Safety First, Kids!

Last week Dorkfish was on vacation. Typically, our vacations involve a trip SOMEWHERE, ANYWHERE and we play hard, barely sleep and return home absolutely exhausted and thankful to still be speaking to one another after a week straight of me yelling at all three of them.

Naturally.

This time, we decided to stay home and save some money as the Mazda hasn't sold yet. (As an aside, who isn't waiting with baited breath to pick up a sweet little ride like that?! It's a sedan, people! Think of the great gas mileage!!! My next tactic is "Buy this car or we'll shoot this dog"... Wonder if PETA checks Craigslist? Hmmmm.)

Anyhoo. So, Dorkfish in his typical Type-A fashion decides we need to spend some time working around the house and tries to force me to organize the boys room...

*blink, blink*

For those of you who don't know me in person, let me just explain something. I am one of those people who considers "organization" synonymous with "being able to get the closet door closed even if you have to use all your body weight". So when my husband lovingly suggests I go through my sons dressers and pull out the clothes that no longer fit and put the in the attic, I was suddenly hit with amnesia...or was it the flu. I can't remember.

Fortunately, I couldn't remember where the knives were kept either.

But he did wise up and give up on that plan and suggested a day trip to the beach would be more appropriate. The boys had more fun than they have ever had and not once did anyone complain about sand in crevices. (Except me. Naturally. Not a beach girl.)







Ah, the shorts. My latest comedic GOLD. No, dear reader, your eyes are not deceiving you. THAT, is Dorkfish with Deuce in that last photo and he is wearing his new prized possession.... You see, the boys and I were shopping when they picked these out. Normally, I would convince them that 'daddy wouldn't like them' or something along those lines, but these were just too obnoxious and I just could not help myself. So I grabbed them and agreed to let them be a Father's Day Surprise for Dorkfish. Oh, were they a surprise. *snicker* I assumed he would thank the boys, hide the shorts in the closet and I would return them the following week. However, once he tried them on (with his black work socks, I have to add) the boys thought they were AWESOME! So being a good dad, he actually wore them TO THE POOL THAT NIGHT. I would say thank God the pool lights were off, but it wouldn't have mattered; these things are day-glow. My friend Cameron nailed it when he asked if you could play games on them. His wife, T-Racy had to look away as she snorted and mumbled something about Mike Brady wanting his shorts back. She-she tried to make him feel a little better by saying that they wouldn't look so bad once he tanned the other eight inches of his leg. (She's also the one who nicknamed them the 'Safety Shorts' because of their color.) However, that is a two-inch inseam, my friends. Let me just say that there is NOTHING safe about that...

I have to say, the amount of entertainment I have gotten out of these shorts has FAR outweighed the money paid for them. Not to mention the boys are really proud that daddy wears their shorts EVERY! TIME! WE! GO! SWIMMING! *snort* Honestly, Dorkfish is THE ONLY man I know who would proudly wear these and not care who sees him in them because his sons chose them. (Although, he did actually wear them to the grocery store which leads me to believe that he secretly likes them...)

**As a disclaimer, I have to tell you that Dorkfish approved me sharing these photos with you and as long as I said that he is a GOOD MAN for wearing the gift that his sons picked out. Since I have always been honest with you all, I have to admit that I might have persuaded Bonus and Deuce to choose this pair of shorts... But in all fairness, they did have a white pair picked out first and I do love him more than that.

Because sometimes tucking them in isn't enough...

Dear Bonus,

I was more proud of you today than I have been in a long time. Today, you showed us your compassionate side while standing up for your beliefs. It took a lot of strength to tell that older kid he was doing the wrong thing and I am proud of you for doing so.

But just in case you don't remember what happened by the time I actually get the nerve to tell you about this blog, here's the short of it:

Your father and I took you and your brother to the beach today. You found a decent size crab in a tidal pool and were so proud. It was about the size of your hand. You scooped it up in a sand pail and drug it up and down the beach in that bucket of water on your boogie board to share with all the other kids while Dorkfish and I sat on the beach towels and watched proudly.

A little while later, you marched back up to us and announced that you were very angry because the big kid had killed your crab with your bucket. He had squashed it and then laughed when you told him that was wrong and you weren't going to play with him any more. You were so upset over it, but held it together so well. You didn't shed a tear, though you wanted to so badly. (So did I.)

Your father and I stumbled for the right words to tell you to make it better. We wanted so badly to explain that it would be okay and that things like this happen. But really, there was no fixing it and you knew it. Being the strong boy you are, and realizing that your father and I were grossly inadequate for the job of candy coating this issue, you changed the subject and suggested we investigate the lifeguard tower instead.

Son, I just want you to know that later when that same kid came up and wanted to play with you and you looked him in the eye and told him to get lost...my heart swelled. I have never been so proud. Because despite the "forgive and forget" attitude that I am expected to teach you, the truth is, some people (kids included) are just assholes sometimes and there is nothing we can do about it. I'm sorry he killed your crab. I wish I could have done more for you. I wish I could have marched over there and dunked the little jackass in the ocean and shoved the blue bucket over his head. I would have loved to have at least been able to have a 'nice little talk' with Johnny about disrespecting animals and how they come back to haunt us...jackass.

But your mother did the right thing. I did the thing that you will do one day when your son comes crying to you when another kid is mean to them. You will hug them, you will kiss them and you will remind them that kids like that end up in prison one day.

I love you, Bonus.

Momma

You Probably WOULD Understand...I hope.

Every couple of years, Dorkfish decides to reinvent the wheel, and by 'reinvent the wheel, I mean grow his hair out until it gets Jon-Baker big:


and it stays like this until he gets tired of it and gets a flat top. Generally, this period coincides with him being stressed at work and needing some sort of adventure. (He doesn't grow well under florescent lighting.) He has always done well with venting his 'wild child', so I generally send him off with his kayak, mountain bike, parachute or toy of choice and wish him well. However, things in the current job have been a bit more stressful and time consuming, thus prohibiting the opportunity for such an escape.

Being the wonderful, lovely, understanding wife that I am, I heard his cries for help (in the form of empty bottles of leave-in conditioner and hair gel) and found him a new toy. But this is one he has been begging for since my mom passed away when he went through his 'life is too short phase'. So, I went on craigslist and found him a Jeep Wrangler.

To say he was 'giddy' was possibly putting it lightly. "A kid at Christmas" would have been a more accurate description. Fortunately, the boys were equally amused and now it's a new family toy. The part I underestimated was how much fun I would have in it... Somehow, I found myself being convinced by a six and four year old that 'taking it in the mud' would be a good idea. (Could have something to do with my heritage.)


*Everyone knows one must wear a cowgirl hat to go mudboggin*

(Oh, and for the record, I was also wearing my new favorite Yee-Haw shirt.)

The boys had an absolute blast and Dorkfish returned home to this:



Sadly, he didn't seem to see the humor in it. Much like he didn't see the humor in my craigslist ad I wrote to sell his car, "We are selling it because we only have room for two vehicles at our house and my husband's need for a Jeep Wrangler outweighed the necessity for a dependable, fuel-efficient vehicle."

I think he's just sensitive because the dirt clods are still falling off the axles days after washing it...oops.

Stay tuned, I'm sure there will be much more drama to unfold on the next CHiPs episode!

*snicker*

The First Day is Generally the Longest...

Yesterday, Bonus completed his first year of school. He has officially finished kindergarten. Aside from a few 'punching Jack in the junk' issues, it went reasonably well. He finished at or above grade level in every area with the exception of one. Apparently he is above a first grade level with creative writing.

Weird.

The perk to our school system is that it is year-round. Meaning, that he is in school for nine weeks and out for three to four, depending on the break. Today officially starts his summer break, so he is out for four weeks. Four. Long. Weeks. I realize that for parents in traditional school, having a four-week break is nothing. Trying to find something to entertain your child for a month in the summer is a drop in the bucket compared to months on end. However, once you have become accustomed to the peace that is the walk home from the bus stop in the mornings, planning your day in your head and not anticipating the "I'm booooooorrrrrred" that is inevitable from a child that is entertained for eight hours a day; four weeks is a long, damn, time.

So as I type this, I have officially thrown in the towel. It is 9 a.m. and the boys are in the bathtub with all of their favorite stuffed animals.

It is going to be a long track out, my friends.....

The Official Biscuit Fest (NPC) UPDATE

Disclaimer: This post is an update on my last post. It will make absolutely no sense if you haven't read (and possibly re-read) the last post. Also, "NPC" means "Not a Porn Convention". That will save you some time. You're welcome.


So.....Biscuit Fest (NPC).......

Where do I begin.....

Let me give you the back story by saying that I feel pretty certain that ever since Knoxville secured the 1982 World's Fair, the city has had an inferiority complex and has convinced it's self that every event will be a complete failure.

Take Bacon Fest for example. Last fall, they hosted the event and only had four vendors supplying bacon.

Four.

For a city of approximately 183,000 people, they thought four restaurants would be plenty. *sigh*

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when I showed up at Biscuit Fest (NPC) only to be told that they were SOLD. OUT. OF. BISCUITS.

*blink, blink*

Come on people. It's the SOUTH. How in the hell do you sell of out of BISCUITS?!

ANYWHERE?!?!

I called my friend She-she to lament the fact that I had completely missed Biscuit Fest (NPC) and she said, "So let me get this straight. It was BYOB, bring your own biscuit?"

At least someone could find humor in it, I guess.

However, don't think I didn't find the irony in the shirt sizing. I bought a large Biscuit Fest shirt and let me tell you...people who attend Biscuit Fest (NPC)and like to eat biscuits, DO NOT appreciate a shirt that is sized small.

I now have to remove the NPC to wear the damn shirt.

Get Yer Biscuit On

Sometimes it takes moving from a place to realize how much of it has become you. You can live your entire life in one location and never know how the people or the place has impacted you or shaped your personality until you leave. You find that you are taking with you much more than you had anticipated and you treasure those memories, the people, the places and how you have been shaped by each.

Since our move to North Carolina, I'm the only one I've seen in our neighborhood wearing cowboy boots and a belt buckle. I own a hound dog. My dear friend and neighbor, She-she, calls me "Tennessee" and has a ringtone for me that is "American Woman". My favorite shirt says "Knoxville Girl" and was handmade at Yee-Haw Industries. I find myself saying things like, "Well that's about as useless as a gun-shy coonhound" and I show up at the morning bus stop drinking coffee out of a beer stein and wearing a holey 1982 World's Fair t-shirt. But the irony in all that is that I was raised a city girl. Fountain City, to be exact. It wasn't until I received my Knoxville Girl t-shirt from Jae that I embraced my heritage and found my true love for that place. (Despite the fact that I will forever be indebted to the University of Tennessee for my degree. Literally...)

It is with great pride that I can say that I have forced, er, positively influenced all of my new friends and neighbors with the "Tennesseeisms" that I feel are necessary to understand me. They have come to terms with the understanding that when a sentence is started with "God Love Em" it is going to be interesting and seem to have no problem with asking me to repeat myself when I get carried away and 'my old accent gets the best of me'. My current obsession, or, "enlightenment project" is to help them all to understand the beauty that is Yee-Haw Industries. (Go to their etsy store and check out their wares.)

Greeted by this picture upon walking up to the door, only ads to the charm one finds on the inside...



*snicker*

(I have put my favorite photos from the trip on my flickr page, so you can go view them there, if you'd like.)

They look like this:

While I was wandering around Yee-Haw and shooting some pictures, I noticed they were printing posters for the First Annual International Biscuit Fest. Intrigued, I came straight home and began researching the event and immediately informed all my neighbors. She-she may have been the most excited. She coined what has now become the catch-phrase (NPC), which stands for "Not a Porn Convention".

SNORT

I must admit, we have really enjoyed giggling over this until both of my sons began yelling NPC every time I mentioned Biscuit Fest. I'm not sure if, much like Deuce quoting Beastie Boys lyrics, this makes me an awesome mom or a horrible influence... The jury is still out on that one.

So, dear reader, if you happen to be in K-town this weekend, please come find me at Biscuit Fest (NPC). I shall be sporting my Knoxville Girl t-shirt and taking pictures of all things biscuit. Who knows, I may even rustle up a new shirt or two at Yee-Haw to help culture ya'll.


But, if my kids ask you, "NPC" stands for "copyright infringement".