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".

Captain Obvious

I've noticed more recently that parenting is full of those 'duh' moments. Originally, I assumed it was because I didn't have my mom around to teach me the 'here's-how-it-works-as-a-mom' sorts of things. (Although, looking back on it, I distinctly remember a time when I ran to the store and left Bonus, who was about three months old, with my mother. Upon returning, I walked in as she was trying to heat a bottle and yelling to my screaming child, "I'm coming, you bad baby you!" From then on, Bonus was our "bad baby".)

Ah, the memories...

Lately, I've found that my "bad baby" has been surprising me with his understanding of things. Part of it is just being six, but I'm worried that most of it that he's smarter than me.

A couple of nights ago, I was playing on facebook  cleaning the house and heard a loud noise out back. Apparently, the piece of mulch that I so ingeniously used to wedge the downspout against the house had fallen out and the wind was making it rattle again. I went outside, repaired the downspout and returned to the porch feeling vindicated for winning the battle and proving to myself that I can handle any sort of household responsibility while Dorkfish is traveling.

Apparently, checking to see that the door isn't going to lock behind me, doesn't fall into the 'household responsibility' category.

Finding only the bathroom window unlocked, I texted my neighbor, Cameron, in hopes he still had my key and was up facebooking cleaning as well. Fortunately, he was and I was able to make it back inside.

The following morning, I recanted this story to Bonus. Feeling quite pleased with myself for solving both the problem of the gutter rattling and being locked out, I may have made my journey sound much more dangerous. (I think there was a loose tiger in our neighborhood...) At the end of my story, Bonus looked at me and said, "Momma, why didn't you just knock on my window and wake me up?"

"Well, actually, I had considered that option,but couldn't get the screen off your window to knock on it."

"Momma, why didn't you just ring the doorbell?"

*blink, blink*

This doesn't make him smarter than me, does it?!

Deuce's "Birfday Week"

Deuce finally made it to four and we've always had a 'birthday week' rule around this house. (More specifically, my father spoiled me by insisting we celebrate the week leading up to my birthday and so now I not only expect it from others, but have passed this narcissism on to my children. I love you, dad!)

Unfortunately, this is one mandate that Dorkfish has refused to acknowledge. So we keep it on the downlow....

We celebrated birthday lunch with which ever fast food establishment Deuce chose, which sadly was Scottish food every time...thank you golden arches. We enjoyed ice cream breaks between meals. There were bike trips around the neighborhood and vanilla milk at Starbucks. It was lovely, and according to my thighs, successful.

In preparation for his actual birthday, I'd ask him every single day, "Deuce, are you ready for your birthday?!" To which he would respond with something equally as ridiculous as the question, "I'm ready like a pineapple."

(That one might rival me in absurd retorts.)

*****

My dad came over for the weekend to help us celebrate. I don't think he had any idea what he was walking into... The boys have gotten, let's say, a little more rowdy lately with Dorkfish working a lot and me giving up the will to live and all. But it was "birfday week", so I tend to overlook the lunacy for a bit.

All Deuce asked to do for his birthday was go to the circus. Of course, there isn't one in town right now. (Naturally.) So Dorkfish convinced him that bowling was the NEXT! BIG! THING! My dad agreed to join us even though it had been 'thirty-five years' since he had last bowled. Never mind the fact that got a spare in every frame.... I'm thinking there was a "King Pin" story in his past that he's refusing to share.

After two frames, Deuce was done. I tried to get him to finish his game, but he insisted, "Bowling wasn't my idea, you know."




(Dorkfish loves this picture... Heh.)


In an effort to make the next day more enjoyable, I convinced him that the zoo would be a good "birfday week" event. Little did I know, it had to have been the busiest day of the year...and there must have been a coupon in a WalMart somewhere. It was ridiculous. We spent three hours in the car to fight with thousands of tourists for the chance to see an orangutan scratching his ass. (And it was one of those that look like their ass is on fire from hemorrhoids. Ick.) At this point, it was impossible for me to even fake enjoyment. The "I wanna go home" started about an hour into the trip and the whining about the crowds and pollen continued until my dad and Dorkfish got me into the car.



But Deuce enjoyed it for a little while...

*****

For his actual "birfday party", we had all our neighbors and friends come to the park in our neighborhood for cake and ice cream. It was so amazing to see that many kids playing together and having so much fun. Not a single fight broke out and only once did I threaten to choke Dorkfish.

I think that was a win.

In all, the only casualty of the day was the turtle piñata.




The noose was the only option as it was too heavy to hang by the hook. (Sorry PETA!) But it was pretty damn funny to see it fall every time a kid hit it and one little piece of candy come rolling out. All 30+ kids would go running for it in a mad dash and one would walk away, victorious, with their Reese's while the others looked on in jealousy.

In all, I'm pretty sure the party made up for the crappy bowling and over-crowded zoo.



I believe the duck hat says it all...