Paging Ranger Smith

It always strikes me as funny when people, adults, I mean, become indignant when they're caught breaking the law.  It almost always becomes the fault of the person who caught them.  Teachers know this phenomenon very well...we frequently take the brunt of the blame from the miscreants throwing spitballs or using cell phones in class, like we're just supposed to LET them!  But I've found that, more often than not, embarrassment is at the root of the rage, and if they're allowed to save face, the response is quite a bit better.

The same is true for adults.  My personal trauma upon receiving speeding tickets has always been the horror of being a spectacle on the side of the road...thankfully, those are the only brushes with the law I've ever had.  (I'm quickly diving through years of memories to make sure that's true...I'm pretty confident...) But here's the thing...it's not like I've never done anything wrong...all of us have, at some point, and to some degree.  Nothing major, of course, just some mild hell-raising in my youth, but stuff I could have gotten in a little trouble for, for sure.

Anyway, this was all a great source of amusement for me today while at Sherando Lake with the family.  This is a gorgeous CCC-created recreation area deep in the heart of the Washington and Jefferson National Forests, complete with campgrounds and swimming area/beach, which was our staycation destination du jour.  We spent the day chillin' on the beach with MTO sandwiches from Sheetz, a couple of good books, and lots of sand toys.  The one thing we didn't have? Alcohol...'cause you can't!  

I've taken alcohol lots of places I shouldn't have.  A twelve pack into a movie theater to see Rattle and Hum with the BFF comes to mind.  Airplane bottles of liquor stashed in my bra to football games may have also happened a time or two...dozen.  But guess what...I didn't get caught.  (Okay, I realize that I risk incurring the wrath of the karma gods right here, but what the hell!)  I didn't get caught because a)I'm smart as hell, b)I'm hypervigilant and over-observant, and c)because it's just not that hard NOT to.

These people broke every rule of Not Getting Caught.  Two gigantic chest coolers for four people, to start.  Obvious giveaway, especially when three of the four are women, and all are thin.  Corn-hole boards were the next mistake.  Not because you have to drink while playing corn-hole (okay, yes, you DO, because it's frigging boring if you aren't), but because it makes you visible. The key to breaking rules is to be unobtrusive.  And finally, the use of plastic cups with no 2-liter bottles or jugs of lemonade in sight.  C'mon, people, camouflage! But the biggest rule they broke?  Not reading the signs, because even if you're inclined to be ballsy, the "STRICTLY ENFORCED" should stop you, if you're smart.  They weren't.

The park ranger, oops, I mean CONSERVATION OFFICER, was smart, and badass.  No Ranger Smith, this one. From her first words, "What 's in the cup, Yuengling?" she was assertive and stern, much to my delight.  It was clear that she'd been watching them and they were too stupid to notice.  The mother of the girls...yes, the mother, attempted some negotiating and didn't listen to requests to leave her bag where it was, and was met with, "Do you want to go to jail?" I had a great view for this entire exchange, hidden behind my sunglasses and a book...and secretly hoped she'd cuff them, simply because they were being assholes and acting like it was their RIGHT to be drinking.  Anyway, after more entertainment, they were taken to the office and cited, then packed up and left, their sympathetic friends muttering about how the officer was "overly aggressive and condescending." 

She was nowhere near condescending enough, it turns out, because as we discussed the incident with Andrew, he laid it all out.  "They should have put it in a Gatorade bottle and added food coloring." 

 I'm afraid for the future...and more than a little proud. 

Andrewisms

Andrew was full of witticisms this weekend.  I wish I could remember them all, because he was making me giggle.  I did manage to remember two of the winners:

Andrew:  "I want to have laser eye surgery."

Me:  "Honey, you don't need that.  You have perfect vision."

Andrew:  "I still want it."

Me:  "But honey, that's for people who can't see well, like me.  People who need contacts or glasses can have surgery where they use lasers to fix the eye so they work right.  You don't need that--yours already do!"

Andrew:  "No, Mommy!  I want the laser eye surgery where they put LASERS in your EYES!" (And he made his fingers look like lasers shooting from his eyes.)

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Last night at bedtime, while he was bouncing out of the bed because he had taken a two-hour nap in the car on the way home from the lake, Andrew came bouncing down to the office while I was checking in on Facebook. 

"Mommy, do we have the materials to make droids?"

"No, we don't.  And it's getting late, so get back to bed and go to sleep."

"Well, we need to get some.  You know, like some metal and stuff." 

I'll get right on that. 

Andrewisms

At night, when Andrew is unwinding and trying to fall asleep, typically he asks one of us to rest with him for a few minutes.  If it's the hubby's turn, he falls asleep in three seconds and snores so loudly that Andrew can't fall asleep.  If it's me, I lie there watching Andrew, trying desperately not to fall asleep and get stuck in there.  Some nights are faster than others, because as Andrew will tell you himself, "It takes me a while to get to sleep."

One of his nighttime rituals as he relaxes and settles in is nuzzling with his lion, which I watch from barely open eyes so he won't see me peeking at him.  He lies on his back with lion in an embrace, and he rubs noses with lion, kisses him goodnight, and sometimes whispers to him, just before getting into his final sleep position and drifting off. 

Tonight was much the same, only I was watching the fish in the tank across the room (trying not to fall asleep).  Andrew paused his nuzzling long enough to say quietly, "This is what we do before we go to sleep--we play the staring game."  (Ohhhh...is THAT what you were doing?  Because from over here it looks like you're making out with your stuffed animal!)  He then returned to staring into Lion's eyes for a moment before saying, "Oh!  Lion blinked!  I win!"  (I'm giggling again now at the thought of this, which probably loses a lot in translation.)

Trying not to burst into hysterical laughter at what struck me as a Calvin and Hobbes moment, I whispered, "Andrew, shhhh!" in an attempt to get him to settle down and go to sleep.  Andrew deadpanned, "Why?  It's not like we were playing the quiet game!" and then turned over and went to sleep as I laughed my way out of the room.  I just wish I could draw comics!

Andrewisms

This may be a sign that Andrew is growing up, OR that we watch entirely too much iCarly.  (Sam's funny, but she's not such a great role model!)  As we get more and more details about school from Andrew, he updates us on prior situations--such as the one with one of the PE teachers, who told Andrew on Day 2 that "Lion is NEVER allowed back in the gym AGAIN!"  It apparently made enough of an impression on Andrew that he said the teacher was only "kind of nice" while the other PE teacher was "really nice."  "Kind of nice" is Andrew Speak for "I don't like that guy."

Monday night on the way to dinner, we were discussing the day's events, and it turned out that he had PE again that day.  He relayed the details, and I said, "See, he's nicer than you thought he was!" 

Andrew quickly replied, "Yeah, but he's still kind of a fudgebag." 

Andrewisms

So, it's 10:30 on a Friday night, and Andrew still isn't sleeping.  We had a busy evening full of a trip to the Green Valley Book Fair (one of my favorite places) and to Chick-Fil-A, followed by an episode of The Batman and reading a whole slew of his new books (including a chapter book that he made me read all of because he just couldn't wait until tomorrow to find out what happened to Little Bill on his "worst day").

After being tucked in, kissed goodnight, and making sure that the newest pet (an inchworm...yes, an inchworm!) was all taken care of, Andrew came back down the hall to use the bathroom for the second time in five minutes and get a cup of water to ensure that he'll have to get BACK up later. 

Andrew:  "Mommy, my tummy is growling."  (This, after two packs of fruit snacks and milk.)

Me:  (Realizing that all he ate for dinner was six chicken nuggets at Chick-Fil-A...crap!)"Do you want a banana?"

Andrew:  "My tummy isn't hungry for banana.  It's saying 'frooooot snaaaaackkks'." (Be sure to read that in a growly tummy voice.)

Me:  "If you're hungry, you may have a banana.  No more fruit snacks tonight."

Andrew:  "I'm not going to eat a banana."

Me:  "Well, you're also not going to eat fruit snacks.  Are you too hungry to go to sleep?"

Andrew:  "No, I'm too sleepy to eat."

Aaaaaack!

Andrewisms

Me:  "Honey, what would you like to have for dinner tomorrow night?"

Andrew:  "Steak.  And marshmallows."

Terribly Inappropriate Andrewisms

We spent the evening at my dad's house for a belated birthday dinner for my sister Anna, who is home from college for the weekend.  After pizza and cake, we watched her open presents and just sat around relaxing in the living room while Andrew played and Dad showed us tricks that he has taught his dog, Pooch.
Andrew climbed up into my lap to sit and watch the tricks.  James, meanwhile, was dozing in the recliner, and Anna was lying down on the couch resting because she wasn't feeling well.  At some point Andrew decided he was going to slide off of my lap and get down, but he went sort of over the arm of the chair on his way to the floor.  Well, something in the dismount must have gone wrong, because Andrew turned around to me, obviously in some sort of discomfort, and, holding himself yelled, "I just HURT my BALLS!"  Shocked, I hesitated for a second, trying not to laugh (he was obviously okay) while Dad and my sisters cracked up.  Apparently, though, Andrew didn't think he had been specific enough, because he followed that up with, "I just BROKE one of my NUTS!"  Sorry, but mama's laughin' at that.

Andrewisms

Andrew goes to preschool in a church.  The schoolrooms, and where they spend the bulk of their time, are downstairs.  They go upstairs for meals and naps in the social hall.  Every afternoon, after I sign him out and gather up his belongings, we traipse up the stairway, which has a landing and changes directions halfway up, to retrieve Lion, who is always left on Andrew's cot from naptime.

Hanging on the wall above the midway landing is a tapestry depiction (a "blanket" as Andrew calls it) of the Last Supper.  Andrew has been noticing it lately, and he's had many questions about the men in the picture.  As we walk down the first half of the stairs, we're facing the tapestry, so we get a good look at it every day.

Yesterday we covered that it was called the Last Supper, and that the man in the middle was Jesus ("Oh, when he was a grown up, but before he died.")  Explaining what the disciples' jobs were was a little trickier, but he got that it was the last meal Jesus had with his disciples before he died. 

Today, as we were walking down the steps, Andrew wanted to know where the "Last Dinner" happened.  I was a little fuzzy on the actual location (I'm not great with my Bible details, as we've covered before.), and though my instinct was to say that it was in Jerusalem (anyone??), I just answered that the meal took place near where Jesus lived and died, in a land that was far, far away.   Andrew's response?  "Oh, you mean Chicago!"  Sure, that sounds good to me!

Wednesday Whatever

I am clearly going through some sort of identity crisis blog-wise.  I wanted to "decorate" it for the holidays, but much like my house after taking down all the bric-a-brac, the "old" look just seemed...blah.  So, here it is, for the second time in two weeks, a new look.  For how long, I don't know...only time, and my mood swings, will tell.

I've also determined that the only way for me to be disciplined about posting is to adopt some regular themes...the Saturday Six-Pack is one of those that I'll be continuing, because it's a super easy way for me to summarize our week when I haven't been struck by amazingly wonderful topics, which seems to be happening a lot lately.  Truth be known, I'm a little scared to write about much that is anything other than trivial.  I've been avoiding those hard topics, such as many of the things we experienced in 2009, like the plague.  I guess I will eventually have to suck it up and vent, and maybe that will stimulate some healing.

On lighter notes, ones which would fit into Andrewisms, are two things that the little guy dropped on me last night at story time.  He has developed an obsession for all things super hero...Super Friends, Spider Man, X-Men...pretty much any of the do-gooders with special powers will satisfy his addiction.  Showing once again that he is "his father's son," he has also developed quite the repertoire of trivial knowledge-the super heroes real names, their powers, who works with whom, etc.  The first story we read last night was The Super Friends:  Going Bananas (nothing but quality literature here, folks).  Looking at the picture of Batman on the cover, Andrew asks, knowing full well the answer, "Mommy, what's Batman's real name?"  He then wanted to know if the Batarang was called the BruceWayneArang when Batman is really his alter ego.  Okay, maybe you had to be there, but it was funny last night.

The next book up...

In this installment, Harold draws a castle, but...

Andrew said, "Mommy, he should have colored it in, then he could have gotten in."  In the hopes that the copyright police won't come after me, let me just say that you should BUY the Harold series for whatever child or grandchild you might have to buy for.  They are very cute and imaginative, and a good read for any young child.

After wasting an incredible amount of time redesigning and then posting, it's probably time to take my scarf off (I'm still cold and ready for SPRING) and make sure that dinner is progressing into actual food and not a kitchen catastrophe.  And the dinner bell rings...

Andrewisms

The bedtime reading of Mercer Mayer's The Little Drummer Mouse tonight inspired a philosophical discussion about God and Jesus. The little mouse, who has been scorned his whole life for being so small, for always lagging behind, and for playing his acorn drum, follows a bright star to a stable to visit a baby king after being told by three kings that the baby will be the greatest king of all. The little mouse plays his drum to the delight of the baby, and the shepherds and others join in. The little mouse is finally a leader, and his gift of music is, as the story goes, the greatest gift of all. It's a sweet tale, with beautiful illustrations, but the religious messages are all implied instead of directly stated.

Not sure if he was making the inferences or not, or how much of the Christmas story Andrew knows and remembers, I pointed out that the baby was Jesus, which brought up the questions. Actually, Andrew was full of information that he's apparently picking up at his church-sponsored preschool. He sang a song for me, ("The B-I-B-L-E, Yes, that’s the book for me. I stand alone on the Word of God,The B-I-B-L-E."  I had to google the actual words--the only part I really got was stand alone on the word of God.  I had NO clue whatsoever that he was spelling Bible, but instead just thought it was some cute refrain in the song.  Duh.)  He went on to tell me that Jesus grew up and then died, and then he started asking questions about God, which are harder ones to answer. We covered that Jesus was the son of God, which led him to ask if God had died too. My answer was no, that God had always been in heaven and had created everything in the universe. We went through the fact that God wasn't a man, but that didn't quite satisfy him. He wanted to know what he was, and that's too abstract for me to explain other than to say that God is the most powerful thing in the universe. Hypocritical though it might be to teach these things to my son when I don't even know if I believe them myself, at this time of year, I'm inclined to fall back on my Christian upbringing. He had one last question for me, though. "Mommy, is God a Space Ranger?" Yes, yes he is. Just like Buzz Lightyear.

Quick Andrewisms

Over dinner tonight with my dad and sister at a local pizza parlor...James made reference to having "little or no help" with something. Andrew piped up, "What's a little Orno?" (Duh dum ching)

What's Next, a Harley?

Earlier tonight, while Andrew was playing with one of those magnetized drawing toys:

Me: "Andrew, it's 8:00. Five more minutes, and we're going upstairs for stories."

Andrew: "Okay, just let me finish giving myself a tattoo."

I quickly looked, of course, having visions of Sharpie doodles all over him...only to find, thank goodness, that he was pretending to draw on himself with the pen on a string that goes with the toy. I was kind of surprised, because although my sisters and brother both have tattoos, we've never really discussed them, ever. So I took the bait.

Me: "Why do you want a tattoo?"

Andrew: "Because Chloe said I needed one."

Turns out Chloe has a one of those temporary tattoos, of Scooby Doo, no less--that was sure to impress Andrew. And while I chuckled and repeated the conversation to his daddy, it hit me that we could be having this very same conversation in about twelve years, and it probably wouldn't be funny. Wanting a tattoo is one thing, but wanting it because some little Jezebel tells him he needs one is a different thing all together. Girls, back off! The only female telling my son what to do is ME.

Andrewisms

On the way home yesterday afternoon after picking Andrew up at the sitter's house, we were headed down a particularly narrow portion of this "back" road I like to take that winds through cow pastures overlooking the river and through what Andrew calls "the woods." One really has to be generous and share the road on this route, and sometimes I end up on the shoulder or almost in the ditch trying to avoid farm machinery and whatnot. Well, we came upon a car headed in the opposite direction, and using my good "back road" manners, I slowed down and moved over quite a bit. The other car didn't budge, "taking his half out of the middle," as James likes to accuse me of doing with my portion of the bed. As is my habit, I talked to the other driver (calmly--not road rage), saying, "Well, why don't you get over too, you ..." and I stopped, because everything I could finish the sentence with was something I don't want repeated, such as "jerk," "a-hole," "SOB," etc...Andrew, however, jumped right in and finished the sentence with "you bushy-tailed menace!" Exactly. Turns out Fireman Sam is not only good for learning fire safety and Welsh accents, but for acquiring colorful insults to hurl at people that can't drive. --Tamara