–The Beautiful People amazingly found an enormous food supply, walkie-talkies, guns, strange tunnels and hidden rooms filled with static-laden televisions and big syringes. But, on the downside they also found polar bears and a big, black cloud that mysteriously kills people.

All the while, there were numbers everywhere.

The Others.

As nice as you would expect people named The Others to be. They did bad things, like kidnap and gag the Beautiful People, who were then taken to cages where they had to do pet tricks for fish biscuits.

–
Alas, the Beautiful People could not be held down! They schemed, planned and talked about being rescued by Penny’s boat. Only it was NOT Penny’s boat.

–
Even though it wasn’t Penny’s boat, people still showed up to save them from The Others, and the polar bears, and the big black cloud.

–No, not those people, but some other ones.

But, when one of the rescuers saw the Beautiful People he said, ”Rescuing your people? I can’t really say it’s our primary objective.” Ruh Roh!

Boys and girls, I would like to tell you that this fairy tale ends well and that the Beautiful People lived happily ever after…but, I can’t. As much as this fairy tale has sucked me in…I can’t tell you how it ends, because unfortunately I’m still LOST.

Follow

Email

At the eye doctor’s office the other day, a technician put my five year old son in an exam chair, then sat down on her rolling stool.

My son asked, “Mom, do you smell that?”

As I quickly looked for sand to bury my head in, I said, “No. I don’t smell anything.”

Even though I knew something bad was coming, that poor lady didn’t have a clue. Not even when my son sniffed the air again and said, “I smell something Mom.”

And, as the technician rolled closer to him, and he took in the full aroma, he said, “I smell something…and it smells like my poop.”

Follow

Email

I sound like a sick cat when I sing. Actually, more like a sick cat, in heat, that was recently attacked by a pack of wild dogs. It’s so bad that I lip sync in church. Even hundreds of people can’t drown me out.

My husband has a very nice singing voice…one he inherited from his Mom. (Did you hear that? It sounds like a pinball machine. Ching-ca-ching-ca-ching-ching. That’s me, racking up mother-in-law points.) My husband sings because HE CAN. Unlike me, he doesn’t send small children screaming, ‘Make it stop! Make it stop!’

Last year, our son had ear tubes put in. For a week after the surgery we put drops in his ears twice a day, and he would have to lie on each side for five minutes afterward. After 10 minutes of staying still, which is excruciating for a five year old, we would tell him, “Okay, you can get up. You’re free.”

That quickly turned into my husband singing a loose rendition of the Rolling Stones’ song, I’m Free. ‘You’re free to do what you want, any old time.’ As much as I hate to sing, I will do it for my kids…if I have to. Although, I would refer to it as a lyrical whisper.

For some reason, my son doesn’t mind my bad voice. Though, maybe, just maybe, his 25% hearing loss has something to do with it.

Last weekend, my husband and I were out of town when our son came down with a fever. My niece was babysitting and I told her to give him Tylenol. Apparently when she got the Tylenol out of the container, she referred to them as “bad boys”. As in, ‘Let’s see if these bad boys will make you feel better’.

So this past week, we gave our son Tylenol and he would call them “bad boys”. And now, my husband belts out the theme from COPS every time he medicates him. My son wants me to sing, but in my quiet voice I’m doubting the criminals would be all that intimidated.

Follow

Email