Cap'n Crunch

Patch, the smelly hound dog, has a new friend of late. A stray dog I named Rascal. Rascal has been coming round for at least a year now. He appears for a couple of days, then we don't see him for weeks or months. He and Patch love to play together but he won't let humans anywhere near him. Poor fella.

Last month, I began feeding him. And guess what? He kept coming back around. He even started to let me get close to him and I actually touched him once, though he immediately recoiled and backed away. But I kept feeding him, hoping eventually he would begin to trust. A week or so into his 'stay' at our abode, we ran out of dog food. I asked DH to pick up some and he came home with Kibbles and Bits instead of Iams. I chided him for getting Cap'n Crunch instead of Corn Flakes, but Rascal and Patch didn't seem to mind. Patch and Rascal blazed through the Cap'n at top speed, however we re-filled the dog food bin with Iams.

That's when Rascal disappeard again. He came back briefly, checking if the Cap'n had returned. Disatisfied, he took off again and has only made one appearance since. And that was only a trot down our street, never even looking once in our direction, taunting us for our bad taste in food.

Guess he must be "gettin' some" somewhere else. Isn't that a typical male?

Pelvic Thrust for Thankgsiving

Sans the early childhood years,Thanksgiving has always been my favorite Holiday and as the years wax on, the others continue to pale in comparison. Maybe i relish it more every year, as Christmas madness and consumerism has consumed all of December and has eaten around the Thanksgiving Holiday to consume most of November.

For the third year running, we stayed in town for T Day, entertaining friends and neighbors. Being a vegetarian, I always assign the dead bird job to someone else. Everyone brought a few dishes, making it easier on all. We had sixteen at our house on Thursday, including 4 teenagers.

After we ate a marvelous meal, we settled down for a game of Cranium. We split up the elderly couple in their mid eighties, putting them on different teams. We did the same with the teenagers, one for each team. My team consisted of my elderly neighbor, who isn't quite all there, the teenage girl from across the street and my ten year old (who was watching TV in the other room). Mid way through the game, we drew a "play all" where a person from every team acts out a specific word and tries to get their teammates to guess it first. Two of the teenagers were the actors, including my team-mate. When "go" was shouted, my team-mate, this sweet, shy, 14- year old girl started thrusting her hips forwards and backwards. In addition, her hands were at her hips, fists gripped tightly, as if she were helping her hips along. In other words, a Pelvic Thrust.

Embarrassed and confused, I looked back at the other team and saw their teenage player taking off his shirt. Finally, I was put out of my misery, as the third team guessed the word - reproduce. I can't even begin to describe here the charade their player used to convey the word. I hadn't seen that gesture since high school. Thank goodness my boys were watching grown men violently slam each other to the ground - on TV. A lot more appropriate than our game.

My Weekend and More

I survived the WC's sleepover. My friend, Erin, dropped by to bring WC a gift and then graciously stayed, cooked us dinner while the kids noshed on Dominoes, grapes and carrots. Turns out grapes are good for "FOOD FIGHT"; I nipped that one in the bud pretty quickly, but not before I video taped it.

When it was time to bunk down, several boys decided they were homesick and their Moms came to get them. I was tempted to take more "orders" for homesickness. Anyone else homesick, miss your mom or just want to sleep in your own bed? Anyone? Anyone? It sure would make things easier in the am. But it worked out fine. They were asleep by 10pm and slept through until 6:30am. Not bad.

On Sunday, the boys and I met some friends in Gerton for a picnic and some tennis. We tried the WC's new Aerobie in a big field there. The boys played tennis against one another. The WC came back from 2-5 down to 6-5 up, when the Brainiac threw his racquet, upset that he couldn't "finish him off." YIKES! Uncharacteristic behavior for the B, although several weeks ago, he did rage about the house when he received his first ever "B" on his report card. I asked him to sit off to the side, to which he spat, "Shut-up". Double YIKES! Then he said it two more times for good measure, just in case my friends on the court didn't hear it. Oh, boy. I couldn't help but think- Get ready for the teenage years, and more of the same. Of course, he lost his game boy for the first three days of Thanksgiving Break; one day for each Shut-Up. Fair, I think.

When we returned home, I asked the WC to get his chores done, or he would have to pay me $10 to do so. "OK," he said, "I'll pay you." Not really the desired effect, but now I didn't have to pay him his allowance for the last two weeks (I was behind by a month, though) AND I sterilized the boy's bathroom, which needed to happen anyway, since we are having guests for T Day. It was horribly nasty, even though they "clean it" every week.

Monday brought a phone call from the Vice Principal at WC's school. In his classroom, during reading, he had showed his manhood (under the table) to a girl across from him. Apparently, she asked so he showed. Triple YIKES! We had a conference after school yesterday, but he is home with me today, suspended. At the beginning of the school year, I blogged that it was just a matter of time before he was suspended again. However, I recently started to believe that he would make it through the year without a suspension, which was the WC's goal. I never would have imagined it would have been for anything other than getting angry and loosing control. He's matured a lot a year. He is sleeping better, as his apnea has been resolved. He is handling his emotions much better with the help of therapy, regular exercise and the many carrots that I dangle in front of him. His remarkable teacher has gone above and beyond to help.

The silver lining here is that the WC was terribly embarrassed and shortly after his exposure occurred, he told his teacher he had "made a bad choice." His flash episode happened in the morning and he remained at school the rest of the day without incident - a big deal for him. And he cried and cried yesterday afternoon when he realized he had been suspended. He didn't make his goal. Bummer.

Well the WC and I have to hit the madness at the Grocery Store. No Yoga class for me today. Perhaps tomorrow.

WC Took These Today

Death of a Cupcake

The WC's birthday is tomorrow. Eight big ones. He has invited 8 boys over for football, pizza, cake and Shrek the Third. And how could I forget - a sleepover. We did it last year with no problems. The lights were out at 9:00 and most were asleep by 9:30. But I'm doing it solo this year. The DH has to work.

In addition to agreeing to the boy fest at my abode, I signed on to bring cupcakes to his class, tomorrow. The WC didn't ask. I just got a wild hair or something. Cupcakes are easy, right? I have never been one for presentation, but these don't even look edible.


I effed them up - BAD! I think I was supposed to let them cool before I moved them but because I filled them too full they spilled over their tops and bled into one another so they looked like a sheet cake when I took them out. I thought I'd never get them apart if I let them cool. Well, they are apart, by God. Now, I just have to mount the icing to hide the mess. The kids won't care. Right?

I had a similar cooking debacle last year when I tried to make a Gingerbread house with the WC's class. I spent at least two hours preparing the night before. Cutting the dough using templates that I gleaned off the Internet for the "easiest" Gingerbread house ever. That should have tipped me off. When I got to school with my carefully baked pieces, none of them fit together. I spent the better part of an hour and a half scrapping the pieces, desperately tyring to get the damn walls to meet, while the restless kids watched (and played under the table) in the student kitchen. Finally, I got the four walls to meet enough and "glued" them together with Royal Icing. Great lesson, I thought. Perseverance prevails. Then my house of shame met an inadvertent elbow from a hyper kid and the walls they crumbled down. I wanted to cry. Really. But instead we slathered the pieces of the house with the (can I tell you how nasty this stuff tasted? But it is what everyone uses to "glue" their gingerbread houses) icing, Skittles and M&M's and the kids happily ate my house. Sugar is sugar, right?

I hope that sentiment is prevalent tomorrow. Luckily, the boy's REAL birthday cake is coming from the local Sister's McMullen bakery.

Out of Gas

Last Thursday evening, on the way to a tennis tournament in Winston-Salem , I spotted a parked mini-van on the shoulder of I-40 East. Just as I was passing, I caught sight of a woman standing in front, wildly waving her arms. In the seconds it took to process and then decide I wanted to help her, I was too far down the interstate. I took the next exit and looped back around. I should have asked my friend and tennis mate, Sara, if it was OK, but she was along for the ride now.

Sara reported the stranded vehicle to Highway Patrol on her mobile. It took us about ten minutes to get back to stranded vehicle. We pulled up beside the driver's side and a young woman rolled her window down and started thanking us effusively. She had run out of gas. Sara told her we had called the Highway Patrol, which produced a strong wailed objection from her drunk passenger. UH, OH. They didn't want the cops involved. Then the driver, swore she was "straight", as in sober. Their boyfriends were already walking toward the next exit, but I told her I wouldn't pick them up. So we made room in the back seat and drove her to the next exit for gas. She didn't smell like she had been drinking, but her hyper behavior, including talking almost non-stop the entire time she was in my van, led me to believe she wasn't "straight" at all. But maybe she was just nervous getting in a mini-van with two strangers.

Starla,(that was her name) seemed harmless, though. We heard about her divorce and her two kids. She told us about a trip to Fayetteville AK where the supermarkets have "buggies where you put a quarter in to get it, then when you are done you put your buggy back and you get your quarter back! Isn't that the neatest thing you ever heard of? If ever I move from Wilkesboro, that is where I am going." Sara and I tried to hold it together. It was an amusing story but also a bit sad. I told her they had carts like those at airports. "Really?" she exclaimed.

She told us she and her friends were on their way to Gastonia. I asked if she meant Greensboro, because she was going the wrong way to Gastonia. Maybe when we get back to my van, you can look at a map and show us how to get there, she said. Oh boy, I thought. Luckily, the State Trooper was already on the scene, the drunk passenger in his front seat. Starla hopped out of our van to greet the young trooper. Leaning into the trooper's car, she chirped, "How ya doin' my name is Starla and I'm straight, I promise I'm straight." The poor trooper looked like he didn't know what had hit him. Starla never even turned around to close the door. We drove away, van reeking with gas fumes, thankful that Starla was someone else's problem.

Wedding Grace

Last month, the boys and I attended a family wedding in North Georgia. My boys had never been to a wedding, so they didn't know any better to object. It was an absolutely gorgeous day for a wedding; the drive down was pleasant until I had a sinking feeling that I had left the wild child's dress pants and shoes behind. My boys had packed their own suitcases but I didn't double check if the dress clothes made it in. The Wild Child's didn't. Not to worry, our motel was on the Mall of Georgia exit. Running a little short on time, I skidded into the Comfort Suites, dropped the boys and scooted up to Marshals. 20 minutes and $25 later, I returned with a pair of pants and shoes. The shoes didn't fit - no wides at Marshalls - so we were stuck with this gnarly pair of Nike sandals. Did I mention that he packed himself? Seven shirts, no socks, no underwear, no dress clothes or shoes and seven Webkinz. He did remember his toothbrush.

Really, though, no big deal, as the wedding was outdoors on the Rockin' H Ranch. Turns out he was more appropriately dressed than most. We trudged through grassy fields to the wedding site - clearly not a place for dress shoes or heels.

The wedding was very sweet- the bride gorgeous and gushing; the groom handsome and nervous. It was a big cousin fest for my boys. Some of their first cousins had come from NC. I was surprised at how excited they were to meet their second and third cousins, especially my WC. During the ceremony, WC kept asking, "Which ones are my cousins?" In addition, he ripped a loud fart during the prayer. I opened my eyes, turned my head to find him still cocked up on one butt cheek. He glanced at me and said in a voice loud enough to reach the Minister's ears, "What?" I heard muffled giggling. Behind me, my adolescent nieces were trying to hold it together, their hands cupped over their mouths, bellies shaking softly.

After the ceremony, the reception commenced under a tent with a dance floor. The WC disappeared with his 1st cousins to the horse ring where he played all night in the dirt and hay. He appeared at the reception long enough to catch the garter then we headed off to dark pasture to find our van. The Brainiac had just finished saying, "If I ever get married, I want a wedding like this one", when he stepped in a load of manure. That sentiment was short lived.

Me and The Mad Scientist

My baseball player had already jetted with some friends who came round a bit earlier.