learning how to break dance in another room.

If "sonic energy lances" cause "sonic screams" and "concussive blasts", we qualify. Hourly. NFL referees could learn a thing or two about "off side" calls just by watching the boys execute their "lancing" on one another. They just can't seem to keep their cotton-pickin' hands to themselves.

I'm a Mom. Part of my job description, since I originally got pregnant 11 years ago, is to live in a state of nausea, disorientation, or unconciousness. What I pray for is that the three never meet in a state of confluence.

If that ever actually happens, just call State Farm, 911, and whichever set of Granparents or Aunts/Uncles is still standing. You'll find me and Mike somewhere in the rubble.

The kids? They'll be marveling at their newly created excavation site, with nary a worry in the world.

BANSHEE!


*Which brought to mind Shaun Cassidy, 70's heart throb, which made me Goggle SEAN Cassidy and brought up a picture of some hunk of cheese that can only be described as "the perfect body".
Sadly, for me, when I corrected the spelling of the first name, I ended up with the REAL Shaun, who hasn't exactly aged gracefully. I think my childhood dream has officially been stomped into the ground and rendered DOA.

Thank goodness Donny Osmond still looks FINE. Even though he's a freakin' Grandfather.