The Life Skill of Proper Cursing

Few things bring joy to a mother's heart like when she sees her young child learn some invaluable life skill. A tears comes to my eye every time I think of my children's first steps, their arms waving erratically for balance, bobbling back and forth as they moved toward me. The bittersweet journey that turns them from infants totally dependent upon you into grown people bound for adventures of their own is marked with these milestones.
Well, friends, I got to experience one today, perhaps the greatest thus far. As I was driving down the road, my oldest boy randomly spouted, "Son of a bitch!!"
Half shocked, I turned back to see what had happened. Apparently his water had spilled on his shirt, which he clearly found displeasing.
"Ridge," I said, "that's a naughty word. You aren't suppose to say that."
The car was filled with an awkward pause as he absorbed my chiding. After he had thought about this for a moment, he explained, "Well, Momma, I just like to say naughty words, just like you do."
At first I was shocked by being outsmarted by a 4-year-old yet again. But, then I realized that I had taught my child a life skill, one he'll actually use. I mean, how often do any of you use sign language. There's no doubt that has made the world a more functioning place for millions of people, but most of us don't have many situations where it is needed. Proper cursing, on the other hand, is priceless. To understand the proper place in a sentence to insert a good "shit" or "hell" is something he'll actually use.
Now, give me my Mother of the Year prize, please!

Did You Say Pet Rock or Pet Mock, as in this kid is totally mocking me with that rock he's carrying

Like most young children, I remember often facing the unjust oppression of my fun-hating parents. Mom would sternly shake her head no to my pleas for six or seven other girls to invade our house after she'd worked 12 or 14 hours in the beauty shop in our garage and I was completely dumbfounded by her blind tyranny.
And when these moments would pop up, overcome with frustration at my unfair treatment, I would dart behind an open door and the wall and softly whisper some foul tongue lashing to my otherwise unsuspecting mother. I revealed in the genius of my cursing revenge. You see, not only did I get to fling a few cuss words at the iron-fisted dictator running our household, but I also got off scott free because my angry words went totally undetected behind my wedge of wooden secrecy.
I thought of my little tempter tantrums this week as my oldest boy Ridge picked up a new habit. Now, I've known for a long time that the day would come with that my cooing babies would slowly start morphing into clever little wise asses who lament me for ruining their good time. While I'm sure this recent incident wasn't the first time my first born mulled over what a stick in the freakin' mud that his mother is, this is the first time that he carried on a conversation about my motherly injustices right in front of me.
To be clear, this discussion was not with another person. Oh no, it was with his pet rock. First of all, I have no damn clue where he got the idea for a pet rock in the first place. I don't know if he saw it on a movie or if one of his friends planted this notion, but its there nonetheless.
Secondly, I feel like calling the softball-sized pebble a "pet" rock is a better misleading. I think we should dub it his "psychiatrist" rock or something along those lines. You see, just like the four walls of a mental health professional's office, Ridge really feels like when he's with his pet rock, he's in the "safe zone," that he can say anything to the rock without fear of being in trouble. If he is excited, he tells the rock. If he is sad, he tells the rock. And, if he is pissed off at his killjoy mother, he most definitely tells the damn rock.
On Sunday afternoon, I took the boys to my cousin's son's birthday party. Like all good parents who want to fork out an insane amount of money and do an even more insane amount of work, my cousin Krista had a yard freakin' full of rides and concessions nothing short of some circus midway. Ridge and Rolan were in little kid heaven. They jumped on the bounce house and stuffed their mouths full of cotton candy. They hit baseballs and cruised the yard in a Power Wheels Mustang. After a couple hours of birthday party joy, I gathered the boys' scattered belongings and prepared them for the trip home. My youngest, Rolan, wasn't just eager to leave his sugar-coated dream, but he also didn't drag the deal into some episode for the baby books. The same cannot be said for his big brother Ridge.
At first Ridge argued his case for staying just a bit longer like some seasoned pro arguing Constitutional law before the Supreme Court. When that didn't work, he whipped out the red face and tears and, lastly, begging. He realized as I buckled him into his car seat that this, leaving the birthday party, was in fact going to happen. He cried for a few months, whimpered two or three good times and then dried up the tears. After a few moments of silence, I assumed he had accepted his fate of an uneventful night with his boring parents and pain in the ass brother. Wrong.
Just we hit the highway, he and his pet rock began discussing the enormous pile of bullshit they had just been subjected to. It went something like this here:

Ridge asks the rock, "Are you sad that you had to leave the party, Rock?"

Ridge replying for the rock, "Yes, Ridge, I wanted to stay at the party but your mom is being mean and won't let me play."

Ridge to the rock, "All our friends get to stay and play and their mommy isn't mean."

Ridge for the rock, "I want to keep playing with our friends, Ridge."

Ridge to the rock, "Are you mad that you can't play?"

Ridge for the rock, "It is bullshit."

Naturally, that's just a small excerpt from the witty back-and-forth between my son and his rock, which clearly was thinking for itself and not being the mouthpiece for my child.The rallied for at least five miles about how I just murdered fun. Every few minutes I would remind Ridge that he needed to be nice and, spoken like a true smart ass, he would point out that he wasn't the one lobbing in these sharp complaints. It was the rock, the hard-partying, good time rock. As I kicked myself for playing into being outsmarted by a four-year-old, my childhood trips to the wedge of wall and door ran through my mind. I wish I would've come up with the cussing pet rock. At least then someone would have known I was pissed.

On a different note, Ridge had his Rainbow Lane program tonight. I will post photos tomorrow, or at least I plan on it. Those of you who are regular readers, go ahead and remind me. LOVE!

The Cowboy Language.

RIDGE: Oh hell!
ME: Ridge, don't say that word. It's a bad word.
RIDGE: Well, you and Daddy say it.
ME: Ummmm.....that's true. It's a bad word just for Mommy and Daddy.
RIDGE: Why do you get to say it?
ME: Hell, Ridge, I don't know. I guess so we don't freak out and start hitting ourselves in the head.
RIDGE: You said the bad word.
ME: I know, it's for Mommy and Daddy remember?
RIDGE: It's for cowboys, too, and I'm a cowboy.
ME: It's not for cowboys.
RIDGE: Yes, it is. That's what the cowboys on the television say and I'm just like them.
ME: Damn it, I've been outsmarted by a four year old once again.

No, My 2-Year-Old Isn't Talking About That......

Well, letting my youngest boy follow in his Thomas the Train-obsessed older brother's footsteps has turned out to bear more damage than just the cheeky little engine further dominating my life and starting up more than one brutal battle between the brothers. It is now leading to more embarrassment than I already face when taking my children out in public.
When young children first start verbally communicating, the general public normally can't understand them for several months. To everyone but their parents and perhaps a few grandparent-types, their mumbled words are gibberish. No two children have the same language. But, to the parental figures of these children, this special language is crystal clear.
As Rolan's infatuation with the Thomas and Friends has grown, he has found his favorite train -- Percy. Maybe that is because he has been strictly forbidden from ever touching some of the others by Ridge the Toy Cop. Either way, Percy is the train of his little heart. He carries a Percy toy in his hand as he darts about the house chanting his name.
But, here's the thing with the chanting. As Rolan delightfully bellows Percy's name, he leaves out a very important part of it, the part that keeps it from sounding like, er, the nether regions of female porn stars. Simply put, there is no "ER" sound, just a PU followed by SEE.
As I was pushing him in the shopping cart a few days ago, his kung foo grip on his Percy toy loosened for just a second, long enough for him to accidentally drop the green train as I pushed forward. I was so focused on my ass-kicking coupons that my frazzled mind simply did not register his frantic screams until several other shoppers had already taken notice to my boy.
"PU-SEE</span>!" he yelled. "I WANT PU-SEE! WHERE'S PU-SEE?!?!"
I backtracked through the aisles, my eyes darting under displays and around carts. With each step, Rolan continued his loud chants and the eyes of many, many others were on me. And just as I was thinking to myself that his echoed words didn't really sound that bad, a rather witty friend just happened to stroll by.
"Hey, so what's that your boy is asking for?" she quizzed with a smirk on her face.
"His train, Percy," I replied. "He dropped him and we are looking for him."
"So, you're sure it's the train he wants?"
"Ummmm.....yes."
"Really? Because it sounds like he is saying something else."
"Oh yeah. Just what is that?"
"Well, I'll just say it sounds like the apple did not fall too far from the tree. Tell Rowdy I said that."
"You're an asshole. Do you think that's what everyone is thinking, too?"
"Oh," she giggled, "definitely."

On a different note, I hope none of you hope for me to love you as much as I love Chris right now. Don't get me wrong, you are pretty rockin' awesome, too. But, Chris has definitely figured out the way to my heart. Sure, he called me a good writer and I do love him for that, but when he complimented by skills at, well, bitching, he won my heart. Check out his site.

The Stand By Girl

I've always enjoyed sports to a degree, but I've never understood how people could get mad enough to fight or mourn or be depressed over a game or a team. Well, at least people who didn't have money on the game or a kid or spouse on the team. Of course, I have roosters I love more than others and I certainly want to see all the local teams do well. But, I'm not going to wear a rob for a week solid and drink vodka in my drink because I'm too distraught to deal with the reality of a loss. Okay, I might drink vodka in my coffee, but I'll only be using a sport as a reason.
Unless you live in Oklahoma, Washington State or are just a sports junkie, you might not know that Oklahoma City business man Clay Bennett won his lawsuit and is moving the Seattle Super Sonics to Oklahoma City.
I'm excited about this because it will give us something to do in Oklahoma City. Plus. I enjoyed the free Hornets tickets Pfizer gave us than the bullriding thing. But, if the Sonics should someday leave here, I won't go on a kicking, screaming protest.
Now this super fan of the Seattle teams has continue his passion, even though he now lives in California. I hope this isn't offensive to all your Californians, but that really doesn't seem like a good place for already chemically unbalanced people. If you have your mental health, you'll be fine. But, if you are, for example, a Britney Spears or Lindsay Lohan ticking time bomb, this shit will just send you over the edge. Perhaps this is the case with Scottsdale Samson. Who knows?
In this video "Sam," puts a curse on the now Oklahoma City Super Sonics. He freezes it, he runs it over with a bull dozier, he burns it. Unless he owns a equipment rental company or just has this shit laying around, he definitely spent some money to send out the video bad omen.
As the little video starts, the written legend of some Irish curse on ball players or some none sense cascades down the screen. In fact, it even compares what this guy thinks he is going to do to Sonics as baseball's curse of Babe Ruth. Now, I don't want to be petty here, but before all the trading of Babe Ruth, both the Yankees and the Red Sox had actually won championships. And I know that sometime in history the Sonics have been good, but I don't think it has been for a while. Then again, I've done very little research for this, so maybe they've been winning titles season after season.
If they have been bringing home the gold, I have to question even more why the Seattle fans are so bitter. They have about 20 different sites they visit daily to bitch and cuss Oklahoma City and, moreover, Clay Bennett. With all this uproar, you wouldn't think that Seattle has had one of the worst attendance rates in the NBA. You would think that the City of Seattle would have at least tried to meet their agreement to keep the team, but they didn't. It's kinda like your old stand-by girl, the faithful lover who keep on the back burner for years and then are devastated by when she snatched up by a more appreciative suitor. Although they had years to show their undying love to the Sonics and have had more than a year to attempt to get a new venue and up their ticket sales, now that the move is solid, they all LOVE the team. Yup, it's just like the old stand by girl.
The description the poster used for his video is a light-hearted way to say good-bye and as I started watching it, I thought it was kinda funny. It was crazy, but funny. But, then he calls Oklahoma, my home, my land of common sense, a "flat land from hell."
Now I understand this guy is sad. Everyone is when they lose their stand by girl. But, there's no reason to insult the people who are swooping up what you took for granted. I don't know if this guy's ever been out here or not, but if I had to guess, I'd think he's never seen an Oklahoma sunset. Honestly, I hope the fruit loop stays on the West Coast. He'll be in better company. I know a lot of Oklahomans who have a lot of money, but they wouldn't waste it in such a obvious attempt to draw attention to themselves. Beyond that, we just have too much damn work to do. I suppose if this guy and all the other belly achers had spent all this energy on keeping the Sonics, maybe they wouldn't have this to bitch about in the first place.
I know the Sonics have had faithful fans in Seattle and I know losing that must be difficult. I hope their loyalty will follow the team to Oklahoma City.
And to the Sonics, welcome home, baby. You weren't be the stand by girl now.