Summer is sucking my soul. Luckily my kids are still amusing me. Here are some more zings for your enjoyment.
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At dinner last night:
#4: Daddy! Daddy! I want to go surfing!
CC: Get a job. Buy a surfboard.
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Speaking of surfing. . .
#5: You know that movie Soul Surfer, where the girl gets her arm eaten by a shark?
#2: Yeah?
#5: How does that girl put on a bra?
Clearly, he’s folded way too much of his sisters’ laundry than can possibly be healthy.
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#3: I kind of have a photographical memory.
#2: If that were true, you’d know it wasn’t photographical.
#3: Wait, what?
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#5, on having to sit in the back seat on a cold winter day while #4 got the front seat and the accompanying seat warmer: This car doesn’t care at all about the butts of the people sitting in the back seat.
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#4, on tutoring: Getting taught one-on-one is better, because there’s no one there to steal your thunder.
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My kids are all picky eaters. #5 hates, hates fish. Sadly for him, I cook a lot of it. When #4 was taking guitar lessons, I would often bring #5 with me, and we would hit the grocery store for dinner while #4 was in her lesson.
One day I had a different idea. Right next to the grocery store is a Carvel’s ice cream store. I thought it would be cool to sneak him an ice cream cone without anyone else there. I pulled into the parking lot and turned the car off.
#5 was complaining of a tummy ache this afternoon. He also had a boo-boo, but he wasn’t complaining about that, because he had this:
A bacon bandaid, sent to him by loyal reader and fan of #5, my friend Genny. As we all know, bacon makes everything better. It’s a logical choice for a bandaid. We have found the bacon bandaids to be more effective on boo-boos than kisses.
CC set him on the couch and brought him a glass of water and went back to making lunch.
That? Oh, that’s fifteen pounds of bacon. Minus lunch already in progress.
(If you’re lucky enough to live near an Original Pancake House, you may be interested to know that you can now buy their bacon by the case for four dollars per pound. Around here, that’s way cheap for bacon, and it’s damn tasty.)
#5: (yells from the couch) I smell bacon!
CC: You are correct. Would you like a piece?
#5: BACON!!!!
CC: What about your tummy ache?
#5: BACON!!!! BACON!!!!
CC: Have you eaten anything today?
#5: Um, no.
CC: Anything at all?
#5: No.
CC: Remember yesterday when I told you that you were going to starve to death playing video games because you wouldn’t stop to eat anything?
#5: Yes.
CC: That’s what’s happening right now.
#5: Oh.
CC: That’s why you have a tummy ache.
#5: Oh. (waits quietly for a minute) So. . . can I have some bacon?
CC’s plan was to make everyone BLT’s for lunch:
Isn’t it lovely? I saw a blurb on TV once about food photographers and all the creepy things they have to do to their food to make it photogenic. I think of that every time I see pretty food in advertising. It makes me want to take a shower. This here is undoctored bacon, folks.
CC asked #5 if he wanted a BLT.
#5: I don’t really like lettuce. I also don’t like tomatoes.
Of course you don’t.
I loves me a good BLT. But something else was speaking to my soul today:
Peanut Butter & Bacon. I make it a point to try to turn everyone that I meet on to the PB&B (unless they have a peanut allergy or don’t eat pork, in which case? More for me). Most people initially put up a lot of resistance. Those people are merely unenlightened, and as a PB&B disciple, it’s up to me to show them the path to true happiness and peace of mind.
CC: What about peanut butter and bacon?
#5: I don’t like peanut butter.
Me: Commie!
#5: (sticks tongue out at me)
CC: Stop that. Both of you. Here, eat your sandwich.
The #5 special
What do you say- PB&B: enlightenment or blasphemy? What’s your favorite way to eat bacon?
Our elementary school does a fundraiser where they sell deeply discounted amusement park tickets and somehow make money off of them. Being that we live in New Jersey, I’m pretty sure they fell off the back of the truck.
Thank god for #3, who took it upon herself to get someone to watch the dogs because it completely slipped my mind. She’s hellbent on doing as many good turns for me as possible so that I let her get contacts this year (8th grade) instead of next. I’m not above being bribed and I kind of like the way this is working out so far. Anyway, back to our trip Monday.
We got started late.
I forgot my camera.
CC forgot his hat, so we dropped two kids off with money for donuts and went back to the house.
CC picked up his hat and I forgot my camera again.
We retrieved the kids and the donuts and went on our way.
The kids fought over donuts and then fell asleep, until the last hour or so when they told each other horrible amusement park death stories, which then degraded into tasteless jokes which I will not repeat here. It’s imperative that there be no public record of what was said in the van. I will say only that I was impressed.
When you enter Hershey Park, kids line up under the candy bar signs to see how tall they are so they know which rides they can get on.
image: grubgrade.com
#5 talked about little else over the past week besides his hope that he had grown enough to reach Twizzler status this year. Twizzlers can pretty much go on any ride. Sadly, even with his shoes on, his very best posture, and his hair all spiked up with sunscreen, he was an inch short. He’s still a Hershey bar.
We had a grand time even though it was about a million degrees out. The best part for me came about four in the afternoon. In the distance a big storm was brewing, and gradually the taller roller coasters got shut down. We migrated to an area with shorter rides that were still open. CC and I sat on a bench, the kids all took off in a pack together, and we totally fell asleep. Each time when they finished a ride, they checked in with us and asked if they could go on another ride. Each time we mumbled yes and fell back asleep. The storm winds rolled in and dropped the temperature a blissful twenty degrees. After five rides’ worth of nap, we consulted the guide and found a place to get coffee and hiked over there. We all reconvened, the rain came down, and it was pretty much the best thing I have ever felt. It was just like that song by The Who.
Plus, my nose wasn’t broken.
I suppose now is a good time to tell you about 2010’s Log Ride Incident. It is why I think of #5 every time I put on my sunglasses, which is every single day unless I don’t leave the house.
We started our visit last year by riding The Comet, a roller coaster designated safe for Hershey Bars. The next roller coaster we found was for Twizzlers on up. #5 was too short to ride. So we split, and I took him to the log ride while CC took everyone else on the big scary coaster.
I love log rides. They’re so peaceful and then you get that little teeny scare at the end followed by a big splash, which is exactly what you need on a hot day at an amusement park.
Bolstered by his prior experience on The Comet, #5 was well aware that this wasn’t a thrill ride. He was feeling very brave. When we went down the giant hill at the end, he leaned forward, and went from sitting to squatting, poised as if to leap. I was immediately convinced he was going to jump to his death. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him back down, sitting against me.
At which point we completed the hill and the log caught, as it is supposed to, on the chain-thingie that keeps it from careening out of control.
Which sent #5’s head back full force into my face.
Full force into the bridge of my nose, to be exact.
He giggled and screamed at the ride, completely unaware that anything was amiss, and I tried not to pass out.
In the past I have experienced small traumas that caused me to involuntarily swear, moan, or shut my eyes; this time I couldn’t speak or move, my eyes were wide open, and I saw little silvery stars, lots of them, kinda like glitter. No birds. It was the most pain I’ve ever been in without losing consciousness.
Much to the disappointment of my kids and my work colleagues, there was no blood, nor were there black eyes, and my nose was not repositioned on my face, but according to my ENT it was, in fact, broken, right across the bridge where my sunglasses sit.
#5 was pretty proud of himself when he learned his very own head was that strong. I still have the same sunglasses, they just sit a bit differently now on my reformed nose.
This year, I went on the big scary roller coaster and made CC take #5 on the log ride.
What’s your favorite thing to do at an amusement park?
JM Randolph, accidentalstepmom 