Things I Learned On Vacation

1. Rock-Paper-Scissors will settle any and every debate.

Who has better looking children?  Rock, Paper, Scissors!

Who is smarter?  Rock, Paper, Scissors!

Who is loved more by mom?  Rock, Paper, Scissors!

By dad?  Rock, Paper, Scissors!

Who will win the first Nobel Peace Prize?  Rock, Paper, Scissors, Lizard, Spock!  (We watch a lot of Big Bang Theory.)

The list goes on and on.

2.  When you see a man with a scar from the corner of his mouth all the way up to his forehead, a knife in one hand, and a chain mail glove, say hi.  Chances are he’ll be very nice.

3. Apparently, the appropriate thing to say after one farts is, “You’re welcome, Mommy!”

Also, my boys are evil demons!

4.  Time still passes when you’re on vacation.  Some times, it passes faster than you expect. We got back home in time to see the annual killing of the corn crop.  Every stalk of corn that was green when we left was dry, withered, and brown.  I understand that insurance will pay a certain amount for crops that don’t produce, but you’d think after watching corn die year after year, they would look for something that actually grows in the area.  Can dead corn actually be used for anything?

5.  When little boys spend almost two weeks in the back of an SUV, it’ll smell like a dorm room. 

Does it matter that my boys are still in single digits?  No.  It smelled like dirty feet.

It took two weeks for that smell to dissipate.

 

Also, we had a great time!!

Tuesday Whilst Eating Oysters

On the second official day of our vacation, we ate at an oyster bar called Wintzell’s in Mobile, Alabama.  The main reason we ate there was because Ed wanted gumbo.  As if we needed any other reason!  I like making that man of mine happy!  (Did you just feel the eyes in his head roll backwards?  I think they’re going to be stuck that way!)

Anyway, we found the restaurant loud and fun and perfect for our foursome!  Shortly after we sat down, Trip asked what an oyster was.  I tried for several minutes to explain what an oyster was, but my explanations just weren’t cutting it.  I noticed a man behind the bar shucking oysters.  I told Trip to get up, we went over to the bar, and I asked if my baby could see one of the oysters he was shucking.

The man was beyond nice.  He told Trip everything he could about oysters in about five minutes and then asked if Trip would like to try one.  Trip absorbed everything gratefully.  Then, the nice man asked Trip if he wanted to try one.  Trip thought about it for a minute and didn’t say anything.  The man then suggested that Trip try one on a cracker and my little boy was down to try an oyster.

I put about seven and a half drops of Tobasco on the oyster before he was ready to try the oyster and had a folded paper towel in case the oyster came rapidly back out with instructions on what to do if said oyster did not agree with him because I have some major texture issues and am extremely conscientious to the texture issues in others, but little dude chewed it up and swallowed all of it and claimed to like the raw oyster.

I was proud.  There is absolutely no chance I would have tried anything like that when I was his age.  Dude was brave!

We went back to our table and bragged to Ed about what he had done.  Ed was dutifully impressed.  We all looked over our menus and Trip insisted on ordering the oyster sampler.  They oyster sampler consisted of sixteen oysters prepared in several different ways.    The dish was expensive so I offered to share the dish with Trip since I only wanted a bowl of gumbo anyway.

Can you guess what happened when the food came out?

It won’t be hard.  I promise.

Trip took one look at the huge plate of oysters, then looked at me and my gumbo, and said he couldn’t eat any of the oysters.

I wasn’t entirely surprised, but REALLY, DUDE?

I didn’t want a huge plate of oysters.  I had only planned on stealing his oysters Rockefeller.

Trip and I traded seats and I ate the oysters and Trip ate my gumbo.  I did have a bite of the gumbo and it was AMAZING!  photo[1]

What are you going to do?  There’s no wasting good oysters!

Unsalted Cat Turds

We had Rangers baseball tickets for the second Wednesday after I got back from vacation and I spent more than a week thinking I was on heart call for surgery (I love my new job!) and couldn’t go to the game with Ed and the boys.  I thought I was on call right up until I left work at 3:00 that afternoon when I double checked the call schedule and found out I was not on call.  Score!  I called Ed and told him I could go to the game.  Fortunately, he hadn’t found anyone to take my ticket.

We hopped into Ed’s SUV and drove an hour and a half to the Ballpark at Arlington.  It’s a drive we make fairly frequently.  The boys, as they tend to do, told plenty of fart jokes and farted and said, “You’re welcome, Mommy!”

Red lights are red.

Green lights are green.

How much can I fart if I eat one pinto bean?

They are a gift to poetry.

At some point in the drive, Logan became upset with Trip and was trying to illustrate how cruel Trip was to him.

“He really doesn’t love me!  He’s so mean to me!  He’s so mean, he gave me cat turds for Christmas last year!”

He gave you WHAT?

“He gave me cat turds and made me eat them!”

Oh, the horror!

“It’s not funny, Dad!”

I agree, boy.  It’s not funny.

Giggle.  Snort. (From Trip, not Logan.)

“He didn’t even put salt on them before he made me eat them!”

Logan was distraught!

I died laughing!  I couldn’t hold it back anymore.  The poor boy was so upset though about the mistreatment he had withstood at the hands of his brother.

We got to the game and bought lots and lots of food.  Logan and Trip are at an age where they can finally appreciate a good baseball game without constant intervention and placation.  In the fourth inning, the Rangers had done something which resulted in a sponsored giveaway for the fans.  We all got coupons to Denny’s for a free grand slam breakfast with the purchase of a drink.  After lots and lots of explaining what the coupons meant, Logan decided it was time to bargain.  I told him I’d give him my pancakes because I can’t have them anyway with my paleo diet.  Never mind that I don’t like pancakes anyway and wouldn’t eat them even if I wasn’t following any kind of diet, I would just give them to him.  Logan didn’t want my theoretical pancakes.  He wanted my bacon.  Naturally, I refused.  We’re talking bacon here.  I’m not giving it up!  Logan threatened to eat my arm because I wouldn’t commit to giving him the bacon from the free breakfast.  I told him my arm was paleo and asked him if he was turning into a cannibal.  He grinned, licked his lips, and tasted my arm.  He threw my arm back at me, saying it tasted like I hadn’t showered in weeks.

Demon child!

As I protested his assertion, he assured me he was still going to eat my arm, I just needed to clean it first.

My Boy. He’s Disgusting. So Are Tongues.

When I was five years old, Mom told me I needed to have my frenum clipped.  The frenum is the piece of tissue that connects the bottom of your tongue to the bottom of your mouth.  Mine was apparently too long and may or may not have caused a speech impediment.  I have absolutely no memory of having a speech impediment, but apparently Mom did have a speech impediment which is why she had her own frenum clipped.  Apparently.

Anyway, I distinctly remember Mom telling the five year old me that she had to wait until she was twenty years old to get her frenum clipped and it was horribly painful because she had waited so long and she didn’t want me to have the excruciating pain at twenty, so she was going to get mine done before it would be that painful.

(She was always comforting like that.  She also told me I wouldn’t be able to eat solid food for a week after having my wisdom teeth pulled.)

So my boys’ Oma took her five year old baby girl (FIVE YEARS OLD!)  to the oral surgeon.  I distinctly remember sitting VERY still in the surgery chair while mom stood nearby telling me that if I moved, I would cause the oral surgeon to slip with whatever instruments of destruction he was using in my mouth which would lead to irreparable harm.  Naturally, I was calm.  I was definitely still.  I remember him poking sharp instruments in my mouth and through that piece of tissue under my tongue and telling me in a low voice that he had to poke a needle in the skin and then make a jagged rip or else the tissue would simply grow back together.  Terrifying, no?

After the ripping of tissue under my tongue, Mom drove me 45 minutes back to day care and dropped me off.  In my mind, she might have told me that I was a big girl and I could open the door to the day care and let myself in.  I remember the fresh wound in my mouth opened at some point during the day and rinsing the blood out with water from the water fountain.  What else could I do?  It’s not like I had taken the gauze I had been given into day care with me.

Mom recalls things slightly differently.  She says she took me into the day care center and explained what had been done and they fed me popsicles all day.  I don’t remember a single popsicle.

This story gets better.  I am working in surgery now and there was a Frenuloplasty on the schedule a couple of weeks ago.  People go under general anesthesia to have their frenum clipped!  They don’t simply get a local anesthetic and then call it a day!!

I promise it gets better.

And possibly less gross.

Or not.

Since having my frenuloplasty, I have a Gene Simmons type tongue.  It rolls out of my mouth forever!  Mom and I compared tongues the other day (perfectly natural!) and Mom’s tongue barely goes past her lips!

The frenuloplasty at work really bothered me and I have been thinking about tongues a lot.  At lunch with Ed and the munchkins last weekend, we started sticking out our tongues at each other.  Ed might have simply rolled his eyes and refused to play along.  Fortunately, munchkins are good with being gross.  Trip’s tongue is long like mine, but in a normal sense on long.  Logan’s tongue is freakishly long!  I asked him if he could touch his nose with his tongue and HE TOTALLY CAN!!!

I cackled loudly in a restaurant packed with people.  Ed was not amused with my uncontrollable volume.  I’m not sure why.  You’d think he would be used to my volume by now.  Ed made a remark about Logan’s tongue that I didn’t want Logan to ask about, so I changed the topic quickly.

“Logan,” I said.  “I bet you could even pick your nose with your tongue!”

The little dude tried it and if anything had been within tongue’s reach, he would have gotten it.

photo 1[2] (2)

I Am The Butt Of All Their Jokes, Part Deux

The boys were ecstatic after a win for their little league baseball team a couple of weeks ago.  It was after 7:00 in the evening.  We headed to Target because we needed a few things before we called it an evening.  We drove up the access road of the highway to get to Target with the windows open when a certain little boy farted in the Tahoe and it stunk so bad that the rest of us were gagging.

It was that moment that set the tone for the rest of the evening.

We got to Target, parked, went inside, and got a shopping cart.  Trip drove the cart for the first part of the excursion.  We had made our first turn through the store and had made it to the cosmetics aisle when I felt a child sized foot kick my butt.

(I’ve got to preface the rest of this story with this.  We play hard.  We love fiercely.  We rarely hurt each others feelings.)

I whipped around and exclaimed, “Logan!”

He grinned and pointed at Ed.

“Daddy did it,” he said with a grin.

“Boy!  I know what a little boy foot feels like on my butt!  Quit that!”  I told him.  He grinned like he hadn’t heard me.

We continued around the store gathering our needed supplies whilst jumping out of each others way and continuing our banter.  Logan and Ed were on one side.  Trip was on my side, telling the other two to leave me alone and blocking impending blows.  There were not any other actual blows that landed, but there was  a lot of jumping out of the way and feigned blows throughout the trip around the store.

Now, I’m fine with all of the banter and rough housing while we’re shopping, but when I’m at the check out line, I am done with all of the rough housing.  Not finished.  Done.  My mother will probably spin in her chair when she reads this, but there’s a time to use finished and a time to use done.  For this instance, I was DONE!

So we all loaded the items we were buying on the check out belt and I told Logan and Ed several times to behave themselves.  They pretended like they were going to behave themselves.  I should have known it was a ruse.

It was finally our turn with the cashier.  She started checking our items and I took my place beside the register so I could watch the monitor as the items were checked.  You never know when an item will ring up with the wrong price and this is true at any store.  You might have to wait for 20 minutes while a someone else goes to check the advertised price and comes back to verify the price you’ve quoted the cashier, but do you really want to pay the wrong price?  I don’t.

It was during this careful watching of the register that I felt another boy-sized foot kick my butt.

I lost my cool.  I whipped around and grabbed Logan by the face.  I threatened life and limb and video game privileges and movement outside of his bedroom for the rest of his life.

He got a little worried and refused to look me in the eye.  That’s his go to move when he’s in trouble- refusing to look his accuser in the eye when he’s in trouble.

And then it happened.

Tap, tap, tap.

Ed was tapping me on the shoulder.

“She wants you to pay,” he said.  He meant the cashier.

I rolled my eyes at him and returned to the register.  I set  my purse on the counter and swiped my credit card across the credit machine.  When the signature line popped up, I heard my little boy, Logan, say to me, “Mommy, you know your parole officer said you couldn’t do that anymore.”

What?  What did he just say?  Did my baby really just say that to me???  In public, no less???

(I need to preface the rest of this story with the fact that I have no parole officer.  I have never been to prison.  I have never been to jail.  I have never been arrested or spent a single night in jail.  I did recently learn though that when you are arrested, you are given an orange jumpsuit to wear and your underwear and bra are taken from you.  That means that if you need to use the restroom, you have to strip down to nothingness and go in front of an audience.  Totally not my cup of tea, thank you very much!)

Before Logan, the demon child, even had that completely out of his mouth, his father started speaking.  “Honey, you know the CPS officer said you couldn’t do that in public anymore.”

Really?  Really???  It’s a conspiracy!!!  They’re all evil!  At least, two of them are.  Demons!!

I’m sure the look on my face was one of shock.  The cashier was giggling.  I’m pretty sure I was blushing from head to toe.  There was nothing for me to do but laugh.  Sometimes, there’s nothing to do but admit defeat.

They may have won this round, but I’m good for many more rounds.

It’s game on, boys!!

What Girlfriends Are For

Every great once in a while, the boys have a conversation so outlandish with Ed that it simply must be preserved for posterity on the internet.  This is one such story. 🙂

Ed had picked the boys up from their last day of school.  On the drive back to the office, they were looking at their little yearbooks and talking about all of their old girlfriends.  Trip’s little girlfriend moved away this year, so Ed asked Trip if he missed her.

Trip said, “Not really.  It’s good to be a bachelor.”

Ed asked,”You don’t miss having a girlfriend?”

Trip replied, “No, I got bossed around a lot.”

Logan then piped up with, “You dummy!  That’s the point of having a girlfriend!”

Ed blames me for the skewed views on relationships.  I’m pretty sure it’s just because he’s evil.