Drunk With Power

Since yesterday was Take Your Child To Work Day, I took my child to work. It wasn't a huge change for Hunter, especially since I work at his school, but I think it turned out okay.

The morning was spent working with my kiddos, which was a wee bit less exciting than Hunter thought it would be, so when his class went out for recess, I shooed him out the door as well. But then came lunch time for the first graders...

During this time, my actual 'duty' is to keep an eye on Gap Baby (so named because if it doesn't come from The Gap, then it doesn't get worn) and to make sure that he stays seated, eats, etc., but he's a great little kid and doesn't need much more than just being aware of him and what he's doing. Naturally, this leaves me available to help out or be attacked by the other first graders who don't yet have the common sense to realize that it's easier to eat mac and cheese with a spork (spoon + fork = spork) than with your fingers, or who've made it their goal for the year to talk so loudly that I become permanently deaf. And this is where Hunter stepped in...

While giving the kids yet another lecture/verbal beating about the fact that they're just too damn loud(!), Hunter popped in with his 2 cents, so I had no choice but to introduce him to them. I don't know if it was because he was a 'big' kid or what, but they were enthralled by him. He took over (much like his mother has been known to do) and became a man on a mission. If there was a hand up, he made a bee line to it. If they had to potty, he gave them permission. If they wanted ketchup for their salad, he made sure they had it. He was absolutely drunk with the power that he had over these kids. And I think it's quite possible that he found his calling in supervising lunch for first graders.

This is a Compliment?

Kenin: "Honey, you're my least psychotic wife."

My Superstar Cat

A couple of weeks ago, Hunter decided to give our felines more human-like names.

Poor, little Napoleon became Napoleon Bartholomew Huffstetler. All I can say about that name is, thank goodness he doesn't actually have to learn to spell it. On the flip side, our three-legged wondercat, Angelo, is now known as Angelo Jolie.

Isn't my kid amazing?

Thank You For Your Contribution

There've been few times in my life that I've been rendered speechless, but I'll be damned if one such time didn't happen tonight. It happened during dinner out with Pet, in a Mexican restaurant, which may or may not remain nameless, depending on how I feel at the end of this post.

Pet and I were at dinner this evening, a little girls night out, if you will, when I happened to glance off to my left (not too left, mostly in a diagonal direction), and I noticed that there was a Small Terror, jumping on the seat of the booth against the wall. (You know, that description doesn't quite do the scene justice, so let me try again.) The Small Terror, who was about 5 years old, was jumping as if he was on his very own trampoline that had accompanied him to the restaurant. My first thought, as it would be with any rational adult, was to look for the mother of Small Terror, and when I saw her seated on the outside of the booth, I realized I knew who she was, or at least her type - she was Oblivious Mom. Oblivious Mom was focused rather intently on her food, and I know this to be true, because she didn't even seem to notice when Large Terror, who looked to be about 8 years old, stood on the seat and climbed over her in order to get out of the booth.

I was amazed, I was astounded, and I was absolutely and totally traumatized when I realized that this person had not only procreated, but was inflicting her spawn on me and my dinner.

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised when Small Terror ducked under the table and magically appeared on the other side of the booth, or when he literally (cross my heart, hope to die) placed one foot on the table and tried to climb on the wall of the restaurant. I know I should've expected Oblivious Mom to remain oblivious when Large Terror vaulted over the back of their booth and into the one behind them (which was empty only by the grace of God, I'm sure) so he could attempt to move/play with/destroy the terra cotta planter that rested on the shelf above (and I mean way, way above) the booth, but I didn't. I didn't think that Oblivious Mom would be such a disgrace to parenthood. I didn't honestly think that she'd forget that she had children (who, by this point, had morphed into Terrors) that she was responsible for, or that she had forgotten or just plain didn't know that she had been charged with the formation of the character of these small creatures. I truly didn't think she was such a dumb ass. But you know what? She was.

Now I won't go into how I think this woman is totally shirking her duty as a parent or how I was so incredibly incensed by the behavior of this woman's Terrors that I was this close to asking her why she thought it was okay for her children to act like this in public.

I don't know who she was or where she came from of if aliens had invaded her body and that's how she became oblivious in the first place. All I know is that if you are her, this is what I have to say: Thank you for contributing to the delinquency of America.

The Worshiping Has Begun

There are two things that my husband will wrestle the remote from you for, and those are college football games - preferably live - and anything even remotely related to the TV show Deadliest Catch, or as I call it, The Arthritic Adventures of Bait Boy*. About a month ago, Kenin WROTE ON OUR REFRIGERATOR CALENDAR that season 3 of Bait Boy would begin on April 3, and has pontificated every day since about just how much he adores this show. (And yes, I'm using the word 'adores', because 'likes' wouldn't even begin to address the amount of emotion Kenin has towards it.)

So, yesterday, hubby came home from work, grabbed the remote and began looking for episodes of the first two seasons of the show because usually there is marathon upon marathon of this show prior to a new season actually beginning. Upon discovering that the only marathon to be had was Dirty Jobs, he pouted loudly and once again asked/pleaded/offered up 7 virgins as a sacrifice/begged that I buy him the earlier seasons on DVD for his upcoming birthday, and could I please have them delivered immediately, if not sooner, because his world would collapse if he didn't have some Bait Boy to hold him off for the next 3 days.

People, as far as Kenin is concerned, this show is like porn, only a million times better.

So tonight, as Kenin surfed the TV Guide, God looked down on him and said, "Let there be The Deadliest Catch." And sure enough, there it was! I think he wet himself when he saw the recaps were on, but I'm not sure if it's because he lost bladder control or the ability to swallow his drool. He made sounds that scared small children and farm animals as he attempted to express his happiness. I, too, almost wet myself, but it was because I was laughing so hard at the man I adore way too much.

*I love my husband, but he has this delusional idea that he'll be heading to Alaska next winter for the crab season and he'll end up working on one of those damn boats. The position that the newbie on the boat gets is that of bait boy, and if I've told him once, I've told him a hundred times that he's too damn arthritic to even do that job. But because I love him so much, I just humor him and tell him, yes, darlin', they'll hire you in a New York minute. In fact, they'll practically beg you to work for them. But first they'll change the name of the show to reflect your importance to them. It'll now be known as The Arthritic Adventures of Bait Boy. And you'll be the star.