Tip O' The Day

Do not allow your seven-year-old child to open cereal bags. Ever.

Because this is what will happen:




This has been a Public Service Announcement.

AAAAAAAACCCCKKKKKK!!!!!!

Sorry. That was just me screaming because while getting my baby in the bathtub tonight I discovered an itty-bitty tiny TICK on his chest.

As any good Camp Fire girl who has ever been to camp knows, the tiny ones are the worst, the most likely to carry Lyme disease. Living out in the country we find ticks everywhere - just the other day I picked one off the cat that was nearly the size of a blueberry, it was so overgorged. But those are big ticks. This one was tiny, almost the size of the period at the end of this sentence.

And it was EMBEDDED in MY BABY. (Ok, he's four years old, but he's my baby.) I have no mercy for anything that even thinks of threatening my kids, and this thing had chewed its way into my precious baby's chest and was sucking away on him. I wasn't just going to kill this tick, I was going to make it wish it and it's entire ancestral line had never been created by God.

The main roadblock was that I COULD NOT FIND TWEEZERS. Anywhere. Not in the bathroom. Not in the first aid buckets. Not in the hall closet. Not in the junk drawer.

I would have sold my soul for tweezers at that moment. Luckily I did manage to find some while maniacally dumping out the entire contents of the Caboodle I keep stashed full of random crap under the bathroom sink (yes, I am a child of the 80's and I still have it - what's your problem?). Gold ones, nonetheless. Though I did stop for just the smallest fraction of a nanosecond to wonder why anyone ever thought tweezers needed to appear gold-plated (and I have no idea whatsoever where they came from, along with most of the rest of the stuff in that Caboodle), I firmly clamped down on the blood-sucker and pulled it out, mouthparts and all. The baby and I examined it waving its legs and chewing mandibles in mid-air, and then I laid it on a lovely harsh cold pallet of drenched alcohol pads while I cleaned my baby's bite and deposited him in the warm bath.

Then I made waterboarding and SERE training look like Club Med. When it was finally over, Mr Tick lay lifeless between two more drenched alcohol pads inside the suffocating confines of a sealed baggie, where he's going to stay for at least two weeks until I can be certain that my baby will not suffer any effects of the bite.

I may even hang him up on the back porch as an example for all his family and friends to see.

I am Mama Bear, hear me roar: Don't mess with my kids. Nothing will stop me from destroying any semblance of life you have left.

Helpful Hint

I'm no fashion maven, but....

Dear young mom at unnamed mexican restaurant yesterday,

By the looks of your child, you apparently just had a baby about 3 months or so ago and you are obviously trying to get your sexyback (though a bit misguided on an outing with said infant and your hubby), but please exchange your too-short, too-tight, strapless shortie-one-piece-shortset that looks like you stole it off a five year old (on whom it would be overwhelmingly more appropriate) for something a bit less desperately-clawing-at-the-last-vestiges-of-teenage-hood-ish. The sky-high wedge platform sandals aren't helping matters. Next time, try a simple, pretty, strappy sundress with some embellished flip-flops, mmmkay? And please make an attempt to at least acknowledge the sweet little baby girl you have with you instead of shoveling in the chips and salsa while your poor baby-daddy handles every last bit of baby-care, from carrying to holding to feeding to cleaning up. Look, I know new-motherhood can be tiring, and we'd all like the daddy to take more responsibility for baby-care (and heck, this may even be the only time you get out of the house and you want to enjoy it) but acting like an indifferent baby-sitter when you are obviously the baby's mother won't win you any points in the attractiveness department. Embrace your title as baby-mama, especially when the baby is with you; it will give you a smidge more credibility as the mother of said child, and you won't look like such a two-dollar hooker who had the misfortune to get knocked up.

Thanks doll. Love,
Soonerchick


*The sad thing about it was that she really was a pretty young lady, and from the neck up, she looked great - tasteful hair and makeup and jewelry. But from the neck-down, she looked like her 13-yr-old sister had dressed her, and basically ignoring her baby made me dislike her even more.

Concessions-R-Us

Well, actually, it SHOULD say "Concessions-R-Me". Because I was the ONLY ONE working there last night. Grr.

Here's Why: Our Little League here in Nowheresville, KY is run by the most inept, incompetent, uncaring morons that I have ever seen. One of the by-products of this is that they say they "can't afford" to pay someone to man the concession stand during games, (to which I said "then where did all of my money go? Because it wasn't to the coaches or field staff, who are all volunteers") so they require parents to volunteer to man it instead. You are required to write them a check for $50 (in addition to all the other registration fees, which are also sky-high) when you sign your kid up, and if you complete your time in purgatory at the concession stand, they supposedly tear it up and don't cash it at the end of the season. If you don't serve your time, they cash it. They figure, and rightly so, that most people don't want to waste $50, so they'll do their time. However, I don't see how this $ is helping MY kids, since these checks aren't cashed until AFTER the season is over. So if you don't work, you've just subsidized next year's league.

So I signed up and dutifully showed up last evening to fulfill my first required shift (you have to do two) and found a locked concession stand. Another woman, who was supposed to distribute shirts (that were also inside the stand) to another team showed up about ten minutes after I did and wanted to know why it wasn't open. I told her I didn't have a key or any way to contact anyone who did. So, well-connected as she was, she called the league director, who just happened to be in the next town (20 min away) at ANOTHER field with his family. She finally managed to get ahold of some parks and rec guy who showed up 30 min later with a key (you know, 30 min AFTER the games had already begun and people were circling me like sharks wanting to know why the stand wasn't open.)

While we were waiting, I noticed I was the only one who had apparently shown up to work. Which would not have been such a big deal if I had known ANYTHING at all about where the food and drinks were, how much to charge, how to work the ancient cash register, what to prepare the food with, how to shut everything down and close and lock up, etc. I conveyed this apprehension to the other woman waiting with me, and she said she would show me where everything was and how to run it before she left.

Apparently this meant she would get the hot dogs ready and take off, because that's what she did. Since I was swamped with hillbilly rednecks wanting snacks and drinks for the first 45 minutes, all I could basically do was throw their money in the direction of the cash register and hand out food in return. I actually told people we were out of sunflower seeds and peanuts because I couldn't find them. (As it turned out, they were in a bucket on the floor. You know, because that's where food belongs: on the floor.) After the initial rush died down, I sorted out the money into the register and hunted down the rest of the items for sale. Things were going relatively spiffy until two teeneage umpires came in and held up their time cards and said "Where do we put these?" Uh, well, um, how about where you usually put them?" Their response? "We don't know where they are supposed to go." I decided to skip the rest of the conversation about how they've been doing this job for over a month now and SERIOUSLY, have they never turned in a time card?, while they stared at me blankly, so I just took the cards and told them I'd take care of it. Ten minutes later, a severely overweight man comes in wanting to know where the first aid supplies were. (My thought: we have first aid supplies? What do I look like, a paramedic?) I finally found a file cabinet labeled "ice packs" so I handed him one and said "good luck."

When I decided to close up shop for the night, I discovered there was no way to wash out the hot dog pan except for hot water, so I turned it up full blast and poured the hottest water possible into it over and over, hoping to at least kill whatever germs might be in it by sheer heat alone, since there was no scrubbing item or soap in sight, except the hand soap by one of the sinks. I put up all the food, cleaned up the area in general, and turned off the hot plate. I closed out the register, put everything in the cash bag, wrote a note telling the manager which three items they were nearly out of, and stuck the two umpires' time cards on top. I locked the window and door behind me, shut it, then realized I hadn't remembered to check the ice cream chest to make sure it was closed. Nice. So if all the ice cream treats are melted when I go back tonight for my second (and last) shift, I will basically be the most hated person in town. However, in my defense, it would serve the managers right for being such *unprintable words* as to not bother showing up to open it, then leaving me there by my clueless self.

Oh, and I discovered the schedule sitting on a counter near the register. Guess who was supposed to show up and work the stand with me last night? That's right, the leaders (husband and wife) of my sons' Cub Scout pack. Wow. Way to display those leadership and responsibility qualities there. I'm so impressed.

There are two different ladies schedule to work with me tonight. I have a feeling I'll be by myself again, except this time, at least, I have the phone number of the man with the key.

Why I Will Celebrate

There has been a lot of talk over the past 24 hours about how we, as American citizens, should not be celebrating the death of the terrorist who, without provocation, slaughtered thousands of people, both civilian and military. The reasons for this non-celebratory attitude differ: some people are afraid of terrorist retaliation if they see us having a nation-wide shindig, some people are pacifists and dislike any and all conflict regardless of the justification, and some people feel we should be like Jesus and mourn the loss of a life, no matter how vile it was nor how much intentional destruction it caused.

I am not one of those people.

Here are the facts: 1. American military forces executed a man guilty of multiple premeditated, unprovoked mass murders. 2. They did so in face-to-face combat. 3. Bin Laden knew who killed him, why they killed him, and was caught entirely off-guard when it occured.

Those facts are indisputable, so let's address the various theories of non-celebratory behavior put forth by these nincompoops.

Any terrorist cells loyal to Bin Laden will want revenge for the death of their leader. Whether or not we engage in celebratory behavior will neither encourage nor dissuade them from that position. If you really believe it will, you have the reasoning capabilities of a two-year-old who thinks that screaming at the night sky will cause it to turn to daylight again. Just as there is no correlation between screaming and sunrise, so is there no correlation between celebratory behavior and terrorist actions. Terrorists have a callous disregard for all forms of life and will do what they will do regardless of the state of the rest of the world.

The pacifists will remain unmotivated no matter what happens. A true pacifist will not condone or participate in any type of conflict or combative behavior, preferring instead to sit idly by, wringing their hands while wishing everyone would just love one another and sing Kumbayah. Unfortunately for pacifists, however, terrorists tend to be unreasonable people and are thus entirely unmoved by displays of pacifism. The main trouble with pacifism, though, is that it consists entirely of people who refuse to stand up for their own beliefs, refuse to protect what they hold dear, refuse to take action against those people or circumstances who would seek to do harm. The very root word of pacifism, passive, means to submit without resistance. And I cannot condone an ideology that consists of sitting idly by and submitting to the the machinations of an evil madman without resistance. Call me a warmonger if you wish.

And now we come to the question of What Would Jesus Do? Well, you can quote Bible verses at me all day long and into the night, but when people begin using Bibilical passages as a means to justify pacifism, I tend to give them the same consideration as I would Jim Bakker, who as you'll recall, used Bible verses as a means to justify personal financial gain. While I do agree that it is admirable, and Godly, to forgive your enemies and wish for their conversion and redemption, I also believe that allowing the continued massacre of innocent people puts their blood on YOUR hands as well. After all, you are either for it or against it. There is no middle ground when it comes to the question of the taking of human life. I stand resolute that we as Americans should, and have a responsibility to, do everything in our power to protect our families and fellow citizens from reigns of terror.

Osama Bin Laden's assasination is unquestionably a good thing. No, it will not bring back the dead. It will not erase the pain felt by their families and friends, and it will not reverse the horrific events that have transpired over the past ten years. It may or may not bring "closure" to people; that psychological term cannot be narrowed to a precise definition or composition; it is brought about differently for everyone.

What it DOES do, however, is bring justice. If you intentionally decide to end the life of another human being without their consent (or at least a morally and legally reasonable justification), we in the civilized free world deem than unpardonable, and the payment for such an atrocity is the relinquishment of your own life and freedoms. Should you decide not to comply, you will be summarily executed. And when you happen to have planned, encouraged, and brought about the entirely unprovoked murders of thousands of people, your death will be met with much revelry and relief. That much is certain.

So I WILL celebrate...because his death means he can no longer orchestrate the senseless deaths of others. I WILL celebrate...the defeat of evil in this world. I WILL celebrate...because I am proud that American forces were the ones who removed this vile cancer from among the living. And I will celebrate without fear of retaliation, because I refuse to give any terrorists the satisfaction of my fear.

Observations

Today I saw an old man, no younger than 70, mowing his yard in shorty-shorts and a button-down shirt with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders.

Thoughts:
1. Oh. My. Gosh. This person needs "What not to Wear" like a fish needs water.
2. I hope he's not dressed that way in some misguided attempt to get a tan or impress the ladies, because frankly, 70 year olds don't need tans and if he couldn't attract the ladies before, it's not gonna happen now.
3. I would've thought only a gay man would wear shorty-shorts. But this man obviously isn't gay, because no gay man (even a drag queen) with even a shred of self-respect would wear such a repulsive outfit.
4. Now I need my eyes sanitized.

Observations

This is the first of a series on this blog that I'm going to call "Observations." These are things I notice at random that I feel like sharing my thoughts on, for whatever reason. They'll pop up every now and then.

Today's installment regards turkey vultures. If you've never seen a turkey vulture, let me preface this by saying that these are the most repulsive birds on the planet. They look exactly like the bastard child of a turkey and a vulture, hence the name, and out here in Kentucky, not a day goes by that you don't see at least two or three of them circling up in the air.

I took my younger two to the playground today while we waited for my oldest's baseball practice to end. I happened to look up at a turkey vulture circling the playground area and the first thought that immediately popped into my head was "If I had a gun with me, I'd drop that sucker." Pure reflex.


Thoughts: I have never actually wished death on any animal. There are some animals I don't like very much, but I've never had thoughts of killing them. I'm too soft-hearted for that. Or at least, I was. The realization that such a heartless and emotion-free thought was my initial gut reaction to that bird was a smidge startling. But I didn't (and still don't) feel guilty, because the very reason I had that thought was because I felt my kids were threatened. Now, I know that turkey vultures don't attack live anythings, let alone people, but these are huge birds, and when they circle low (and it was VERY low) over my babies, my reflexive reaction is immediate and absolute annihilation. I turn into a rabid militant with a vicious attitude problem if I sense any harm about to befall my children.


Lesson: Anyone or anything that even so much as has passing thoughts about threatening me or my kids in any way, shape, or form had better be prepared for certain, immediate death. I don't give a rat's butt who you are and I'll leave your smelly carcass to rot where it falls. I take no prisoners when it comes to my family.