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An effective takedown in a non-titled bout

Sorry for that little break — I blame it all on Thanksgiving. There’s nothing like a major holiday that’ll make you sit down and reexamine your soul’s purpose. And if you’re anything like me, all that inner attunement will cause you to suddenly realize:

Heck, I haven’t dusted since, what, New Year’s?

In my case, further self reflection also produced this epiphany:

If I don’t do some intensive house cleaning REAL FAST, everybody who’s coming to visit this weekend is going to see how we really live, rather than how we live after a major house cleaning.

Lucky for me I share housing with another adult and two young men who are perfectly capable of DOING ABSOLUTELY NOTHING while I rush around like the proverbial headless chicken.

Bonnie: I thought you said you cleaned this bathroom! You didn’t sweep! There’s no toilet paper! No hand towels! The sink is a mess! And… oh, YUCK. Is that what I think it is?

Squirt: (exasperated) I DID clean the bathroom. You just didn’t tell me I had to do all this… extra stuff, too.

Bonnie: And Tiger, you call this vacuuming the stairs? What’s all this? A paper clip, two marbles, a paperback, a pair of shoes, a bookba—

Tiger: (rolling eyes) All right, Mom, I get the point. Please, next time be a little more clear about what you expect when you say “vacuum the stairs.”

Okay, so maybe they don’t consider what they’re doing to be “absolutely nothing.” They think they are working very hard. Working very hard at what, I have no idea.

Bonnie: All three of you are going to watch a DVD? But we’ve got company coming in four hours!

Hubby: It’s the UFC World Championship! A vital shared cultural experience for men—perhaps you don’t understand how important it is that the boys and I watch this right now.

Nothing to be done about the oldest male resident in our house; I married him knowing full well what he was. He should thank his lucky stars, however, that he’s got several attractive characteristics which allow me to overlook his faults, attractive characteristics I will not go into right now except to assure you they’re mighty fine and some of them involve cooking.

The boys, however…

Let’s just say it’s a good thing I’m the perfect model of patient motherhood. Really, I am. Life is so much easier because of it, too.

Bonnie: GET TO WORK ON THOSE STAIRS AND THAT BATHROOM BEFORE I GO ALL UFC CHAMPIONSHIP ON YOUR VITAL SHARED CULTURAL BEE-HINDS DO YOU CATCH MY DRIFT OR AM I GOING TO HAVE TO DEMONSTRATE THE FEMALE VERSION OF GROUND AND POUND?

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Ich bin ein jelly mouse testicle

It’s a little known fact that adolescent males very much enjoy making statements that have absolutely nothing to do with anything. This is not a mere teenage quirk; it is a diabolical plan to confuse their parental units.

Bonnie: You forgot to take out the trash this morning so I —

Squirt: Do you know that Walt Disney was afraid of mice?

Bonnie: What?

Squirt: (smug) It’s true.

These statements are designed to bring my mental processes to a halt. They work thusly:

  • Stage 1: I think, “No way. This piece of dubious trivia is not true.”
  • Stage 2: I try to remember what I do know about the fact mentioned. Unfortunately, what little I know is never enough to affirm or deny it and since we’re usually in the car when it happens, I can’t look it up.
  • Stage 3: I tell myself to remember to look it up when I go home, thereby forgetting the chore I was going to assign.

You see? Simple and yet so very effective. Another stroke of genius brought to you by the teenage brain.

Bonnie: And when we get home I want you to put away your laun—

Tiger: Mom, you know that speech JFK made in, whatchamacalit, Germany? He said something in German… “Ick… wine…”

Bonnie: “Ich bin ein Berliner?”

Tiger: Yeah, that one. He thought he was saying, “I’m a Berliner guy,” but what he was really saying was, “I am a jelly doughnut.”

Bonnie: No way. I don’t believe it.

Tiger: It’s true. All the Germans laughed at him, too.

Bonnie: The Germans loved JFK! They would never laugh at him!

Tiger: (smug) It’s true.

It used to throw me off track, sure, but no more—I’m on to them now. I’ve not only figured out their clever little plan, I have headed them off at the pass where I now wait, chuckling and ready to take them on.

Bonnie: And then when we get home, I want you to —

Squirt: Hey, Mom! Do you know Hitler only had one testicle?

Bonnie: No, but if you hum a few bars, I’ll fake it.

Squirt: Wha—? That’s weird, Mom.

Bonnie: It’s a joke! You see, you asked me if I know “Hitler only had one testicle” just like it was the title of a song. Get it? If you hum a few bars of a song then I could figure out the song and play alon —

Squirt: (looking dubious)

Bonnie: Forget it.

Okay, I’m mostly ready.


At least I did remember to look all that stuff up. Disney was afraid of mice, but found them “sympathetic.” John F. Kennedy, Jr. did not call himself a jelly doughnnut and the Germans did not laugh at him. So there! And apparently, Russian doctors claimed Hitler did only have one testicle.

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We don’t need no stinkin’ deadlines

One month before the deadline:

Squirt: It’s just a research project.

Bonnie: Okay! (rubs hands together excitedly) You need to schedule your research, your outline, first draft, second draft and final draft. Oooh, and don’t forget the bibliography and the title page.

Squirt: (Rolls eyes. Wonders if all children of former English majors fight daily urges to run from their homes, screaming.)

Three weeks before the deadline:

Bonnie: Sweetheart! How’s that paper going?

Squirt: Fine! I’m reading.

Bonnie: Research! Check!

Squirt: (Rolls eyes. Wonders if she’ll notice he’s reading Electronic Gaming Monthly.)

Two weeks before the deadline:

Bonnie: Are you still reading for your research paper?

Squirt: No, Mom. I’m done with my research. Paper’s coming along fine! (Rolls eyes. Wonders if he will survive until he is 18. Or will he be found on the floor, wilted by this constant barrage, a pitiful heap of downtrodden youth slain in front of the open refrigerator door?)

One week before the deadline:

Bonnie: You can’t go out with your friends unless you’ve done at least the final draft of your paper.

Squirt: Like I’ve been trying to tell you, it’s not a regular research paper. It’s a project. It’s got pictures. And stuff.

Bonnie: Hunh? What kind of research paper is that?

Squirt: Mom! (Rolls eyes. Wonders what Dad ever saw in this woman besides research paper assistance, what with all those hot old-timer babes like Cheryl Ladd and Christie Brinkley running around in the old days.)

Three days before the deadline:

Bonnie: Come back here, young man!

Squirt: I’m done! All I need is to staple it together.

Bonnie: And where is this mysterious project? I’ve never seen you actually work on it!

Squirt: Mom! Don’t worry! (Rolls eyes. Imagines his future best-selling tell all book about the trials and tribulations of living under this woman’s research paper obsession. Imagines it has lots of pictures. And stuff.)

One day close to the deadline, but we’re not sure:

Bonnie: Well? Isn’t it due tomorrow?

Squirt: Actually it was due yesterday, but I couldn’t find it. Mr. S. gave me an extension.

Bonnie: They give extensions? Huh! School has gotten a lot easier than it was when I was a ki— You LOST it?

Squirt: I’ll redo it in homeroom today. Stop worrying.

Bonnie: You’ll do a research project in homeroom? A research project that was supposed to take you four weeks? What is wrong with the high school system today? What is going on with our youth? Where did I go wrong? I read all the books! I was extremely consistent! I did my be—

Squirt: (Rolls eyes and dreams of his glorious future when he will be free to play Xbox all day — in college maybe, or in his super cool job testing new video games even — far, far away from former English majors who claimed they gave birth to him.)

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Day of the Dead

16-year-old Tiger didn’t go out trick-or-treating last night, which made me happy, but a little sad, too. His younger brother’s pillowcase now contains 7 pounds of solidified corn syrup and milk chocolate, but Squirt says he’s getting too old for this stuff any more.

Squirt’s costume: a red tempera paint-spattered t-shirt with the lettering “RCPD.” This acronym stands for “Raccoon City Police Department,” of course.

Yeah, I didn’t know what it stood for, either. It’s just another one of the tidbits of potentially lifesaving zombie facts you learn when you’re a member of the Zombie Surviver Club.

Frankly, if it were my club I’d make the Zombie Survivers stop those endless “Viral Infection or Meteor Radiation?” debates and spend a few minutes learning how to use spell check.

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The one thing I’m good at

I birthed them, bathed them, wiped their noses and their bottoms. I kept their vaccinations up-to-date and I never poisoned either of them with my cooking. I transported them safely to various places like the playground, the supermarket, and grandma’s house… all by myself.

So why do they suddenly think I have no idea what I’m doing?

Squirt: Turn on your blinker.

Me: I know when I’m supposed to turn on my blinker, and I’ll do it when I’m good and ready. (turns on blinker)

Squirt: Oh! Pass this guy up. Get into the next lane!

Me: Jeez! Lay off, will you? I’ll get into the next lane when it’s safe, and not a minute before. (moves into the next lane)

Squirt: The speed limit is 45! You’re doing 47. You better slow down.

Me: I KNOW WHAT THE $!@?$! SPEED LIMIT IS!

And it’s not just driving, either. For some reason they believe I’m totally clueless in every aspect of my life. Like if it weren’t for them, I’d be sitting on an anthill somewhere with my thumb in my ear.

Tiger: Flip the pancake now.

Me: It isn’t covered with bubbles yet.

Tiger: Sure it is. It’s covered with plenty of bubbles. That’s enough bubbles.

Me: Not enough bubbles. Not yet.

Tiger: The bubbles have bubbles! Flip it!

Me: NOT UNTIL IT’S COVERED WITH BUBBLES! There. (flips pancake)

Of course, their faith in my abilities is suddenly restored if the job is something they should be doing themselves.

Me: This is your bathroom toilet. Note that it is clogged.

Tiger: Uh, why am I here?

Squirt: He did it! Not me!

Me: And this is a toilet plunger. Note which end I am holding.

Squirt: Oooh, no… no… no, Mom!

Me: Stay with me here! Grasp the stick end, insert the plunger end, and plunge. You try.

Squirt: (backs away) This never works when I do it.

Tiger: Me either. Mom? Nobody can plunge like you can.

Occasionally I even impress them with my “abilities.”

Me: It isn’t rocket science! You pick up the plunger… (picks up plunger) you face the toilet… (faces the toilet) and then… (the toilet immediately gurgles and unclogs)

Squirt: Wow!

Tiger: Whoa, Mom! Bwa ha! (runs out of the room) Dad! Dad! Mom’s got a face that can unclog a toilet!

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Student achievement

Look what students in Europe and Asia are doing:

The first satellite to be designed and built entirely by European students on the internet was successfully launched from a site in northern Russia, paving the way for what its backers hope will be more pioneering student projects in space.

The micro-satellite, named Sseti Express, blasted off on the back of a Russian Cosmos-3M rocket from a cosmodrome in Plessetsk with satellites from China, Germany, Iran, Norway, Japan and Britain sharing the ride.

“‘Student project’ satellite launched from Russia,” Tony Paterson, Oct. 28 2005

Cool, hunh? Gee whiz. Kids nowadays — whew!

My kids are no slouches, either. In fact, Squirt is a founding member of a brand-new club at his high school! Here’s a flyer:

When the time comes,
are you going to be a SURVIVER? [sic]
Or a screaming WUSSIE?

Be prepared! Join the
ZOMBIE SURVIVER CLUB!

We’re very proud.

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Lost in space

Call the Police! We Have a Jacket Burglar!

Mom: What happened to your swim team jacket?

Squirt: Somebody took it!

Mom: Somebody took it… (rolls eyes) Somebody took it out of your room?

Squirt: (agitated) Somebody took it out of my room! Who went into my room? TIGER! WHY DID YOU GO INTO MY ROOM?

I Have No Knowledge of this Event, Your Honor

Mom: Where’s that sweatshirt we got you?

Squirt: What sweatshirt?

Mom: The one I bought at orientation, the TWENTY-SEVEN DOLLAR SWEATSHIRT.

Squirt: Oh! THAT sweatshirt. What about it?

Mom: Where is it?

Squirt: Where is what?

Clearly a case of entrapment

Mom: Where are your retainers?

Squirt: (hand on hip) Don’t YOU know? Well? Where are they?

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Earth will never be the same… if we can find it

They can cruise like natives through Morrowind’s capital city of Mournhold. They can accurately describe every golf course from Torrey Pines to the Royal Birkdale. They can draw maps from memory of the Covenant’s High Charity.

So how is it that in the real, non Xbox world, they can’t find their way out of a paper bag?

Exhibit A: Eddy

Wolfie: (answers the phone) Hullo?

Eddy: It’s Eddy! I missed the bus!

Wolfie: Squirt and Tiger already left with their mom. You need a ride? Where are you?

Eddy: Um, you know, on La Costa Avenue.

Wolfie: Dude, that’s a big avenue.

Eddy: Just turn from your house onto La Costa Avenue!

Wolfie: Dude, you don’t know your own address? Give me a cross street.

Eddy: JUST LOOK FOR ME ON LA COSTA AVENUE!

Wolfie did find Eddy and get him to school, but this kind of thing happens to Bloodmoon warriors more often than you’d think.

Exhibit B: Joe

Squirt: Mom! Can you take Joe home today?

Bonnie: Sure! Where do you live, Joe?

Joe: First get on the freeway.

Bonnie: Sure! North or south?

Joe: Hunh? Oh! Um… north! No! I mean south! Oh, uh, erhm… Forget the freeway!

But what really gets me is how some of them act so certain when they tell you where to go. Like they’re one of those expositional game characters who fill you in while they fit you with your new armor. I fall for it every time.

Every. Single. Time.

Exhibit C: Tiger

Tiger: We always take this shortcut on our team runs! It’s way quicker. Turn right!

Bonnie: Okay! Now, do I go straight at this intersection? Or right? Or left?

Tiger: Straight! (several minutes go by, as well as lots of lovely scenery) Ooops. I think we were supposed to turn left back there.

Bonnie: Okay! I’ll make a u-turn.

Tiger: (several minutes go by) Yeah, here it is. Okay. Turn right here… (we turn) … I think. Maybe we should’ve turned left. Yup. Definitely left.

Bonnie: I thought you said you take this shortcut all the time!

Tiger: Why are you sounding all irritated?

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Monday Morning Mojo No. 3

WHAT: Brand New Swim Goggles, Still in the Wrapper!

HOW IT HAPPENED: Mojo the Flatulent discovered this pair of swim goggles attempting to infiltrate the Wren household. Alert to every threat, Mojo wrestled them out of the shopping bag and neutralized them in the name of God, family, and the Office of Homeland Security. Or maybe he just had a hankering for a little PVC vinyl and silicone.

SQUIRT’S REACTION: Hey, Mom! Look what Mojo chewed up now! Ha, ha! Dude! He put holes right through the lenses! Ha, ha!

TIGER’S REACTION: Whoa! He opened the package and everything! Har, har!

BONNIE’S REACTION: Laugh it up, monkey boys.

HUBBY’S REACTION: (to Mojo) My baby! Did you swallow any of it? Nasty, evil goggles!

REPLACEMENT COST: $12.99.