Have you ever seen those lovely signs......

....you know the ones. In this family we do love, We do hugs.,We do laughter, etc.  If you've ever been on Pinterest, you know exactly what I'm talking about.  Of course if you are the one person left who has not been sucked into THAT time-sucking craze, allow me to enlighten you.

Now if you were to actually go on Pinterest, you could find at least 30 million versions of this sign made with everything from melted crayons , letters made from your spare paint chips, or beautifully hand written with homemade fondant on a cake for your mom. For no particular reason other than you had an extra 30 hours with which to do nothing, but create such shenanigans , in an attempt to mimic Martha Stewart.

Don't get me wrong, I actually have "pinned" this on one of my Pinterest boards along with a slew of other projects that I could clearly replicate for my own home if I in fact wanted to. Which led me to think of all the combinations of words I could actually use to give a clear picture of what goes on in  my house.

How about this:

 In this house.......

We do a whole lot of shouting.

Because, quite frankly, nobody ever listens.

We leave our dishes everywhere, because apparently there is a maid who will

pick them up.

We like to punch each other, give charlie horses,

and spin the smaller members of the family to the point

of puking.

Oh, and we fart.

And think it's funny.

How do you think that would look in the living room?

I actually got to thinking about all of this as a result of a really great sign that Jake made for his brother last night. Trey started seventh grade today and in a show of support, his older brother gifted him with this fabulous number pinned to his backpack:

I think this may even beat last years send off, when the sum total of advice from Jake to Trey on going to a new middle school was " Get your fucking swag on." Who thought such pearls of wisdom could ever be outdone? The kid is clearly brilliant.

Long story short. What it boils down to is this: Is pants-shittingly  an actual word and do you think I could somehow incorporate it into my new living room sign to make it a little more, you know, awesome?

Last time I was here, I was a lot younger...

Getting old sucks. Yes, I know it's better than the alternative.  Yes, I know it's a privilege robbed from many.  You're right , I should feel guilty for complaining about living. If it makes you feel better I do. I am awash with guilt. It's my middle name. Whatever. It still sucks.

Everyday I am faced with the harsh realization that I will never be younger, skinnier, more energetic, brighter...really, just fill in the blank. I AM OLD. And it does not help when you work with 20 year olds who ,while I know they are just trying to be kind, insist that you are really quite young, because you are the same age as their Mom and she is young. Really? Thanks.

I mean, where did the time go? It feels like just  yesterday that I was planning life. Such a big huge span of time filled with babies, opportunities and excitement. Now my big plans involve which medications will help me sleep without screwing with my bowel movements, my babies are grown up and I actually feel older than I am. So don't even think about hitting me with that you are only as old as you feel bullshit. If that's the case, I should start plot shopping soon.

In case this post be misconstrued as some sort of rant delivered by just another angry old woman ( which it is), let's just say it's a warning. Better yet, a piece of wisdom imparted by one who has lived long enough to have some helpful insights. Enjoy your youth. If you are 25, you are most definitely not old. If I actually hear you complaining about how old you are again I will corner you and make you listen to me complain about my wrinkles, grey hair, and memory loss. For hours. Hours that you will never get back.  You will wish that you were as deaf as I am and that you could forget what the hell I just said as easily as I can.

Which seems to have brought me full circle. Because quite frankly, I got on this computer to do something and it was not this. Hell if I can remember what it was....

When facial grooming goes bad....

It started with No-Shave November. Every November Jake and his friends commit to a month long retreat from face maintenance. I'm pretty sure it started as a pay to compete event a couple years ago. Pay five bucks, don't shave for a month. At the end of 30 days the beards are shaved and weighed. He who can grow the most facial hair wins and all proceeds are given to the Humane Society to help feed the hairless cat that lives there. Clever, right?

More importantly, however, is that the winner gets to bathe in the glory of being the hairiest guy at Fort Mill High School for an entire year. Go ahead and laugh if you must. I did. But apparently this title is extremely sought after by the Y chromosome bearing youth of Fort Mill. There are even rules that must be followed to the letter, lest you wish to risk the humiliation of disqualification. At this point, I'd like to make reference to the trimming debacle of 2008. It seems that there is some debate over whether trimming one's beard actually stimulates the growth process. Beard trimming is to No-Shave November as steroid use is to to Major League Baseball. In 2008, Jake  lost his title to the Barry Bonds of facial hair. It was only after this champions crowning, that rumors began to circulate of his unscrupulous beard lengthening tactics. To this day, there are those who just WILL NOT accept him as that years victor. It is because of his misdeeds that the no trimming rule was added to the bylaws  before the start of last year's competition.

I tell you all this in order to give you a little background on what I am about to share with you. It is now December 10th and the thrill of No-Shave November has come and gone. Champions have been born. Legends have been made. Razors have been brought back out. Jake however, has still been growing the beard. I think that he has become immune to the thrill of being the most hairy. His competitive heart yearns for more. Like any well trained competitor he needs to up the stakes in order to maintain that high that some call winning.

And so his inner drive and determination takes him to the next level......

with a look I'd like to refer to as Redneck. Seriously, have you ever seen mutton chops of this magnitude? I have not taken out the ruler, but I do believe there is a good 2.5 inches from face to beard. And yes, that is a camouflage hat with a buck on it.

And then.....

my personal favorite. Dastardly Dan. At any minute I suspect Dudley Do-Right and his men will be showing up to arrest my son for tying Miss Loretta to the tracks. For like many gifted competitors, he can't ever get enough and has succumbed to the need for more and more adrenaline. He is like a junky looking for his next fix. And it is this insatiable need that has led him down this wanton path. My son, the baby that I once rocked to sleep, is sporting a curly cue mustache with wax holding the twisted ends as the train rumbles towards Miss Loretta.

Holy Shit...

Yesterday I had one of the best moments of my life! I was recognized. Oh, I've been  recognized before. But it's usually in relation to someone or something else, i.e. the Gap lady, Jake's mom, or  Jimmy's wife. My identity has  become so ambiguous that recently I was referred to as Chester's mommy. And just for the record..... Chester is my dog. Really.  Does it get any worse than that? I have become that guy who always plays the sharpshooter in movies and TV. You know...the one that can do that thing with the toothpick in his mouth. I know exactly what he looks like, but I have no idea what his frigging name is.

Even better is when I am recognized for parts of my behavior that I'm not necessarily proud of. As in "oh you are the woman who almost got arrested at the football game" or "hey are you the one that's always breaking shit?"  I do not aspire to be the crazy lady, really I don't. I will admit  that my behavior often does indicate a propensity for crazy but I assure you I do not wake up in the morning saying this is my day to be known as a loon. Quite the opposite actually. I'm like an addict reciting The Serenity Prayer before my feet can even touch the ground. God, please give me the strength NOT to be an idiot today. But before you know it, I'm standing at the corner hitching a ride on the crazy bus. The driver has accepted my bus token and it's too late to turn back. I'm on the bus and it's going nowhere good.

Within the last year or so, I've decided to embrace that which is me. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I refuse to fight it anymore. There is a reason I continuously jump on that bus and hell if I'm not going to make the most of it. Whether you believe in God, Buddha, or Oprah Winfrey....someone is running the show up there and I can't imagine that it's easy. I'm pretty sure that even as The Supreme Ruler of The Universe, you've got to be able to kick back and have some  fun. And I believe that is where I come in. My role in maintaining cosmic balance is to keep 'em laughing. Mother Theresa fed the hungry, Ghandi strove for peace and I shall continue to be an idiot for the sake of everyone else's sanity. Because if I can make you laugh just once today, I've done my job.

As for the woman who recognized me yesterday....I will admit that she didn't know my name. But that's OK,  because she DID recognize me as "that woman who writes that blog." And she thinks it's hysterical. So woman who I met yesterday at the football game....this blog is for you. Thanks for making MY day.

Oh, and by the way....I'm Chester's mom.

Crazy is genetic.....

So if you know me well......

 you've most likely been the target of one of my jokes. There really is no one that is immune to my never-ending attempts at comedy. I've stolen cars. I've  faked my own death. I've even helped my son pack his bag for jail. All to get  a good laugh. As far as the jail joke...... sure it was only me laughing. But hey, you know what? Laughter is good for the soul and if you can't laugh at yourself then, well --maybe you just don't have a sense of humor. When you're five. And you are waiting for the law to arrive because you just ripped the tag off your mattress. Which in my own defense, is punishable by law. It even says so.

But just to be fair (and to maintain the few friends that can stand me), I will occasionally have fun with people I'm not so familiar with. Last week was by far the best joke ever!!! So good, in fact, that I have to share it with you...all 6 of you.

Let me preface this by giving you a little bit of background on what I was doing. Good deeds. That's right. Spending my day off volunteering for the underserved youth of America. I and my co-workers were giving our time to help the Fort Mill High School Booster Club. We do 25 hours of work. Gap gives them $250. Heartwarming, right?

On this particular day we were re-touching the paint on the Yellow Jacket mascot which had been painted on several sidewalks around the school. Please picture four grown women sharing one can of paint  and contraband paintbrushes that have to be snuck from the art room. We are sprawled on the ground around one bee, touching it up while high school students swarm around us on their way to class. Did I mention that the entire school apparently shares this one bucket of paint and 5 paintbrushes? Anyway.....

at that moment, I had a comedic epiphany so brilliant that it could only be described as an act of the comedy gods. As the throng of students thinned, I scanned the remaining stragglers for The One. And by The One, I mean the one who would unwittingly become my partner in this comedy of epic proportions.

"Hey. What do you think about the whole mascot thing?" ( I know. Brilliant opening, right?)

"What do you mean?" (With that puzzled face only a teenage boy can make when some weirdo is talking to him.)

I then explained to him that we were here to re-paint the logos because of the lawsuit. Because it's a yellow jacket and it belongs to someone else. Just here to help out the school.

 At which point he began to provide me with my story....

"What??? It's Georgia Tech, isn't it???"

"Why, yes it is."     And that was all I needed.

By the end of that exchange, he was off to spread the word and  start a petition in an effort to save the Yellow Jacket.

As different kids came by, we were able to elaborate on the plight of the poor Yellow Jacket. One kid had just learned about licensing in his class and was able to instruct us on just why this  could be a problem with Georgia Tech.  It's all about the licensing, and obviously the school had not paid their fees. Another kid had heard about it from his friend who heard it from another one that was starting a petition. We kindly suggested that a rally paired with the petition might be even more effective. One poor girl had heard the news and just came to see if it was true. She was saddened by our confirmation of the rumor because , like, the Yellow Jacket had been the mascot for like ever.


But then the inevitable happened. I still don't know why I didn't see it coming. I replay it over and over in my head, and I still can't explain why I wasn't prepared for this.  But the question was finally  asked:

"Well, what is the new mascot going to be?"

Brief silence....




And just like that Amanda chimed in with the most utterly perfect answer.

"A Unicorn."

She said a Unicorn! Could an answer be any better than that? No smile, no nervous laugh. Just....a unicorn. The girl is freaking brilliant!



You see , the antennaes here are going to be re -shaped into his horn and  yes the wings are going to stay because it is a "mystical" unicorn." And we were off and running again.

When we left the school that day, I for one,  felt very good about the things that we had accomplished. Doing good deeds really does make your heart feel kind of warm and fuzzy. My only regret was that we didn't put out a can for donations. In hindsight, I think that with the money we could have collected for licensing fees we could have at least bought a few more paintbrushes.

When did this become The Home for Little Wanderers...

Actually, don’t answer that. I already know it’s my own fault. I’ve been rescuing people as far back as I can remember. Give me your confused, lonely or certifiably crazy and I will invite them  to stay in a heartbeat. In third grade I petitioned my parents to let the boy down the street (think Spanky from the Little Rascals) move into our house because his brother was  mean to him. Despite my efforts on his behalf, it was a no go with Tom and Kathy. I’m pretty sure one kid was, and always will be, enough for them. ( That may have had  more to do with me than kids in general.) But since the escape plan didn’t work, I was  forced to move on to Plan B in which I beat up his brother. That got me into REALLY big trouble at school. However, the following week his brother gave me a cheap silver ring and a pack of Hubba Bubba. I guess he liked his third grade women tough. The three of us spent the next two years riding our bikes, catching frogs, and kicking soccer balls at the town field. 

Over the years I have acquired many of these stories. So many that it would require it’s own blog. And let’s face it people, I’m having a tough time maintaining this one.

 Now Jimmy, who for reasons unknown still seems to love me, has had to put up with this for  20 years. This is a man whose ultimate goal in life is to just get a little peace and quiet. And unlike with my parents, there usually is not much of a petitioning process. It’s more like a hushed conversation with the kids that goes something like this: “Hey guys, let’s not mention that (insert animal, person here) is in the house and see how long it takes Dad to notice.”  

The reason I mention all this is because just two days ago, we acquired our most recent houseguest. You see, after observing  me , Jake has also become a champion for the underdog. In the past 4 years our home has become temporary shelter for an assortment of kids for a variety of reasons. Some were victims of circumstance, most were victims of themselves, all of them have moved on and visit occasionally.  Our current guest, being under the age of 18, shall go by an alias. Fred. 

This is the story of Fred.

Anytime, I get a text from Jake that says call me ASAP, my initial reaction is to weigh the pros and cons of  moving to Mexico with no forwarding address. Since I still reside in Fort Mill, SC , it is obvious that I have yet to get that PRO list any longer. My kids are industrious. They’d find me. So here I am. On Tuesday I received just  such a text. After wadding up the list of pros and cons, I give Jake a call. “Can Fred stay at our house for just a little while?”  I tell Jake I’ll be home in 20 minutes-we will talk then. Now before you think that I’m a COMPLETE schmuck, I must tell you that there IS a screening process. In a little method that I picked up from Lenny in Law and Order, I act as a human lie detector while questioning the latest child. I’m not going to go into specifics for fear that they will see this and figure out how to trick me. 

It seems Fred has had a fight with his Mom and in typical teenage fashion has declared that being of legal age in SC he will just move out. As any mom in the same situation would do, she tells him to go ahead and try that out…let her know how that works. And he does it! The little bastard actually calls her bluff!  Listen, I know Fred is going to go back home. Right now it’s a battle of wills. Who here  has not been in the same situation ? Definitely as the disgruntled teen and perhaps as the now enlightened parent. So when I poke fun, it’s not because I don’t care or I don’t think it’s serious. It’s because with the benefit of 20 plus years, I remember doing the same shit and I can appreciate just how humorous it is on the other side.

Fred is a force to be reckoned with. He is being stubborn and perhaps a little clueless. This will turn into persistent and optimistic when he is grown up….great qualities to have once you hit the real world. Mildly annoying when it’s your kid using them against you. So he has packed his stuff and struck out on his own. I will say that Casa de Reed was not the first stop on his Fort Mill World Tour. He went to another friend’s house first. He stayed there for two days until his friend’s mom let him know he was going to need to pay rent. $50 a week. A bargain , right? Not when you are a Senior in High School working part time at a sandwich shop and bumming rides from your friends. Well this is a good thing, you say?  A little dose of reality to help Fred get back down to Earth? Not so much. Fred is just going to have to alter his plans a little. Perseverance. Another great quality to have as an adult. And this is how I have come to acquire another lost duckling in a list a mile long.

When I arrive home that evening there is a group of boys congregating in my office, mulling over Fred’s plight. I am regaled with descriptive versions of the same story I will later get from Fred. It’s amazing to me how each kid will take something a little bit different from it. One kid is shaking his head….he knows what it’s really like to have a bad parent. Another one is trying to jump on the bandwagon and also get an invitation to stay so that he can “get as many tattoos as he wants.” Mine says he’s never leaving….I’ll remind him of that one later. It is then that I notice the pile of luggage behind the couch. In addition to all Fred’s other great qualities he is also an overpacker! I feel that I need to list what he has packed, so that you can get the entire hysterical effect. Remember, boy is pissed. Boy is leaving home forever. Boy does not have a car or license. Boy rides bike all over town. Please picture this with me. This is what he has packed:

1. Not one, but two gigantic suitcases on wheels. I suppose the wheels are a plus because you could tie them to the bike and drag them wherever you need to go.

2. A pair of very nice black dress shoes that must not have fit into the suitcases.

3. A baketball.

4. His pillow and a blanket.

5. A duffel bag with more stuff in it.

6. Playstation 3.

7. A Dragon ball Z poster.

and #8, the piece de resistance…

 Two light sabers.

I’m not even going to ask about the light sabers. I don’t need to know. And he’s definitely not staying long enough to be hanging posters. The boy is trekking around town with all this stuff. A light saber wielding refugee with a penchant for nice shoes! Honestly, I know deep down in my heart that Fred will laugh about this someday. He really will. But right now he is oh-so-serious. So he can stay for a little bit until he cools off. His mom knows he’s safe and now  I’ve got someone else who can walk the dog. Besides, it’s only  Friday and I have taken Sunday in the pool for how long it takes Jimmy to realize Fred’s here…..