Forget the Zombie Apocolypse Guys, We Got Wasps

During the hottest day of this year (and for this year, that's pretty dang hot), we were out for about five hours in the middle of the afternoon. When we got home, I noticed that the kids had left the door open.

After being in the hot truck, I figured this was something to care about, because my house doesn't stay very cool as it is, and a wide open door meant a very hot house. I was pretty upset when I saw that it was nearly 100 degrees in the house, and our little AC was just chugging non-stop.

Then I looked around and suddenly gave not a single shit that it was hot because it was the FREAKINGWASPOCOLYPSE in my house. Every ceiling of every room I could see was covered in wasps. While I will admit that I DID wonder how I could snap a picture for the Blog of Awesomeness, I did not want to take my eyes off those suckers for one second.

Instead, I held one hand toward the ceiling in the universal gesture of "STOP", did some ninja moves with the other hand in the universal gesture of "There are six little helpless kids RIGHT HERE, so nobody needs to bother with stinging ME!", and ducked. The wasps didn't really care to notice me because they were busy electing members of Congress for their new ceiling country.

I went outside, but they had left guards stationed out there. While I'm over my extreme fear of wasps, I still have a tiny one. And you know that buggy feeling you get like they're crawling all over you and you think "this is what a 'bad trip' must feel like?" I felt safer in the house where they were holding town hall debates instead of outside where they seemed more ready for combat.

I texted my brother and said "IT'S AN EMERGENCY! WE'RE ALL GONNA DIIIIIIIE!"

I'm not sure what happened after that, but at some point my dad showed up with two giant black cans of Wasp Death. I took some time to fashion holsters out of pantyhose so I could feel all awesome with my dual cans, said "bring it on" (only because of my accent it sounded more like "ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap"), and started shooting.

The wasps said "thwumpthwumpthwump" and I screamed a lot and there were maybe a few tears of terror. But in the end, nobody got stung and I felt like a badass and my house smelled really bad. And so ended the Epic Wasp Annihilation of 2011. Songs were written and sung, feasts were prepared, and rejoicing was heard throughout the land in the form of six short people who never once looked up from their movie the entire time.

People are Friends, Not Food

Yesterday Dalton and the neighbor boy had an Epic Spider Hunt in the house. They spent the entire afternoon tracking a wolf spider they found in the bedroom. This was literally hours of entertainment for them. Every time they found the spider, they would call me in to kill it. I told them no, I like wolf spiders and he was more than welcome in the house as far as I was concerned. I like spiders unless they are inebriated.

A couple houses ago, there was a giant wolf spider who lived in my kitchen. The first time I saw him, I tried to sweep him up and he ended up losing a leg in the Battle of the Broom. I can't remember where I put him, but he showed back up the next day -- seven legs and a sign saying "MannyRee's Kitchen or Bust." I had to let him stay after that, because there are laws about squatters and stuff; and rather than go through all the legal channels and possibly lose the house to a spider, I let him have the kitchen and named him Pete.

Pete was an awesome pet. I didn't have to feed or water him, and he made sure we didn't have flies. It was a pretty good arrangement, but he freaked everyone else out with his crazy spiderness paired with the horror-movie gait he acquired with the loss of his leg.

Pete lived in my kitchen for a very long time, and was the only thing left in the house when we moved. I like to think the new occupants have let him hang around. 

My boys didn't think it was ok to let Pete Number Two live in their bedroom, so they tracked him down, jumped on the top bunk and screamed for me every hour for about four hours. They tried to Febreeze him, but Pete Number Two said "Not today, yo." Pete Number Two is my new best friend because anyone who can keep those two eight-year-old boys occupied inside the house for that long is pretty cool. Basically, Shucks is a crappy baby-sitter and just got replaced with a spider. Shucks is ashamed and moved under the house.

I'm looking to hire a squirrel to keep the girls occupied, and I'm working on training the killer dust bunnies to keep track of Donovan.

Graceful Badass

In an effort to prove that I am still a ninja-mom, I attempted to walk down my sister's porch steps in the dark while simultaneously getting keys out of my pocket.

I busted my ass.

And it wasn't like I just tripped a little or anything. It was more like the earth beneath my feet went away, causing both of my feet to do this ballerina pointy toe thing, then the earth reappeared just in time to make my toes curl under my feet, both of my legs to bend the wrong way, and force me into an awesome yoga pose that nobody should ever do, especially if you're me and you hate yoga when you do it on purpose, let alone on accident, and also when six of your kids are watching you with a mixture of concern and laughter, obviously storing this up for future ridicule. (Although, not to toot my own horn or anything, but I made falling down the stairs look amazing.)

I sprained both wrists, which is awesome for typing and 10-key...which are my life. And I twisted both ankles (no right or left discrimination for me!), the exact type of injury you want to have when all the kids fall asleep on the way home and you have to carry them in. I did something to each knee, so instead of bending at the front of my legs, they kind of go in a little when I walk.

Also, I did something to my quads, which I thought was just a pulled muscle, but then I noticed that every time I point my toes, my eyes close. I don't understand it, but some wires must have crossed somewhere. It's not a huge deal, except when I'm driving a truck that's just a tad too big for me and I have to point my toe to go a little faster, then it's a little hard to see where I'm going so fast, and try explaining that to a police officer when you are driving around with seven people squeezed into a pickup that's not registered to you and it's midnight and you haven't slept for two days so it looks like you've been drinking when really you're just up all night worrying about people who don't really need you to be their mom and you don't really need to be their mom because you have six kids of your own who are currently very busy trying to convince the officer that they don't belong to you and will he please take them back to their old life when they had a bigger car? Yeah, not so easy, is it?

And I found a truck today. Her name is Badass, but she costs just a little too much. She had room for kids and groceries -- at the same time. I was a little too excited about that, so maybe that's why the guy didn't believe that I couldn't pay him more than I offered. But I gosta pay for the gas after I buy a vehicle, yo, so I can't just be buying trucks all willy-nilly and then not having the means to keep them on the road. Oh well, I think I can get a job with the circus now that I have this awesome toe-point-eye-close trick.

Letters

Dear Kids,
Next time you go to your dad's and I have to have company that day, please get your crap off the floor before you go. My back hurts.
Love,
Mom

Dear Spider,
You're a jerk. I was trying to scrub my kitchen floor, and it's not easy for an old lady like me to jump up off the floor. I'm pretty sure you knew that, because you were probably sitting on that light fixture stalking me for a few days to make sure I was crippled enough for you to take advantage of me.
I have to give you props...you patiently waited while I scrubbed the entire floor, and timed your launch into my hair just perfectly. I guess you didn't realize that, while I can't get off the floor very quickly, I am a ninja with a bucket of water and a rag.
Nice move, by the way, trying to climb up your little string and await my return to the spot under the light. Too bad I got you with my trusty Windex bottle. What Mr. Clean can't fix, Windex can, yo...And your trashcan grave was more than you deserved for your schemes.
With all my love,
MannyRee

Dear House,
I love you truly. Maybe I am the only person who "gets you"...maybe not. But I love you. I know I was hard on you today. I had to be, though, because you've become such a slob, and that won't work for me. You really should take better care of yourself. I hope we won't have to discuss this in the future.
Love,
Me

Dear Momvan,
Please come home and start working again. I didn't realize how much you meant to us...
And really, can you be a momvan without the mom? No, you can't. Without me, you're just a van....which, not going to get you any cool points, you know? Not like "momvan" does. Everyone knows how cool those are. So come back, yo. Just till I can find my one and only truck.
xoxoxo
Mom

Guest Post: Redneck Woman

Breaking up is hard to do, or at least that what some song says. 

Tonight, I am fed up.  I have been breaking up for a year, now, and you know what?  It's freakin' hard, because you can't just break up and have it done with, now, can ya?

When I broke up with the guy I dated before my future ex husband, he told me I couldn't break up with him, because we were both in the relationship, so we both had to break up.  He wasn't breaking up, so neither could I. 

And life just comes full circle, huh?  So now, I am being serenaded by the little noise my phone makes every time I get a text message, because some people just don't understand the words "leave me a-freaking-lone".

I'm done answering messages.  I'm not accepting anymore phone calls.  I'm putting all emails into the "show the judge" folder without reading them first. 

I am not going to give you one half of the children any more than I would give you one half of one child.
I am not going to "lean on you" when my friend is ill.
I am not going to give you helpful friendly advice the same day that DHS shows up at my house because you called them.
I don't care if you managed to get yourself on the VIP list at DHS.  Of course your house is clean, you live with your mom, and she has a staff.  And no kids live there.  (Nor will they ever.)  I am one adult living with six children, so I am completely positive your house is cleaner than mine.  But that's not what makes a home. 
The number one thing that makes a home is love.  The number two thing that makes a home is not being a complete asshole.  The number three thing that makes a home is get a freaking job.  The number four thing that makes a home is I hope you get paid for sending text messages, and if so, you owe some child support.  The number five thing that makes a home is you don't teach your kids to talk back to police officers.  The number six thing that makes a home is you don't tell your kids they're too dumb for school so they should sing.  The number seven thing that makes a home is yes, I'm using this list to bring up an infinitesimal number of things you have done to piss. me. off.  The number eight thing that makes a home is if my dog doesn't eat you, there are more vicious things inside, and only six of them are the kids. 

Finally, the number nine thing that makes a home is I will fight tooth and nail for my kids.  Not to keep them.  Not to prove a point.  Not to get you back.  But for them to have an opportunity to develop and grow into the men and women they are supposed to be.  Don't get in my way.  Do. Not. Get. In. My. Way. 

To my readers:  I am sorry.  This is a rant.  I hope it's out of my system.  It's probably not.  It takes a lot to make me mad.  It takes a lot more to make me mad enough to say anything about it, especially on the Interwebz.  But you know what?  It's been more than a lot, and I've had it.  My inner redneck has kicked her way to the outside, and I'm afraid she's here to stay for a spell.  Please be nice to her. She isn't even a decent writer, but she doesn't know that, and she's quite outspoken, so just bear with her, please.  Her expected departure is October 26th, please pray that nothing delays it. She's kind of a bitch.

Coffee and Ninjas

I took a break from cleaning this evening to go to my favorite coffee shop all alone.  The weather was awesome and it was very nice, but there is a place right next to it that gets kind of rowdy on Saturday nights.  I got a little creeped out being there by myself (outside after the coffee shop closed), so I decided to come home.

Guess what?  My house is the creepiest place on the planet!  Yay for that, yo, because I live here and everything, and it's not as if I ever need sleep or whatever. 

If I come home at night, I pull in the driveway and drive around in a big circle so that the headlights shine on my entire yard, just to make sure nobody is outside.  Am I just a little paranoid? Absolutely.  Tonight, it paid off, because there WAS someone in my yard.  My neighbor's dog...but this is good news, because when I came home last night, she was in my house.  She had lots of fun making a huge mess, and I honestly can't blame her because she'd been trapped in here for six hours.  It was quite comical after I got over the initial heart attack of coming home to somebody leaping out at me from my kitchen.

After I get out of my car, I look carefully around and make sure I can make it to my front door before anyone has time to jump out and get me.  It's a good thing I looked, too.  As soon as I got out of my car, I noticed a huge person hunched over about five feet away.  Don't worry about me, ok?  Because I'm actually a badass.  I used my ninja skills to scream like an idiot and shine my phone at him.  That is some serious self-defense, that whole phone-shinage thing.  It worked, too, because it hurt the guy so bad that he turned into nothing as soon as he saw the iPhone of DOOM.  So watch out, stalkers, I will vaporize you with my death-ray phone, and best of all?  No evidence.

As I unlock my door, I feel quite safe because I am too busy tripping over the dogs to get attacked.  Obviously, any attacker would see that I have my hands full at that point, so I wouldn't be much use to them until I was done with the trip-on-the-animals-while-trying-to-use-keys thing.

Once I am inside my house, that's when everyone tries to get me.  Because it's all dark and creepy, and every time a car drives down my road, I have to turn back into a ninja.  The move I use for that situation is called The Popsicle, because it involves sitting completely still and thinking of all kinds of horrible things People in Cars would do to me.  This move works very well, because every car but one has kept moving without stopping at my house.  You can read about that car here.

After I scare all the cars away with The Popsicle, the only thing I have to worry about is all the people trying to break in all night long.  I know they are, because there is a tree outside my bedroom with these hard things on it (I don't know what they are), and every time someone wants in, the tree warns me by throwing things on my roof and making a sound exactly like someone trying to break the door down.  This is a very nice thing for the tree to do.  When this happens, I go ahead and use my most powerful ninja move, the Text the Country Boys combined with Shake Like a Leaf.  Sometimes, these two aren't effective when used together, because I end up texting something like:

Ok, guts...please come over.  Bring gins and speed.

So the Boys think I just want to get high and drunk, and they roll their eyes and go "Oh, that Manny, she's always trying to get into some kind of trouble...LOL...If she's on speed, there's no way she'll ever shut up, so I'm not going near that house!"  Which, yeah, I need to work on my moves a little, but most of them work.

If all else fails, Shucks and the Death Bark are always there for me, but I try to save that for the really bad dudes, like Jehovah's Witnesses and awkward people.

Why my kids want to go live somewhere else...

Today, I had the pleasure of being told by my children that they want to move away.  Well, five of them do, the other one happens to not be ungrateful...or he knows how to play the game.  Either way, props to him.  On the other hand, I can hardly blame them.  Here are their reasons:

1. They want to go to a different school.  Absolutely, the school they attend is one of the best in the nation.  Best = hard, yo.  I have actually complained about this school in a previous post, so I don't have much ground on which to stand here.  However, I'm pretty sure that "school is hard" is a common childhood complaint no matter what school you attend, so they probably won't get many supporters based on that one.

2. They want to see their old friends more often.  Never mind the fact that they never saw them when we lived there, and half of them have moved away.  We also won't mention the fact that they just totally said that they would rather see their friends than their own mother...like I said, ungrateful...Also?  Not Cool, because I am a cool mom, and all kids should want to spend time with me.  Mine are obviously crazy, because what kid in their right mind would choose friends over Mom???)

3. Work.  Because I have my kids Monday through Friday, and those are school/homework/housework days.  On the weekends, it's all fun and games, and guess what?  That's not at my house.  They would like to see less work and more video games, please.  A valid argument, your honor.

4.  This one is truly the most important, and also the reason I may go ahead and let them go:  Ice Cream.  If they lived elsewhere, there would be ice cream every day.  So, psh, yeah.  I wanna' go live there, too.  I didn't realize about the free ice cream.  I wonder if it's Ben and Jerry's...I should ask, because that would definitely be a convincing point.

Circa 1995, With Sound Effects and Everything

During the crazy day I had today, I thought of over 1000 topics for this post.  Unfortunately, I forgot all of them.  So, because I just moved and had occasion to drag out all my old stuff, I thought maybe I would post for you from fifteen years ago.  :::time warp noise::: 

...wait, I forgot something...:::time warp back noise::: One of my new favorite blogs, SteamMeUpKid, should get some credit here, as she has posted some of her high school journaling, and even some insanely grown-up stories she wrote at age eight.  She's a little less filtered than I, so don't click the link if you don't like that stuff, but if so, check her out, because she's Funny, yo.

:::time warp back again noise::: (the parts in blue are from now...everything else is embarrassingly real)

January 25, 1995

Dear Journal,
...we went skating for my birthday.  It was lots of fun.  Everybody gave me lots of great stuff (happy birthday to me!  I STILL love Great Stuff).  I even got a silver ID bracelet with my name on the front...I love it!!!!  Jason was really understanding about it (Jason is so nice to allow me to receive a gift on my birthday and be all understanding).  I'm really grateful for it, too (not sure if I meant the Great Stuff or the understanding).  I  suppose I'll have to talk to Braden sometime about the fact that I already have a boyfriend.  I guess I'm putting it off because I don't want to hurt him.  I do love him...like a brother....

January 26 (the next day, yo)

Dear Journal,
I'm still worried about Braden.  The strange thing is, I'm starting to wonder if I really do like Braden more than Jason (Even though he was practically my brother yesterday.  I'm sure this had nothing to do with the fact that he gave me something sparkly for my birthday.).....I guess I just need to realize that I'm only fifteen, and that I don't have to make all of my life's decisions right now (Exactly.  Only make one or two right now.  Fifteen year olds know a LOT, but not everything, sheesh).   Maybe I should just wait, but something tells me that I might lose Braden right when I realize that he's "Mr. Right." (Again with the not making decisions right away...I mean, you can't let these fifteen year old boys slip away!  You gotta' grab 'em when you get the chance because they're so hard to get!  Also, clearly he was Mr. Right...sparkles for the birthday pretty much tell you anything you need to know.)

January 30

Dear Journal,
I have Jason wrapped around my finger (or so it seems). (See how humble?)  I would just love for him to get mad at me - and show it (Because, hi, who doesn't want that?) - just to see if he will, so I've devised a plan.  (Humble and sadistic...those were my best features.)  (Ok, you got me...those are my best features.)  On Friday, I bunch of us are going out...and I could work this out with Braden and AJ to flirt a lot (a LOT, not just a little...because, really, I don't even know what flirting is, so a little probably wouldn't show up much.) with them, and for them to completely ignore me.  That way Jason would have to be mad, but he couldn't be mad at them. (Brilliant!  My other Awesome Feature is brilliantness!) I know this is mean...maybe I will, maybe I won't.  (I know, Journal, you're dying of suspense...just hang on, ok?)

January 31

Dear Journal,
Well, I won't.  Be mean to Jason, I mean.  He's not going on Friday.  At least that means I don't have to worry about if I should wear the bracelet from Braden, because Jason won't be there to see it, and it will make Braden happy.  So, problem solved.  Except we have to dissect frogs that day, so maybe not. (A girl can't have her controversial sparkly things all covered in frog bits.) WAIT!!!! (Seriously, stop reading and just pause for a second, because you're gonna' want to sit down or something for this next part.) I just talked to Jason and he is going.  Oh, well.

February 2

Dear Journal,
I'm in big trouble now.  I really did it this time.  I can't believe it.  I fell in love with Braden!!!  I'm so mad (sort of).  (Yes, so sort of mad is a real emotion, yo...TRY BEING A FIFTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL!!!)

February 5

Dear Journal,
...I broke up with Jason. (I'll bet you didn't see this coming...you thought I would torture him with my flirting plans forever, but no...the flirting thing never worked out, because I wasn't any good at it and Jason didn't notice.) I just told him that I wanted to, and he said "OK".  My cousin said that I never liked Jason and that I was just goin' with him because he's older and he gave me jewelry (wha....???  Where did my cousin get this idea?).  I'm gonna kill him.  That is not true.  I loved Jason!!!!!  (Or at least I thought I did) (Exactly!  C'mon...who would question the love a fifteen year old girl will admit to thinking she had, maybe, sort of?) Anyway, It's over, and I'm glad.  I feel so free.  (bwahahahahaha!!!)

February 16

Dear Journal,
...My dad is about to freak out because he thinks I wanna go out with Braden. (What?!?!  Where did he get this idea?  That man must be crazy!  Silly Dad!  LOL!)  I do like Braden, but I don't want a boyfriend right now.  Probably not for a year. (yup, I'm thinkin' a year sounds good...)

March 20 (did I say a year?  I meant a month.  Silly typos!  or whatever you call them when they're hand written....HA!)

Dear Journal,
Braden asked me to be his girlfriend!!!  I'm so happy!!! (Me too!!!  I think it's all the exclamation points!!!!!) He called me and we talked for about ten minutes.  (I just don't know what to say here, but I feel the need to snark on this whole ten minutes thing...:::says something witty and snarky:::  There.)
Braden:  I have a question to ask you.
Me: OK
B: It's a really important question.
Me: OK
B: I don't care if you say no. (What? He doesn't care if I say no? Should this have told me something? Nah...)
Me: OK (My vocabulary is amazing, I'm sure this is what attracted Braden in the first place.)
B: Will you be my girlfriend?
Me: Yeah (:::nearly faints from the romance:::)
B: Think about it, I don't care if you say no.  I don't want you to feel sorry for me. (Again with the not caring...and throw in a "don't feel sorry for me"...this guy needed me to save him, yo! Look at the poor thing. Nobody wuvs him...he needs me.)
Me:  I don't feel sorry for you.
B: Yeah, ri...
Me: Braden!  Yes, ok? (I said this just like a movie star would have, too.)
B: Ok, bye.
Me: Bye.

I still can't get over that conversation. (Who could get over this conversation?  I probably shouldn't have shared it with you, Internet, because you'll never sleep again what with all the thinking of this conversation.) When I told mom, she got mad, but I love him and no one, not even myself can stop that. (That's what I always say....not even myself, y'all...this was Real Love.  I mean, I couldn't stop myself, and neither could my mom, and she's kind of a ninja.)

When I Asked You to Stock Me, I Wasn't Serious

First of all, let me tell you that I do know how to spell stalk, but I find it extremely funny that Internet thinks you spell it "stock".  So, now that we have that cleared up...

Dear Stalker,

I thought it was weird when you followed me home the other night and did a u-turn as soon as I pulled in my drive.  I was slightly concerned when you showed up in my driveway at 5 on a Sunday morning, sat there for a second, then left.  But when you didn't come in and stab me or steal my trash, I let it go.

When I saw you creeping down my dead end road last night, after I knew all my neighbors were locked down for the night, I started to worry.  When you parked your car behind the trees near my house and turned off your lights, I knew I was right to be a little freaked out.  When I saw nothing for a few minutes except for what looked like someone lighting a cigarette, I started to think I was a little full of myself and maybe I just wanted a stalker so badly that I imagined one.  But I called my brother anyway. Actually, I called my mom, and said "Send Brother and his gun over, please...don't worry, probably just some kids making out in their car, but just in case." 

When my dad, my mom and Brother showed up, and after I attached the dog's leash to my jeans (with the dog on the other end, of course) (because I couldn't let him eat any chickens when I was expecting him to save his appetite for stalkers) and stuck my Giant Killer Super Dangerous Gun in my back pocket, I finally got the nerve to go outside and see who those rascally teenagers were and if they were indeed making out or if they had any pot they wanted to share in exchange for not getting eaten by Shucks.  Lo and behold!  It wasn't teens at all.  I do have a stalker.  It's you.  Ass.

Let's get this straight.  When I asked for stalkers, I only meant to please follow my blog, and, if you're really feeling crazy, comment every once in awhile, because blog comments are like crack for writers.  I did not mean to literally show up in the middle of the night, scare me to death and make me invite armed relatives over for a little family reunion.  Dude, seriously. 

So, stalker, please go home now.  Please leave me alone.  In case you haven't heard, my dad is crazy and likes to shoot at stuff.  Also, Brother is very angry, and I once defended him from Scary Old Dude, so he owes me one.  If you happen to get past them, you'll have to deal with My Mom, and she's a pretty bad mama bear when someone messes with her babies.  And Shucks hasn't had chicken in a veeeerrrry long time, and also has Death Bark.  Last but not least, I'm not dealing with it any more.  This is my town, yo.  I have surrounded myself with rednecks for a very good reason, and son, you're that reason. 

Very Sincerely,
Me

Glossary of Terms for Moms

Sleep - Lying still with eyes closed, and then jumping up at five-minute intervals to find a pacifier.

Date – spending one hour getting dressed up, two hours telling a sitter what to do, fifteen minutes changing your clothes again because someone wiped their nose on you, getting in the car with your husband and deciding to go grocery shopping because it’s really all you have time to do before the sitter has to leave.

Baby-sitter - someone who will watch your kids while you are busy calling her every two minutes.

Baby - a small human, who eats, sleeps, cries, and goes potty while you somehow nurture her on instinct until she sleeps through the night and your brain works well enough that you can care for her on purpose.

Pet – the cute little thing you fall in love with when you’re pregnant, and can’t stand after your child is born. (AKA: Baby’s partner in crime)

Toddler - Baby 1.2 - does everything that a baby does but has the added features of walking and eating things found under couch cushions. Can also return affection (if properly napped).

Child – Baby 1.3 – upgrades on Baby 1.2 including no more need for diapers, ability to feed himself, extremely funny. Caution: will repeat naughty words at the worst moments.

Teen - Baby 1.4 - comes out of nowhere and replaces your baby. Does everything that a child does, but skips the affection and nap, and instead will perfect the art of wearing a glare for an entire week – even while sleeping.

Grandparents – Spoil Babies 1.2-1.3, then laugh as you encounter Baby 1.4 (Teen Version).

Vaccinations – an experience which requires a person to hold her child down while strangers stick needles into him. Highly traumatic, and may also bother the child.

Camera – device which, when attached to a mom or dad, causes Baby 1.1 to blink and squint for the entire first year of her life.

Facebook – a social networking website

Facebook for parents – a social networking website for babies who have seized control of their parents’ minds, causing frequent updates of things most people take for granted, such as the ability to roll over, sleep, eat or smile. (note: especially dangerous when combined with camera)

Just Say No to Drugs

Last week, I was driving around town with the kids and we passed a drugstore.  This prompted all kinds of questions about what a drugstore is, why it's ok to sell drugs if drugs are bad, etc.  My kids are a little young for the drug talk, but I just answered their questions honestly and hoped that it was the beginning of many open discussions in the future in which I would be super-mom and my children would ask my permission and respect my authority and never ever ever do drugs.

In the middle of this talk, I was pulling into a gas station, trying to find a place to park.  There was a police officer at a gas pump, which I drove around to get to my spot.  We were about three feet away from him, windows down.  My youngest daughter (who has no inside voice AT ALL), yells "Mommy, look!  A police!"

I kind of giggled and continued driving.  Just as a made it around the pump and was in full view of the officer, the son who was sitting nearest him hollered through his open window "Yeah!  Mommy!  Don't buy DRUUUUUGS!!!!"  I almost died.

I have never almost never never bought drugs.  Apparently, our talk pretty much had the opposite effect of what I wanted.  My kids seem to think that it's ok to buy drugs from a drugstore (and possibly a gas station), as long as you don't take them, and as long as you NEVER do it in front of the police.

Awesome.