Day Ninety - Five or American History According to My Six Year-Old

I have an embarassing story to share. Some of you may judge. But I have to tell the story because I haven't laughed so hard in months. I mean pull out the Depends because I have lost control laughter.

For a few days preceding Thanksgiving my son has been impressing me with his understanding of the holiday. He told me about the Mayflower and pilgrims and the American Indians that helped them. One day he wore home a paper pilgrim costume and the next day he wore home a beautiful hand-drawn Indian vest made from a grocery bag and wore a headband naming himself Cave Bear.

On Wednesday night, he presented a two minute show with a pilgrim puppet, a drawing of an Indian chief, and a drawing of a turkey. It was wonderful. It was short. It was relatively historically accurate.

So I made a rookie mistake. A call to your mom to tell her the baby is talking and then watch helplessly as the once talkative baby goes silent rookie mistake. I bragged. I talked up the impending play to everyone. "Wait until you see his show after lunch. It's soooo good." What the fudgesicle was I thinking?

So I gather everyone in the living room. I introduce him. And then something happens. I should have known that my son might demonstrate some love for an audience. So he starts to smile a half-smile. Always a sign that something is coming. So with an impish gleam in his eye, he begins the play. The same look that he gave before his shepherd turned his backside to the audience at his Christmas Pageant last year, leaned over, pulled up his tunic and did a booty dance.

It started innocently enough. The pilgrim met the Indian. Then for reasons never explained the Indian went gansta on the pilgrim. He pounded the pilgrim. Now understand, my son is dressed as the Indian. So he is punching the pilgrim puppet on his hand. Then the puppet pilgrim punched back.

At some point, I believe that aliens flew in and shot up the Mayflower. Honestly, it looked like one of those moments in a Robin Williams film where the filmmakers just raise their hands helplessly and just let him go. My son literally channeled the genie from "Aladdin".

So the two minute Thanksgiving play became a ten minute "Pilgrims meet Independence Day". (I can hear the Hollywood pitch now). Now here's where you may judge. I kept trying to encourage him to go back to the story but I'm not sure that he was able to understand anything I was saying from my position on the floor convulsing in hysterics. I was not able to address the violence, the historical issues, anything. I just rolled and rolled with laughter.

So in a couple of years, I am expecting a call from the school asking me to explain why my son's answers in American History sound like a James Cameron film ("Aliens", not "Titanic"). And it probably won't help when I roll on the floor laughing. Oh. Did I mention we have this on tape? I'm not sure if that will come back to haunt me or him more. Probably me. Yeah, definitely me.

P.S. Stay tuned... Tomorrow I get to tell you about something exciting that I'm a part of. :-)

Day Ninety - One or Thanksgiving

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!!

The cutest pilgrim...

And the number one reason I'm thankful...


God Bless to you all.

Day Ninety or A Funny Thing Happened...

Hi guys. I'm a lousy blogger this week. I've been posting intermittently and I've not been good about visiting, so sorry. I wish everyone a super-duper (yes, I said super-duper, could've done totally awesome but I went with my heart!) Thanksgiving. I have so very much for which to be thankful, not the least of which is this blog and those of you whom I have met via this crazy journey of mine. I've said it before but thanks for being my friends, my shoulders, my support.

Now I have a funny story to recount from my Fried Momma Sunday.

"Funny, haha. Traci? Or funny, weird?"

"Well, I think funny, haha, but you can tell me after". So here goes...

Flashback, Sunday afternoon. This particular Mommy still recovering her voice. Still feeling low. Sent Daddy to grocery store. In the absence of any speaking parent, sonny-bunny and little princess get a little crazy. Well, a lot crazy. Just as Daddy is bringing in bags, spinning little princess collides with sonny-bunny. Full-on head butt. Cue screams and copious amounts of blood. Coming from the mouth.

Swoop up sonny-bunny and run to the local clinic that has Sunday hours. Six year-old in arms, Spider man ice pack to mouth. We run in to admitting. They call a pediatric nurse. Moments later, a very calm "seen-it-all' style nurse comes to us. She takes a look and starts telling us how she doesn't think that he needs anything. And then over her shoulder like some bizarre parrot-nurse spoke Miss Perky.

Well, Miss Perky (At least 10 years younger than I. No, if I'm honest, probably closer to 15) thinks we should admit him to ensure that there is no underlying tissue damage. And then the first nurse (we'll call her Nurse Cool) turns around and says, "I've got this" and then turns back to me and says "Interruptus". Now, anyone in their right mind would have thought that would have been enough to shut down Miss Perky. But they underestimated the power of the Perk.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm cheerful. I don't mind happy, optimistic, positive, etc. But when my son is bleeding all over my new-to-me J. Crew sweater, I don't want peppy or perky. I want calm, cool, possibly even jaded. And that's what I got with Nurse Cool.

So I'm trying desperately to listen to Nurse Cool but Miss Perky couldn't stop herself. Finally Nurse Cool shut her down. And sent her on her way. Then sent us on our way. And she was right. Sonny-Bunny is fine. No stitches needed. Just a bizarre half mustache of blue and purple on one side.

"Say, Traci, that definitely wasn't funny, haha. It was marginally funny weird".

"Yeah, I know, but here's come the marginally haha part and definitely weird part."

I'm recounting the surreal events to my friend, FW, and she says that she thinks that she knows Nurse Cool. Especially when I describe her over-the shoulder "interruptus". So she calls her and yes, her friend was my calm, Nurse Cool. I don't know how she puts up with Miss Perky. But thank you, Nurse Cool. You saved us three hours and $100 plus way too much time with Miss Perky.

So that its my marginally funny, slightly weird, but not really ironic recounting of my Fried Momma Sunday. Thanks for listening kids. And have a great Thanksgiving!