Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Gift horses and party invitations
I was kind of irritated that a photo of a snake was maybe my most popular blog/social media post ever - more than 100 comments. Because if you gift me with a horse, I'ma be all up in its mouth.
And just after threatening to start blogging about animals and rainbows instead of my goofy life, wouldn't you know it, I get a phone call from a company (see who below) inviting me to come to an opening as a member of the media.
"Oh, I'm not with that newspaper anymore," I said. "But I can give you the correct contact name."
"No, I had you down as the author of the blog Momnesia," she said.
Annnnd, you WANT me to write about your event? Have you even read my blog? Because, I will show up to your lovely event and one of four things will happen:
1. My weirdo magnet will kick in and draw directly to me the one person in the room you LEAST wish me to write about
2. I will somehow injure myself
3. I will somehow injure another person
4. There may be accidental nudity
Trust me, ma'am, as flattered as I am that you invited me because you think someone might be influenced by what I say, inviting me to any event is the best way to make sure the police show up. I live pretty quietly, and I still get neighbors attacking me with machetes, pit bulls snacking on my child's face, exploding stroganoff of certain death, and the most recent entry into the "Who is This God Person, and Why is He Messing With Me?" game that is my life, the 20-foot cobra that invaded my home last week.* **
So, thank you, for the invitation, but it's safest for all involved if I decline. Also, it's during the work day, so I can't leave my job for a party.
But, if any of my two readers (hi, mom and dad) is looking for a new dish, Applebee's is unveiling a revamped menu soon. I'd tell you about it, but I didn't get to try anything. And aren't you glad for that? Because, in case you haven't heard, there's a giant asteroid passing within 200,000 miles of the earth. If I were you, I'd go to Applebee's because I'm not there right now.
And that means you'll be safe.
* According to experts, it wasn't a cobra
** But I think they're lying.
***No one was harmed in the making of this blog post. For once.
**** This is not a paid entry.
***** However, if Applebee's wanted to slip me a Benjamin or two, I would not complain.
****** Actually, I would. There's that gift horse thing again.
And just after threatening to start blogging about animals and rainbows instead of my goofy life, wouldn't you know it, I get a phone call from a company (see who below) inviting me to come to an opening as a member of the media.
"Oh, I'm not with that newspaper anymore," I said. "But I can give you the correct contact name."
"No, I had you down as the author of the blog Momnesia," she said.
Annnnd, you WANT me to write about your event? Have you even read my blog? Because, I will show up to your lovely event and one of four things will happen:
1. My weirdo magnet will kick in and draw directly to me the one person in the room you LEAST wish me to write about
2. I will somehow injure myself
3. I will somehow injure another person
4. There may be accidental nudity
Trust me, ma'am, as flattered as I am that you invited me because you think someone might be influenced by what I say, inviting me to any event is the best way to make sure the police show up. I live pretty quietly, and I still get neighbors attacking me with machetes, pit bulls snacking on my child's face, exploding stroganoff of certain death, and the most recent entry into the "Who is This God Person, and Why is He Messing With Me?" game that is my life, the 20-foot cobra that invaded my home last week.* **
So, thank you, for the invitation, but it's safest for all involved if I decline. Also, it's during the work day, so I can't leave my job for a party.
But, if any of my two readers (hi, mom and dad) is looking for a new dish, Applebee's is unveiling a revamped menu soon. I'd tell you about it, but I didn't get to try anything. And aren't you glad for that? Because, in case you haven't heard, there's a giant asteroid passing within 200,000 miles of the earth. If I were you, I'd go to Applebee's because I'm not there right now.
And that means you'll be safe.
* According to experts, it wasn't a cobra
** But I think they're lying.
***No one was harmed in the making of this blog post. For once.
**** This is not a paid entry.
***** However, if Applebee's wanted to slip me a Benjamin or two, I would not complain.
****** Actually, I would. There's that gift horse thing again.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Rawr!
"Emmie, if you fall in, I'm gonna have to jump on that alligator and wrestle it while you get out. And I don't want to do that because I like my arms attached to my body," I said.
A guy nearby - covered in tattoos and wearing a shirt and baseball hat that both said something crude - leaned over to me: "Don't worry. I got the gator if she falls in. You just get her."
There's something to be said for rednecks.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Bribery works every time
It's 90 bazillion degrees. I'm sweating in places I didn't know I had skin. We've been here for three hours, and I've chugged five bottles of water. Now, Emmie and I are standing in a line for balloon animals that stretches 25 kids back. At 3-5 minutes per balloon animal, we're going to die in this line.
"Em, honey, let's go. This line is so long you're going to be in third grade before you get a balloon," I plead - as though I am the 6-year-old.
"No!" she yelps. We monitored the balloon line for a while. She's patiently waited for the line to diminish, but it hasn't. And now, she's not going to give up easily.
There is an additional concern: Despite the three bottles of water I've made her drink, her entire backside is covered with heat rash. I'd like to get her home to a cool bath and some aloe vera.
"Please? Mommy is going to die," I gasp, then choke, sputter, and pretend to faint on the grass.
She grins, but does not really care. And now I'm covered in grass.
"I'll squirt you with the water hose," I coo from my prone position, tickling the back of her knee. She loves the hose.
She giggles, and folds her arms and shakes her head.
"I'll let you squirt meee," I singsong, and smooch her cheeks. She suppresses a grin.
"I want a balloon," she says, seriously. "A doggie balloon. I nebber had one before, ebber!"
That is an utter lie. She has had many a balloon animal, but none has ever survived even the ride home.
"I'll buy you one at the store," I offer.
She glances sideways. I'm making headway.
"Water hose, balloon, and I'll rent you a movie," I smile like a Cheshire cat. We turned off the cable when we moved, because mommy is a dirty hippie, so she loves to rent $1 movies at Blockbuster Express.
She clenches her fists. She does not want to give in. But it is a good offer.
"Aaaaannd... You can play with my iPod!"
"While I'm watcheend da movie?"
I nod.
"Okay!" she squeals, and jumps up and down.
Yes. I just bribed my child. I don't know what bothers me more: that I bribed her, or that she's for sale.
But when I flip on the air conditioning in the car, I no longer care.
"Em, honey, let's go. This line is so long you're going to be in third grade before you get a balloon," I plead - as though I am the 6-year-old.
"No!" she yelps. We monitored the balloon line for a while. She's patiently waited for the line to diminish, but it hasn't. And now, she's not going to give up easily.
There is an additional concern: Despite the three bottles of water I've made her drink, her entire backside is covered with heat rash. I'd like to get her home to a cool bath and some aloe vera.
"Please? Mommy is going to die," I gasp, then choke, sputter, and pretend to faint on the grass.
She grins, but does not really care. And now I'm covered in grass.
"I'll squirt you with the water hose," I coo from my prone position, tickling the back of her knee. She loves the hose.
She giggles, and folds her arms and shakes her head.
"I'll let you squirt meee," I singsong, and smooch her cheeks. She suppresses a grin.
"I want a balloon," she says, seriously. "A doggie balloon. I nebber had one before, ebber!"
That is an utter lie. She has had many a balloon animal, but none has ever survived even the ride home.
"I'll buy you one at the store," I offer.
She glances sideways. I'm making headway.
"Water hose, balloon, and I'll rent you a movie," I smile like a Cheshire cat. We turned off the cable when we moved, because mommy is a dirty hippie, so she loves to rent $1 movies at Blockbuster Express.
She clenches her fists. She does not want to give in. But it is a good offer.
"Aaaaannd... You can play with my iPod!"
"While I'm watcheend da movie?"
I nod.
"Okay!" she squeals, and jumps up and down.
Yes. I just bribed my child. I don't know what bothers me more: that I bribed her, or that she's for sale.
But when I flip on the air conditioning in the car, I no longer care.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
I had good intentions...
At a community event, a woman complained to us. Teenagers down the way, acting like jerks. Little kids the innocent bystanders. Same old song. I trot off to put a stop to the nonsense.
"Hey, guys?" I approach the group of teen boys, who are firing bean bags at each other in a sort of mini-dodgeball game. They hardly notice me. "Guys!"
Two glance my way, but they continue hurling bean bags the size of sub sandwiches. One pegs another in the eye. The injured boy shouts a curse word.
These are big guys, 16 and 17 years old. They're probably very good kids, but they're in a group. Groups of teenage boys generally share a social IQ equal to a suitcase of dead pigeons.
"ALRIGHT!" I bellow. "Hand them OVER!"
They freeze. I march into the fray, snatching their impromptu projectile weapons.
"I think you all know this was not good decision-making!" I hear myself bark. "If you can't play correctly, you can't play! Bye-bye, have fun somewhere else!"
I have all but one bean bag. The ringleader has the last. I glare at him. He tosses it at my head, and I snatch it out of the air without breaking eye contact. I am the Matrix.
He shrugs and turns, but I see him surreptitiously flip me off as he leaves. That's okay. That's just teenage language for respect. So I let it go, and turn to hand the bean bags to a group of 4 and 5 year olds standing neaby.
"Thanks!" squeals a little girl, and the sweet group of delighted children trots over to play. Rare, it must be, to have the big kids pushed aside for once.
They separate into two groups, divide the bags, take aim... and throw them at each other.
"Hey, guys?" I approach the group of teen boys, who are firing bean bags at each other in a sort of mini-dodgeball game. They hardly notice me. "Guys!"
Two glance my way, but they continue hurling bean bags the size of sub sandwiches. One pegs another in the eye. The injured boy shouts a curse word.
These are big guys, 16 and 17 years old. They're probably very good kids, but they're in a group. Groups of teenage boys generally share a social IQ equal to a suitcase of dead pigeons.
"ALRIGHT!" I bellow. "Hand them OVER!"
They freeze. I march into the fray, snatching their impromptu projectile weapons.
"I think you all know this was not good decision-making!" I hear myself bark. "If you can't play correctly, you can't play! Bye-bye, have fun somewhere else!"
I have all but one bean bag. The ringleader has the last. I glare at him. He tosses it at my head, and I snatch it out of the air without breaking eye contact. I am the Matrix.
He shrugs and turns, but I see him surreptitiously flip me off as he leaves. That's okay. That's just teenage language for respect. So I let it go, and turn to hand the bean bags to a group of 4 and 5 year olds standing neaby.
"Thanks!" squeals a little girl, and the sweet group of delighted children trots over to play. Rare, it must be, to have the big kids pushed aside for once.
They separate into two groups, divide the bags, take aim... and throw them at each other.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Things I Will Do After the Rapture
After the rapture, these are my plans, in no particular order:
Say, "Wow, was I ever wrong."
Go-kart the Greeneway.
Host a sock hop at the Sno-Cap Drive-in. Win ALL the dance prizes.
Show "The Life of Brian" at the Big Mo.
Steal a tank from Fort Gordon and use it to drive over abandoned cars at Wal-Mart.
Move into Port Royal's penthouse. Skip the elevators and rappel down the side of the building each morning.
Help myself to whatever I darn well please at Takosushi, Bistro 491, Manuel's, and Cheers! Wine & Beverage. Leave a generous tip anyway.
Play the Augusta National - with a pitching machine. Cool off in Ike's Pond after a hard day on the course. Make myself a bouquet of azaleas.
Drive my tank over the guardhouse in Westlake. Avail myself of the neighborhood's amenities.
Windsor Jewelers - you are mine!
Lace Regency Mall with C4 and blow that mutha up.
Play with all the goodies at Learning Express Toys.
Raid the studios of Philip Morseberger, Tom Nakashima, Leonard Zimmerman, Kathy Girdler-Englar, Troy Campbell, Raul Pacheco, and Shishir Chokshi. I'm leaving out some folks, but - trust me - I'll be in ur studio, stealin ur artworks.
Submit ALL the entries to The Metro Spirit's Whine Line.
Gavel myself down at the Augusta Commission meetings.
Please feel free to submit your own ideas.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Say, "Wow, was I ever wrong."
Go-kart the Greeneway.
Host a sock hop at the Sno-Cap Drive-in. Win ALL the dance prizes.
Show "The Life of Brian" at the Big Mo.
Steal a tank from Fort Gordon and use it to drive over abandoned cars at Wal-Mart.
Move into Port Royal's penthouse. Skip the elevators and rappel down the side of the building each morning.
Help myself to whatever I darn well please at Takosushi, Bistro 491, Manuel's, and Cheers! Wine & Beverage. Leave a generous tip anyway.
Play the Augusta National - with a pitching machine. Cool off in Ike's Pond after a hard day on the course. Make myself a bouquet of azaleas.
Drive my tank over the guardhouse in Westlake. Avail myself of the neighborhood's amenities.
Windsor Jewelers - you are mine!
Lace Regency Mall with C4 and blow that mutha up.
Play with all the goodies at Learning Express Toys.
Raid the studios of Philip Morseberger, Tom Nakashima, Leonard Zimmerman, Kathy Girdler-Englar, Troy Campbell, Raul Pacheco, and Shishir Chokshi. I'm leaving out some folks, but - trust me - I'll be in ur studio, stealin ur artworks.
Submit ALL the entries to The Metro Spirit's Whine Line.
Gavel myself down at the Augusta Commission meetings.
Please feel free to submit your own ideas.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Identity
We were at Mistletoe State Park, soaking up too much sun and freezing our behinds off in the water. The park had a Spring Fling event going on that day.
As we were leaving, they began to clean up the games they'd put out for the kids. A park ranger gathered up croquet and ladder-ball items.
A boy about 8 years old trotted over and confidently began to help, neatly stacking items to carry back to the storage room.
"Hey, kid, that's okay. You don't have to help," the ranger said.
The boy didn't pause.
"I'm a Cub Scout," he said. "This is what I do."
Somewhere, William Boyce is dancing for joy.
As we were leaving, they began to clean up the games they'd put out for the kids. A park ranger gathered up croquet and ladder-ball items.
A boy about 8 years old trotted over and confidently began to help, neatly stacking items to carry back to the storage room.
"Hey, kid, that's okay. You don't have to help," the ranger said.
The boy didn't pause.
"I'm a Cub Scout," he said. "This is what I do."
Somewhere, William Boyce is dancing for joy.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Such a card...
Emmie and I are playing Uno. We love card games.
"... AHA! Color-changer to green," I say, slapping down a wild card. "And uno!"
She narrows her eyes, contemplates her hand of cards.
"Hey, Emmie, guess what color I have?" I tease, waving my one remaining card.
She frowns: "I dunno, what?"
(Sigh) Purple, Emmie. It's purple.
"... AHA! Color-changer to green," I say, slapping down a wild card. "And uno!"
She narrows her eyes, contemplates her hand of cards.
"Hey, Emmie, guess what color I have?" I tease, waving my one remaining card.
She frowns: "I dunno, what?"
(Sigh) Purple, Emmie. It's purple.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Not one for SEAL Team 6
Emmie's brushing her teeth - at least, that's what she wants me to think. But I didn't hear her turn on the water, and the electric toothbrush wouldn't be so loud if it was in her mouth.
Twenty seconds later, she comes bopping into my bedroom.
"I brushed my teeth," she sings, airily.
"Really? Let me see your tongue," I say.
She hides her face on the mattress: "Mmkyyyy," she moans. "Mm diddn brmsh tnngue. Mm brmsh muh ttteef."
"You know what I think? I think you just turned on the toothbrush and waved it around," I say.
"Nuh-uh!" She raises her face, indignance etched upon it. "I turned it on an' brushed my hand!"
(Facepalm)
Twenty seconds later, she comes bopping into my bedroom.
"I brushed my teeth," she sings, airily.
"Really? Let me see your tongue," I say.
She hides her face on the mattress: "Mmkyyyy," she moans. "Mm diddn brmsh tnngue. Mm brmsh muh ttteef."
"You know what I think? I think you just turned on the toothbrush and waved it around," I say.
"Nuh-uh!" She raises her face, indignance etched upon it. "I turned it on an' brushed my hand!"
(Facepalm)
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Like politics and sausage-making
Employee: "I'm looking through all these intellectual property documents, and I came across something called an anal sample swab... I shuddered."
Me: "Maybe they mean a 'meticulous' sample swab...?"
Employee: "Somehow I doubt it, considering the accompanying illustration."
Me: "Maybe they mean a 'meticulous' sample swab...?"
Employee: "Somehow I doubt it, considering the accompanying illustration."
Saturday, May 07, 2011
Flower power!
So, if you're anything like me, guys, holidays just sneak-attack you every time. Here I am, minding my own business, working my schedule day after day, trying to get take each day as it comes (I never got the hang of Tuesdays), and - WHAM! Birthday. BAM! Christmas. Pow! It's Mother's Day.
No, really. It's Mother's Day. Like, in two days. What. Are. You. Going. To. Do?!
You're going to send your mom Mother's Day Flowers, that's what. Because you, slacker, no longer have time to run around town picking out personal stuff. And if you wait any longer, you're going to be giving her a rock from your yard.
And because I'm so nice, I'm going to help you with some Mothers Day Flower Delivery Discounts! So go check out FlowerDeliveryDeals.com. They offer things like 1800flowers coupons and 1800Flowers.com coupon codes, and the site lets you comparison shop floral arrangements from multiple online flower shops - because mom wants you to save your money, honey!
She also does not want a rock.
No, really. It's Mother's Day. Like, in two days. What. Are. You. Going. To. Do?!
You're going to send your mom Mother's Day Flowers, that's what. Because you, slacker, no longer have time to run around town picking out personal stuff. And if you wait any longer, you're going to be giving her a rock from your yard.
And because I'm so nice, I'm going to help you with some Mothers Day Flower Delivery Discounts! So go check out FlowerDeliveryDeals.com. They offer things like 1800flowers coupons and 1800Flowers.com coupon codes, and the site lets you comparison shop floral arrangements from multiple online flower shops - because mom wants you to save your money, honey!
She also does not want a rock.
Friday, May 06, 2011
Girls who wear glasses...
Recently, I went to get my eyes examined. I had some medical issues in October, and my vision seems to have been impacted. So I wanted to make sure that I'd covered all my bases. My prescription eyeglasses didn't change much, and I was SUPER impressed with MCGHealth Eye Care Center. I've seen several good eye docs, but when you want the best, I say you go to the folks who teach the other docs how to be docs - right?
One thing did change: the cost of prescription eyeglasses. Yowza! I really, really liked some of the frames in the eye store (not affiliated with the exam clinic; they don't carry frames). But they started at more than $100 for the frames, lenses not included. I was disappointed to walked away.
So I went back to Zenni Optical. I've used them before. The cost? $19. With frames.
Once I added high-index lenses to keep the glasses from weighing on my nose and giving me headaches, the cost jumped to $39. But I could get three pairs for the cost of the frames only at my local store.
One thing did change: the cost of prescription eyeglasses. Yowza! I really, really liked some of the frames in the eye store (not affiliated with the exam clinic; they don't carry frames). But they started at more than $100 for the frames, lenses not included. I was disappointed to walked away.
So I went back to Zenni Optical. I've used them before. The cost? $19. With frames.
Once I added high-index lenses to keep the glasses from weighing on my nose and giving me headaches, the cost jumped to $39. But I could get three pairs for the cost of the frames only at my local store.
Full moon at the lake
Emmie and I spent a day at Mistletoe State Park with a friend and her two children. The moms swam a little, but we spent most of the day chatting and laughing.
We were braving the water again before we left when I saw something. Her bathing suit - which she had joked about being the oldest she owns - had turned sheer in the back.
Hey, I'm no stranger to showing my behind to complete strangers. And I doubt anyone else noticed. But I had to tell her, because it was sheer all the way down the back, from neck to... well, you know.
She beat a hasty retreat back to the beach chairs and her cover-up.
"It's not as bad as it could be," I assured her. "There's a seam that covers up most of what you'd want to hide."
But smart friends are not easily fooled.
"Are you kidding me?" she laughed. "That's like saying there's a tightrope across the grand canyon."
Look on the bright side: It's an excuse to go shopping! ...for bathing suits. Ugh.
We were braving the water again before we left when I saw something. Her bathing suit - which she had joked about being the oldest she owns - had turned sheer in the back.
Hey, I'm no stranger to showing my behind to complete strangers. And I doubt anyone else noticed. But I had to tell her, because it was sheer all the way down the back, from neck to... well, you know.
She beat a hasty retreat back to the beach chairs and her cover-up.
"It's not as bad as it could be," I assured her. "There's a seam that covers up most of what you'd want to hide."
But smart friends are not easily fooled.
"Are you kidding me?" she laughed. "That's like saying there's a tightrope across the grand canyon."
Look on the bright side: It's an excuse to go shopping! ...for bathing suits. Ugh.
Wednesday, May 04, 2011
Fish or cut bait
Scott: "I'm going to the country."
Me: "Whatcha gonna do?"
Scott: "Fish."
Me: "Okay. Have fun not catching anything."
Scott, chuckling: "Thanks. That's pretty much how it goes."
Me: "Whatcha gonna do?"
Scott: "Fish."
Me: "Okay. Have fun not catching anything."
Scott, chuckling: "Thanks. That's pretty much how it goes."
Monday, May 02, 2011
Tears and blood are unavoidable, but I have to try
Emmie and I are at a birthday party for the lovely and talented Mary Anne when I see several children piling onto a Radio Flyer tricycle.
"Mm-mm, that is not going to end well," I mutter to a friend and go over to put a stop to it.
"Guys, this is going to spectacularly wrong in a very amount of short time," I caution. They look at each other and reluctantly dismount. Emmie is less compliant.
"Doodle," I say. "Come on."
"Okaaaaay," she sighs, and the remaining child pedals on without her.
"Babe, what's going to happen?"
"Ummm... I'm goeend fall off and hurt myself?"
"Right. And then there will be tears and blood. What's our motto? No tears no blood," I say, and Mary Anne's husband chuckles from within the plume of smoke that engulfs the grill.
"Actually, I just made that up," I confess. "But I like it."
"Emmie!" I call. "That's gonna be our motto. No tears no blood."
"Okay," she calls as she wanders off to injure herself in some other way, likely wondering what a 'motto' is.
"What's our motto?"
"No tears no blood!" she calls.
"What?"
She stops, grins, and yells like a drill seargent: "NO TEARS NO BLOOD!"
"Awesome!"
I adopted that motto for the weekend, trotting it out whenever tears or blood seemed pending.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Emmie tripping in her new flip-flops, going down hard in the grass in front of the house. A keening in her throat.
"What's the motto?"
She drew a breath and composed herself: "No tears no blood."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Emmie careening out-of-control on her scooter, frightened and out of my reach, down the path at the Columbia County Amphitheatre.
"MOOOOM!" she shrieked, back foot off kilter so the brake wouldn't engage, wobbling dangerously.
"Motto, Em!" I called, tensing for the pending scene of destruction.
"NO TEARS NO BLOOD!" she shrieked, just this side of hysterical - then she got her scooter under control on her own. I bent over to calm my shaking legs while my father-in-law patted my shoulder. No tears no blood, indeed.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
And when shortly after arriving at her grandparents house she changed her mind and decided she'd rather not stay, I pulled it out again.
"No what, Em?"
She smiled, "No tears no blood. But I don' fink I hafta worry wif Nona an' Opa."
Gosh... Put it all in perspective, and they shape right up!
"Mm-mm, that is not going to end well," I mutter to a friend and go over to put a stop to it.
"Guys, this is going to spectacularly wrong in a very amount of short time," I caution. They look at each other and reluctantly dismount. Emmie is less compliant.
"Doodle," I say. "Come on."
"Okaaaaay," she sighs, and the remaining child pedals on without her.
"Babe, what's going to happen?"
"Ummm... I'm goeend fall off and hurt myself?"
"Right. And then there will be tears and blood. What's our motto? No tears no blood," I say, and Mary Anne's husband chuckles from within the plume of smoke that engulfs the grill.
"Actually, I just made that up," I confess. "But I like it."
"Emmie!" I call. "That's gonna be our motto. No tears no blood."
"Okay," she calls as she wanders off to injure herself in some other way, likely wondering what a 'motto' is.
"What's our motto?"
"No tears no blood!" she calls.
"What?"
She stops, grins, and yells like a drill seargent: "NO TEARS NO BLOOD!"
"Awesome!"
I adopted that motto for the weekend, trotting it out whenever tears or blood seemed pending.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Emmie tripping in her new flip-flops, going down hard in the grass in front of the house. A keening in her throat.
"What's the motto?"
She drew a breath and composed herself: "No tears no blood."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Emmie careening out-of-control on her scooter, frightened and out of my reach, down the path at the Columbia County Amphitheatre.
"MOOOOM!" she shrieked, back foot off kilter so the brake wouldn't engage, wobbling dangerously.
"Motto, Em!" I called, tensing for the pending scene of destruction.
"NO TEARS NO BLOOD!" she shrieked, just this side of hysterical - then she got her scooter under control on her own. I bent over to calm my shaking legs while my father-in-law patted my shoulder. No tears no blood, indeed.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
And when shortly after arriving at her grandparents house she changed her mind and decided she'd rather not stay, I pulled it out again.
"No what, Em?"
She smiled, "No tears no blood. But I don' fink I hafta worry wif Nona an' Opa."
Gosh... Put it all in perspective, and they shape right up!
