Achtung!

So my biggins are taking Space Camp this week.  It is the real deal.  On a military installation and everything.  The focus is math, science, and engineering.  They get a computer for the week with headphones and a joystick for flight simulations.  They get to use a CAD program to design a part for a rocket which is then extruded from some machine according to their specs.  They get to test out other designs in a wind tunnel.  It promises to be an exciting week!  Forget sports camp.  This is the kind of thing that thrills my nerdlings.  

Miss M was chatting with a girlfriend on the phone this weekend and was overheard saying, "I think this camp could be good for my career."  ????!

Big C's imagination is spinning!  He can't decide if he is in pilot training with Rogue Squadron or if he has been shipped off to Battle School like Ender and Bean.  Either way he is SO excited.  

Being a Base, security is tight.  We were greeted by armed guards before we even got to the security checkpoint.  The kids were wondering, a little too loudly for my comfort, if my ID would clear or if I would be detained.  I curtly shushed them. 

At least they waited until we were driving again before talking about all of the security measures and structures.  Little C pointed out the curving spikes and the gate like a portcullis.  I pointed out each spring-loaded barrier we drove over.  The kids tried to imagine what would pop up if security was breached.  Miss M thought a concrete barrier.  Big C went with spikes.  Little C is sure they are rigged with explosives.

And, because they are my special little darlings, they also starting talking about all of the ways you could get around these protective measures.  Big C especially, because then he planned out counter measures and the appropriate evasive response.  

Needless to say, I dropped them off with a warm hearted, "Please don't let them hear you all plotting to circumvent the security."

To which Miss M said, "Yeh!  We better behave on base because did you see those guns?"

Punctuated by Big C's incredulous: "Come on...They're not gonna plug a kid!"

Dear Mrs. T,

It was so much fun to have your boys here this morning. It pleased my boys very much and they were all so well behaved. Your boys are very good eaters! We would love to have them back very soon.

And one more thing...

...when your little one asked me if that was a bottle of wine I was enjoying with my lunch I laughingly joked and said that it was. Then my filter kicked in and I realized that your 5 year old does not know me well and might actually think I WAS consuming a whole bottle of bubbly while looking after your children plus mine. It really was a bottle of San Pellegrino and I tried to tell him that but his knowledge of all things found in an Italian cucina seems to be lacking. You might want to see if there is a summer workbook for that.

Again: love your boys!

-Alpha Monkey

Bottom of The Barrel

A group of monkeys are usually called a Troop. Also used are: cartload, tribe, or barrel. I think barrel of monkeys will suffice.

Bottom of The Barrel is my new label for those things which reflect family life here in our Barrel/Troop that are less than flattering. So you know it will be a busy topic!

I was just cutting the Cinna Stix for dessert with the uber sharp pizza wheel I got at the restaurant supply store. It is well-honed and more of a revolving blade than your standard circular cutter. Which is why when I passed through the dough and then my finger it hurt. And I gasped. And I ran out of the room followed by a chewing Moose. I returned to a table full of frightened looking monkeys.

Miss M: Whhhat happened?

Little C: I didn't do it!

What does this say about my kids that they are conditioned to deny something every time I gasp?

Oh, Gail...

I wish you would leave your phone number next time you leave a drunken, sobbing message on our phone.  I do not have caller ID at the house, sorry about that.  The series of degenerating messages on Mother's Day chronicled your self-medicating in real time for us.  And I agree that Heidi should have called you on that of all days.  It was a rather touching call out for help.  

And the message today, what can I say?  I do appreciate your not giving our number to the lawyer that called you.  It is most unfortunate that Artie is being sued for $5000.  I feel your grief when you mention that Heidi has STILL not called you.  It is all very dramatic, but...

...the thing is...

...please know how hard it is for me to tell you this...

...but you have the wrong number.  Really.

And you have a very common first and last name combination and I am simply not going to call every one with that name looking for you.  I can't even call and order a pizza without some degree of anxiety.

I agree that Heidi needs to know that you are trying to reach out to her even if it technically qualifies as drunken dialing (11 am might be a touch early, dear).  At least this way your daughter could make an informed choice to reciprocate...or not.  I am wondering if there might be a chance that she made that clear at the last intervention.

Best of luck to you.

Dear Merck,

Why are you only marketing the Gardasil vaccine to females?  

Stick with me for a minute: 

-->Gardasil is targeted at 4 strains of HPV

-->2 of which cause 70% of cervical cancer diagnoses

-->the other two cause unpleasant and contagious symptoms

-->If we assume the 10% rule...then 60% of the cases of cervical cancer are contracted FROM boys/men

-->As are 90% of ALL cases of ALL strains of HPV 

One of your slogans is "One Less."  You have commercials where mothers hug their daughters and look into the cameras and say "My daughter will be One Less."  If the Mamas in your adds also hugged their sons you could change your slogan to "Two Less."  Hey, I DOUBLED your target market just like that.  

Since I also care about my sons' health, and the health of any future partners they may have, we'll take three.  Thanks.

Well, what would you say?

(The following snippet from my life is rated PG. But only because the young man involved is 5, not 25. A 25 year old would have earned this an NC17, especially if he was cleaning my pool.)

Last night as Big C's baseball game was wrapping up I was standing with two other Moms as the younger children drifted back from the playground. The players were all jumping around congratulating themselves on a really great win. The coaches and dads were all in a huddle trying to figure out what they did that worked so well.

And then it happened. The scene you only ever see in mediocre movies. The one you can't suspend your disbelief for but it makes you laugh nonetheless. The kind of thing only Diane Lane can manage with some appearance of grace while quietly dying inside.

A young boy walks right in to the middle of the mamas, reaches out his hand and...plunks it down on my right breast while saying, "Hey, nice Boob." I do have to add, for the sake of my own vanity, that his tone was not sarcastic but utterly sincere. The sweet child was being complimentary. And it is nice. Especially the right one. I smiled right back at the boy and replied, "Thank you." Because that is what you say when someone says something nice to you. And also when you don't want to embarrass the child or mother any further.

Did I mention his mother also happened to be in the middle of the muddle? Ah yes, and now let us all share a communal cringe for that poor mama who pulled her smiling child aside while doing her best Diane Lane impression.

This is one of those images of my kids that I will always hold in my heart. Sort of like the dusky evening when Miss M was 3 and wearing a white linen sun dress. She was flitting about in her grandfather's front yard surrounded by about a thousand fireflies. Or Big C sitting in a tree at a friend's farm reading Harry Potter when he was 7. And Little C climbing in my blooming magnolia tree when he was three with his wild blond hair.

But there is something about this picture that perfectly captures each of their personalities. Miss M with the bucket because she has a plan, her head turned slightly to keep an eye on her boys as she forges ahead. Big C, probably counting something as he walks in a straight line. Little C taking big steps to keep up and never letting them out of his sight.