The Ice Cream Cone

Part of my happy childhood involves a warm Saturday night when my uncle would pile the four kids into the bed of his blue pickup truck and take us to the ice cream stand.  It was a special treat, and we sang campfire songs at the top of our lungs the whole way there.  

Those same three ice cream stands still stand as beacons of our small town, and they haven't changed much at all.  We take our own children there for a special treat (in seatbelts and car seats, of course, not in the the bed of a truck), because it's nostalgic for us.  One summer day, Hubby took the kids to the expensive one.  We rarely visit that stand; it's a little bit further away and the cones are twice the price.  Baby Girl was maybe three, I'm not sure.  She ordered a plain vanilla cone, and it was huge.  When the fourteen-year-old sales girl handed the cones to Hubby, someone's chocolate cone touched the vanilla cone.  Baby Girl took her cone, immediately walked over to the trash can, and threw it away.  She looked at her father and demanded, "I want another one.  That one had chocolate on it."

There are two kinds of parents in this world.  I'll choose my words carefully and won't tell you what I truly think of the second parent.  Hubby responded exactly as I hoped he would.  With eyebrows raised high, he informed her that she would absolutely not be getting another cone since she chose to throw hers away.  She proceeded to throw a fit.  A woman approached my husband and told him what a terrible parent he was because he would not buy her another ice cream cone.  My daughter was being a brat, and this woman wanted her unacceptable behavior to be rewarded by giving her exactly what she wanted.  Absolutely not.  I'm so proud of my husband that day for putting a crying child in the car and not giving in to her.  He came home grouchy, but he made the right decision.  To this day, my daughter remembers the lesson she learned.  

In America, we have a lot of grown-up brats who "threw away their ice cream cones" and are now demanding new ones.  Some of our government has told them no- they are not getting a bailout for the communities they purposefully destroyed.  For that, I commend them.  At first, the brats may throw a fit, and things might get worse.  But if "Daddy" gives in to their tirades, will they ever learn their lesson?  No, they will turn into bigger brats, throw greater fits, and consistently demand more.  It's time for our government to start treating these fit-throwing adults like babies and punishing them for their misbehavior.

Warm Fuzzies

There are still good people out there in the world.  With all my heart, I believe they far outnumber the bad folk; they just don't make as much noise.  I wanted to share three experiences my husband had while on duty this week.

Just a day on the job

First of all, my husband was working security at our local supermarket.  A black man entered the store with his three children and gave my husband a sideways look.  His children appeared frightened by the presence of a police officer so near.  After shopping, the man approached my husband.  "Can I ask you a question?" he asked.  "Sure," Hubby replied.  The man continued to explain that his children live with a fear of law enforcement.  He said he got a certain feeling about my husband when he entered the store, and he could tell he was a good cop.  He wanted to know if it was OK for the children to meet my husband and talk with him, so they could realize that cops are good people.  I commended that father for his actions.  He stepped out of his comfort zone and acted in a way that society doesn't expect.  The best thing he did that day was teach his children a very valuable lesson about how to see the good in each individual person, not to judge any given group as a whole.  

A local citizen posted this online

The following day, a 10-year-old boy approached my husband's cruiser as he was patrolling a rough  neighborhood.  Hubby greeted him and the boy replied, "Can I tell you something?  I like cops.  The police are the good guys because they help people.  All these rioters out there are the bad guys.  They want to hurt cops and that's not right.  You be extra careful out there."  Hubby said he was nearly moved to tears.  This boy acquired more character in his ten years than some people do in a lifetime.  Hubby asked about his family and the boy said his father had passed away.  Someone, somewhere raised that boy right and I hope he someday makes something of himself.  

Finally, Hubby was hand-delivered a care package on his shift today.  The card had a Lego police officer on it thanking the police for protecting and serving during this time of turmoil and unrest.  Also included was a homemade face mask and a McDonald's gift card.  The older couple did not want to drop off the packages at the station; they wanted to personally hand them to each officer on all three shifts.

Just when I begin to lose all faith in humanity, a week like this comes along and makes me thankful for all the good people who are still out there.  I appreciate each and every one of you who go an extra mile to make someone else's day just a little bit better.  Thank you.

An Almost Tragedy

This post goes along with yesterday's post, and it's all The Lovely One's fault.  She told a story about a little girl getting lost outside at night.  Stories like that chill me to the bones!  As a parent, I've had one similar occurrence, and it still turns my stomach.

We were vacationing in Myrtle Beach a few years ago.  My brother-in-law owns a house down there and lets us rent it when he's not using it.  It was Spring Break time, so Baby Girl must have been about a year and a half.  It was the last day of our vacation and I was getting the house cleaned up nicely for my in-laws. 

Ten minutes away was the only Dunkin' Donuts in the area.  Hubby made a point of going there every day for a coffee.  (He's a tad spoiled.)  Baby Girl was (and still is) obsessed with her Daddy.  When he left that morning, she wanted to go with him.  He thought he successfully snuck out, but she noticed.  I was in the bedroom packing and cleaning and she opened the door.  The house sits back off the road a bit, which is busy with traffic.  Directly across the street is a tennis club.  Looking for her Daddy, Baby Girl wandered outside and started to follow him. 

In the meantime, I noticed she wasn't around.  I started looking for her, calling out her name.  No answer.  Something sparked me to look outside. There she was, in the middle of the road, with some man standing next to her.  Dear God, just typing that makes my hands shake.  Some men who were finishing up their tennis match noticed her in the road alone.  The guy was apparently afraid to touch her, so he just stood there next to her, looking around and blocking traffic.

I was in my pajamas with my hair in curlers.  I ran outside, scooped her up with trembling hands, and thanked the man over and over.  I was mortified and scared out of my mind.  I'm sure those guys think of the lunatic mother who can't keep track of her kids every time they pull out of their club.

The drive home from vacation would have been a lot, lot worse if we were making the trip with one less family member.  Thankfully, that's another story with a happy ending.

Remembering Back

The Lovely One wrote about an incident that happened recently in her neck of the woods.  It's an unreal occurrence; I suggest you read it.  It prompted me to remember a personal experience that happened many moons ago.

When I was about 9, my dad was hiking with my mom and some friends.  He's a typical show-off kind of male, so he swung on a vine across a ravine.  He proceeded to do this several times...one time too many, to be exact.  His last ride across the ravine resulted in a broken vine, a 30' fall, and a load of injuries.  He broke his back and both his ankles, but was very lucky to be alive.  Since they were in the middle of nowhere, he had to walk about a mile out of the woods with a big stick and a big buddy as his only help.  He spent the next six months in a hospital bed located in our cramped living room. 

When he was well and a full inch shorter, he had to prove to himself that he was just as good as new.  He built a new living room on the back of our house that was about half the size of the existing house.  We needed more room and I guess he was sick of being stuck in that tiny front room with the dark green carpeting. 

Anyhow, that's just the back story.  I was a pretty bad sleepwalker at this point in my life.  One night, I got out of bed, walked through the house and into the construction area.  There were tools everywhere, drop cloths, and plastic door coverings.  The steps hadn't been built yet, so there was a ladder outside the new door that was the temporary entrance to our house.  Somehow, I made it through all that unscathed.  I walked over to my aunt's house, two lots away.  It's where my cousins lived and we were raised like siblings.  I knocked on the door, which woke me up.  I remember standing on her porch, wondering where I was.  At that moment, I heard both of my parents shouting my name.  I turned around to see them running through the yard.  I guess I realized what happened at that point because I started crying. 

The next morning, my mom found a note on the kitchen counter.  It said:

Mom,

Going to Aunt Nan's

At least I was kind enough to tell her where I was going!  The funny thing is that I made a mistake on the note and corrected it.  Only I would correct a spelling error while asleep.  My mom kept the note on her dresser mirror for years.

After that event, my mom put a motion alarm on my bedroom door.  It shrieked and screamed if moved.  One night, I had to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.  I was paranoid to open my door because of how loud the alarm was.  My mom found me standing in my room, crying and trying not to pee myself.  I think she ditched the alarm after that.

It's always been a fear of mine that one of my kids would leave the house at night.  Son #1 was a sleepwalker for a while, but it only lasted about a year.  Now after reading this story, I think I'm going to be nervous for a while at night!

First Responder

Hubby called home with a very interesting story yesterday.  He was driving back to the truck terminal after finishing his route.  He noticed a car on fire on the side of the highway.  He pulled his truck over in front of the car and ran to see what happened.  He was the first person there.

He saw a young man climbing out of the window of the upside-down car.  "What happened?" he immediately asked.  The man was bleeding but seemed well.  He said he lost control of the car and hit the guardrail.  It flipped the car over and the car caught fire.  Hubby realized that he'd better pull the man away from the burning vehicle.  The man exclaimed that his ankle was hurt so Hubby hoisted the man up (said he was much too large to carry) and assisted him further away from the highway.  Within twenty seconds, the car exploded!  I said that Hubby saved his life but, like any regular hero, he said he didn't do anything.  He said the man saved himself.  But if Hubby hadn't pulled him away, he likely could have been killed by the explosion.

At that point, Hubby realized he didn't have his phone and sure would have liked a photo of the scene.  There was a burning car between him and his truck and there was no way he was getting to it.  He said other people began pouring in and called 911.  The crying man mentioned the pain in his ankle again so Hubby, the FedEx guy, decided to examine it.  He declared it to be broken and told the guy he was going to tie up his shoe to give it some support. 

After approximately twenty minutes, the police finally arrived.  Here's the kicker to the story:  the cop approached the scene carrying a citation in his hand.  "I'm gonna need to see your license," he said in a very rough, demeaning manner.  Hubby was appalled!  He didn't ask if the man was OK, if he needed help, or what happened.  He immediately assumed the man didn't have a license and was going to cite him.  The driver simply replied, "Um, it's on fire."  I thought that was a great response!  Then the cop looked at Hubby and said, "You gotta get that truck out of here!"  He didn't ask his name or thank him for helping.  Hubby obeyed, hustled to his truck, and drove away. 

I thought it was such an odd way to handle an accident.  I'm sure this kind of stuff is routine for police officers, but it's certainly not routine for the citizens involved.  Just like a surgeon performs the same procedure over and over, he still reassures the patient that everything will be fine and explains the surgery in great detail.  This cop had no "bedside manner" at all.  I encouraged Hubby to call that police department and complain about the first officer on scene.  He refused.

Even though he'll get no public recognition, no awards, no newspaper photo, he's still my Handsome Hero Husband.  He's got a pretty cute, little fan club around here!

The Airing of Dirty Laundry

I was talking to an old friend yesterday who was teasing me about my memory.  You see, I can remember things from eons ago down to the simplest of details.  But when it comes to something that happened last year, I'm lost.  I think my brain got more and more fried with the birth of each child.  At least that's what I claim.

The memory we discussed yesterday happened when I was 14.  It was my first year staying in the dorms at camp.  Oh, the dorms...the spider infested, mold covered, hot, sticky dorms!  You weren't cool unless you stayed in the dorms.  The dorms were a place where competition arose.  We were out to get those who were deemed popular just as they were out to get us.  The competition that exists between young teenage girls is another post for another day.

This friend of mine is several years older than I am and had graduated her dorm-staying days.  (You wise up when you reach a certain age and wonder what you ever saw in the dungeon-like dormitory.)  She, along with two of her friends, came to visit us younger girls in the dorm room they once inhabited.  For some reason, they had a trash bag full of dirty, smelly laundry that was the result of a mission trip out west.  Even worse, the damp laundry belonged to a man.  Jokingly, these older girls told us to put the laundry in the bed of someone from our competition.  I would have never done such a thing but laughed at the prospect of such an insane idea.

I had made friends with a girl from another part of the state.  Her name was Jamie and she ate dill pickle potato chips.  (There's my killer memory again.)  I can still remember how those dill pickle chips stunk up the entire dorm room.  She overheard the laundry conversation with our friends and took it upon herself to see the task through.  She was, in fact, part of the group that we saw as our competition.  Yet, we still liked her.  The room mother in charge of her group was an older, unmarried woman who strongly resembled a hound dog.  I never knew her name and still refer to her as Hound Dog to this day.  Jamie took the stinky laundry and spread it all over Hound Dog's bed.  She then replaced the quilt so that the prank would be discovered at a later time. 

Oh my...when the dirty laundry was discovered, I thought the world was going to end!  They brought the camp director into our dorm who personally interrogated each girl from the other side of our dorm room.  Jamie looked at him directly in the face and lied through her teeth.  Unable to lie, I stayed busy straightening up my area and acted disinterested in the situation.  Luckily, I was never directly put on the spot.

That night, the dirty laundry was aired before the whole camp.  Adults gasped in horror of children who would do such terrible things!  I even remember someone saying that devils and demons were certainly behind this event.  Half scared, half impressed, I fought both laughter and tears as the whole deal was completely blown out of proportion. 

Jamie was never discovered, the owner of the dirty laundry was never found, and my friends and I were never associated with the devilish prank.  But I can close my eyes and be right back in that dorm room, remembering every detail as if it just happened.  But I totally forgot about a photography assignment I promised a friend I'd do last week.  Oh well, at least I'm still half sane.

Do you tend to remember totally pointless details associated with events?

Wow, I'm Dumb!

"Wow, I'm dumb!" is a phrase Hubby uses a lot around the house.  It refers to doing something totally stupid and almost being too embarrassed to talk about it.  But you're eventually willing to reveal your stupidity in order to get a laugh.  He thinks I should start a new blog called Wow, I'm Dumb!  I told him that I hope to not have enough material to fill an entire blog.  But I would make it a regular feature on this blog, if need be.

One of my worst Wow, I'm dumb moments was when I was walking down the stairs scanning the telephone's Caller ID list.  I missed the bottom step, crashed to the floor, and sprained my ankle.  (Good thing I don't text and drive!)  Had I not been in so much pain, I would have called out, "Wow, I'm dumb!" 

My favorite Wow, I'm dumb moment of Hubby's was when I caught him putting away a gallon of milk in the cupboard.  The day before, I woke up in the morning to find a gallon of milk in the cupboard.  I accused the kids of being careless and was so angry that they wasted half a gallon of milk.  (It was warm from having been out all night long.)  Hubby was furious.  Then a day later, I watched him as he did it.  I stopped him and said, "What did you just do?"  He turned and looked, then called out, "Wow, I'm dumb!"  I made him apologize to the kids for getting them in trouble.

When I tried to think of more stories, my mind drew a blank.  It seems like there are so many of them, but I guess we try to block them from our minds.  So I called Hubby at work to see what he had to contribute.  He thought for a few minutes and then started laughing out loud.  "The bike story!" he said.  Oh yes, the bike story!

There's a beautiful state park a couple hours from our house.  A large group of people from our church would all rent cabins the same week.  We would golf, fish, shop, hike, and boat together.  Hubby and I were taking a walk down the road when we stopped to talk to some friends.  They invited us to go on a bike ride with them.  Hubby volunteered to walk back to our cabin to get our bikes while I stayed to chat.  A few minutes later, here he came, flying down the hill.  He was riding one bike and holding the handlebar of the second bike.  He remembers being halfway down the big hill and thinking to himself How in the world am I going to stop the second bike?  3/4 of the way down the hill, he decided he could not.  Two bikes and Hubby all went flying through the air and made a spectacular crash in front of a dozen of our friends.  I don't know what was more hurt that day - his body or his ego.  But when the pain wore off, he was able to laugh at himself.  It actually was quite funny once I realized there were no broken bones.  So the moral of the story is, don't try to ride two bikes down a hill at once.

I wish you all a dumb-free day!  But if you wish to share your own Wow, I'm dumb stories, I will be happy to read them!

Another Cheesy Prank

Since several of  you got a kick out of my recent attack by little action figures, I have to share another story that reveals how much of a cornflake I really am.

Big Sis received this little Mexican girl as a souvenir from her Great-Grandma's cruise.  (Yes, Great-Grandma is spunky, but that's another story.)  The doll came to represent an inside joke between Hubby and myself.  This was the first item we began hiding from one another.  The kids were not involved in this prank so the hiding places were better thought out.  At one time, the doll was so well hidden that she was not discovered for over a month. 

One summer evening, I got the great idea to hide her in Hubby's golf bag.  I knew he had a golf day planned and this was a perfect way to get him.  He surely wouldn't discover the stowaway until he was actually at the course.  So I snuck into his car late at night and buried the Mexican girl deep inside the golf bag.  I smiled halfway into the night at the thought of my cleverness.  Well, the golf outing passed and not a word was uttered about the prank.  But part of the game is pretending that you didn't notice the doll before you re-hide it.  So I didn't say anything to Hubby.

On Monday morning, a co-worker of Hubby's approached him.  He held up the doll and asked if Hubby had any knowledge of the Mexican girl.  Hubby laughed and wondered how I got the co-worker involved.  The man went on to explain that, while on the golf course Saturday, this little doll flew out of his golf bag while he attempted to remove a club.  What?!?  Dumb me put the doll into the WRONG GOLF BAG!  I had no idea that Hubby had someone else's bag in his car from the last time they golfed together!  Hubby got the biggest kick out of my attempted cleverness and tremendous failure.

Even though the prank on Hubby was ruined, it ended up being funnier in the long run.  This poor man was the subject of much ridicule at having a little girl's doll tucked inside his manly golf bag.  So now he's in on the joke too.  I can only wonder where she will turn up next.  Maybe after we lose all the action figures...

Ranch Salsa Dip

This is probably the easiest recipe I will ever post. In spite of its few ingredients, it is absolutely yummy!

Ranch Salsa
16 oz. sour cream
1 oz. ranch dip mix
8 oz. salsa

Mix all ingredients together. Dip will thicken as it refrigerates. Serve with tortilla chips.

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I have a funny story about this dip. (It is much more pink in person than it is in the photo.) At a football party, we had a spread of food all over the table. My uncle took a healthy helping of this dip, not knowing what it was. He took a big bite with a spoon and let out a tremendous yelp. "Oh this is awful!" he exclaimed. "Who made this?" We couldn't figure out what was the great cause of drama. But when he explained that he thought it was a strawberry gelatin dessert, we fully understood. We now refer to the recipe as "Uncle Dip" in his honor.

Bells Will Be Ringing...

Alright, I gave it a shot but I failed. I was not able to stifle my Christmas spirit until December first. It's not my fault though. It's all those radio stations that are playing Christmas music, the decorated trees in stores, and the fact that it's all anyone is talking about!

One of my favorite Christmas traditions is a special song that Son #2 and I share: Please Come Home for Christmas. When he was a baby and I was still fighting off the postpartum depression, this song always seemed to come on the radio when things were tough. I remember holding and snuggling with him while swaying back and forth to this Christmas song. It was a special moment, a bond between mother and son. Then the song disappeared from my thoughts for 11 months. Next Christmas, he was almost 1 and a half - a very busy toddler. I heard the sweet rhythm of this song and took the opportunity to cradle him again to try and settle him down. Then somehow, the song became Our Dancing Song. The next year, he loved hearing Our Dancing Song. He would stand on a chair or the kitchen counter, with him arm properly extended, and would dance with Mama. His favorite parts of the dance were twirling and dipping. Then he got older. It wasn't fun any more to dance with Mama. If big brother caught him, he knew he was in for it. So there was quite a bit of resistance there. I knew I had to give up on Our Dancing Song, even though it would remain in my memory for the duration of my life.

Last evening, Son #2 came into my bedroom and said, "You need to come into the baby's room - quick!" Oh no, I thought. What in the world has she done now? I ran into her room to see my sweet son standing near the radio, smiling. The music that filled the room sang, Bells will be ringing this sad, sad news...Oh what a Christmas to have the blues. "It's Our Dancing Song, Mama." It may sound totally sappy but joy filled my heart at that moment! I hugged him and started swaying back and forth, although he is now almost up to my shoulder. The moment lasted for only that - a moment. Big brother walked by and questioned "What are you doing?" The dancing immediately stopped. Oh well. I'll take my moment; I probably don't have many like that left.

Addiction

My boys have a smoothie addiction. Every time we go to the Target plaza, they ask if they can go to Smoothie King. And we go to Target A LOT. There is also a Chipotle in the plaza, which is what I have an addiction to. So we have this discussion often. At first, they thought that Hubby should treat them to a $4 smoothie twice a week. Then they got smart and started bringing their wallets. "Well, if you have the money, then I don't care if you get one," was my initial response. Then it got ridiculous. My kids were spending all their birthday money, Christmas money, and hard-earned lawn mowing money on smoothies! I had to put my foot down. "I thought you were going to save your lawn mowing money for a car? You'll be 16 before you know it!" Well, that logic didn't work on them. I got a glimpse into the future. I saw my boys at 35 years old, living in a shack with dirty children and lawn furniture in the living room. But there are plenty of Smoothie King cups in the trash can. If I don't teach my kids how to make good decisions now and how to resist the urge for unnecessary pleasures in life, how will they ever grow up to be responsible adults. Then it happened...Smoothie King left the plaza! Glory be! The fight is over now, right? Wrong.

It was a recent family trip to Target when the boys realized Smoothie King was gone. I tried to show my support and pretend like I was devastated. But I was smiling on the inside. This is the first step I need to teach my children how to be fiscally responsible. (And all the Dave Ramsey fans say "Amen.") So while I was paying for diapers at Target, I saw the worst possible thing: my son in line at STARBUCKS! No, not Starbucks! They are even more addictive than Smoothie King! People lose their homes over Starbucks! So I finished checking out and went to inquire what in the world he was doing in that line. "Dad said I could." Grrr....I hate that bit. Dad says yes to everything! My kids purposely wait until I'm as far away as possible so that the only option is asking Dad. "What did you order?" I asked. "Hot chocolate." With a dirty look I replied, "We have free hot chocolate at home." But that didn't matter. This was so important to him for some reason. Why? I don't know. Maybe he will go to school tomorrow and tell his friends how he went to Starbucks last night. Maybe he thinks he'll meet a hot girl there. (Yes, he's only 11.) Whatever the reason, it was over. They were making his drink. Then I heard a voice call out "White chocolate mocha." It's 8:00 at night. "You got a white chocolate mocha???" A drink made with espresso, full of caffeine (which we try to avoid totally). "I don't know, I just ordered white chocolate." My blood was boiling now. "How much did you pay for that?" But of course He claimed he didn't know. So now I've got this kid who is $3-and-something poorer, holding a coffee. Maybe Smoothie King leaving the plaza was not a blessing after all. I made him give the coffee to my mother and hoped he learned his lesson the hard way. Maybe we should just avoid Target altogether. Lots of addictions get fed in that plaza.

Random Act of Kindness

My husband IS a random act of kindness! He spreads joy everywhere he goes. I don't think there's anyone who doesn't like him and I strive to be more like him. Here is his random act of kindness from over the weekend.

We were dining Saturday afternoon in the highly upscale eatery at our local mall. (It's just a food court; I'm over-dramatizing.) While I feasted on a gourmet chicken sandwich, Hubby & Son enjoyed the delicacy of pepperoni pizza. A Supermom, who was alone with her 3 kids, was attempting to push a stroller, direct her older kids, and balance a plastic tray carrying their afternoon meal. Well, Supermoms fall. She somehow dropped the cup of French fries from her tray, spilling them all over the floor. I didn't notice the event until she was picking up the last of the fries. I felt bad for not noticing sooner and helping her. I've been there and done that. It's hard not to cry when faced with such frustration. I told Hubby about it who decided he must spring into action. He went back to the kiosk and bought her another cup of fries. When he took them over to her table (where she sat not eating, having thrown her lunch in the trash), I enjoyed seeing her look of sheer surprise. He didn't expect a thank you or anything in return. He just wanted to be a nice guy. It made her day. It made my day. I'm just thankful for people in this world who still care. And I'm very grateful to be married to one. He's a hero to some. He's a hero to me.

The Football Thief

True Story:

Yesterday afternoon, my boys were playing golf in the front yard. My oldest ran in the house and said that some kids just stole a football out of our yard. They threw their $2.50 football into our yard and grabbed our nice leather ball. Right in broad daylight, right in front of my kids. In the past year and half, we have had two bikes stolen. Nice bikes. So this angered me to no end. I marched outside in my bare feet just to see the kids turning the corner at the end of the street. I grabbed my shoes and went to my aunt's house. She has three tall, 20-somethings living in her house so I solicited their help. Of course, the cousin who was available is the one who just tore his ACL. I demanded that my little cousin go home and watch the kids while his 6'3" brother and I took off down the street. Because of his hobbling, I didn't think we would ever catch up with them. We rounded the corner at the grocery store and I caught sight of them throwing up our football into the air. Would they run? Would they tackle the 34-year-old lady and Gimpy, the handicapped guy? Would they shoot us? No. When we got within 20' of them, the one with the football turned and extended his arm, offering the football to us. Gimpy tossed the K-Mart football back to him and took ours back. My hero! So, one of two things will happen now: either they will target our house and totally trash it or they will know they'd better stay away from us. I hope it's the latter.