Daring Young Mom

This morning while Sandra and I were walking in the wet dark foggy beautiful morning (get used to the copious adjectives. It’s the only way I’ll get enough words into my NANOWRIMO book by November 30th and I’m practicing.) we started talking about school patrols.

Picture “borrowed” from my local Police Service website

Actually, she was talking about wishing we had a stop sign to carry around so people would stop running us over in the dark and I couldn’t help shamelessly telling her that not only was I a school patrol in grade six, I was an HONOR patrol, pretty much the most prestige you can have as a grade six student at my school.

Being an honor patrol meant you got a cool patch for your Girl Guide poncho, respect and awe from the other children, free trips to the roller rink, AND (could there be anything more?) a chance to go to patrol camp out in the mountains. Patrol camp was a place where you were rewarded for your efforts with a teeny bit of training from Constable Harvey and other saintly police officers and then a whole lot of free time with your teenage camp counselors who introduced you to 80s rap music and just the complete coolness that was high school. Then there was a dance….which I was not allowed to go to.*

Any kid’s dream, right? Well, not mine. I had so much fun the whole first day but when night came, I remembered, “Hey, I’m scared of the dark, 11 years old, stuck with a bunch of people who are not like me and listen to fun but probably evil music, and my mommy is nowhere to be seen.” I freaked out. I woke up my counselor and begged her to call my mom and have her come pick me up.

She said, “Let’s go talk to Constable Harvey and see what he thinks.” Hallelujah! I was saved. Constable Harvey was a childhood hero. He was one of the hallowed police force who, as far as I was concerned, practically walked on water. He taught us about bike safety, not talking to strangers and to say no to drugs. This guy was a straight arrow, upstanding citizen I could trust with my life.

So she walked me into a smoky back room where Constable Harvey was SMOKING…dun dun dun….A STOGIE!!!! Stogies are drugs. I thought we were supposed to say no, just say no. The stogie hung from his lips and in his right hand was a glass of LIQUOR and in his left, a hand of PLAYING CARDS for playing POKER. Help, oh help, my sweet and unbesmirched Constable Harvey was now pretty much the closest earthly incarnation of Satan I had come across in my 11 years. SMOKING, DRINKING, and GAMBLING all at the same time. My little Mormon brain nearly exploded. I didn’t know you could do so many bad things at the same time. Constable Harvey was now a stranger……and I wasn’t supposed to talk to them…….according to Constable Harvey…….who I could no longer trust……so maybe I SHOULD talk to strangers…..but then I’d have to talk to HIM and oh yeah, the evilness.

Anyway, Constable Harvey hardly looked up as he spoke to the counselor, telling her to “send the kid back to bed. If we let her talk to her mom on the phone, she’ll only freak out more.” And that was the end of it. I cried myself to sleep in my sleeping bag, in my bunk bed, in a den of sin and just mean meanness.

I have long since come to realize that not everyone has the same beliefs that I do and that’s okay. Not everyone is perfect and if he’d let me call my mom, I would have indeed “freaked out even more.” But it chipped a big chunk out of my childhood innocence and for the first time I realized that police officers weren’t all hiding a halo under their helmets, that not every good man acted exactly like my dad, and that sometimes people were hypocrites. It still makes me sad when I think about it.

On a lighter note, another big moment of disillusionment came when I went away to college and learned that Barnes and Noble was a CHAIN STORE. Okay, gasp if you must because the cat’s out of the bag! The B&N I discovered as a quaint high school hangout in the town where I grew up is not unique in all the world. No, there are definitely more than one. They are, in fact, everywhere. They are not, in fact, quaint. They all, in fact, look the same and here is the scariest part: They are owned by a giant corporation. AHHHHH! Constable Harvey, save us all!

Pick yourself up off the floor. Don’t worry. There is still a Santa Claus and if I lose teeth anytime soon, I will be putting them under my pillow and collecting my 50 cents.

*(In my house, dances were for when you turned 14 and dating for 16.)

We’re painting our house. Yay!! Actually, we’re having someone else do it. Double-yay!! We moved in a year and a half ago and still have that disposable white-wash paint on the walls. It gets dirty really easy and you can’t clean it or you wipe through to the drywall. I have been DYING to put real, washable paint up.

I have a friend who researches everything, gets bids, gets quotes, gets the deets and the consumer reports. I like this friend. When I’m ready to do my research, I call her and say, “What stroller should I buy?” or “Who can I get to paint my house for a good price?”

She recently told me about a super-hero named Arturo who brings in a huge crew of guys, moves your furniture out of the way, tapes, paints, and moves all the furniture back – IN ONE DAY! He also charges less than half of what anyone else around here charges so its actually affordable to hire out. I’m not sure why he’s so cheap. I don’t really want to know if he’s involved in some sort of paint crime-ring. So if someone out there has details on this, please don’t tell me.

I got him out to our house for a price quote and decided I would slowly save up the money with what was “left over” from our budget every month (feel free to laugh openly). Well, the bid just sat and sat and finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I said, “Dan, we need to get this painting done. I’m gonna find some extra money somewhere.”

The next morning, I opened up some mail to find…you guessed it! Free money..enough to get the painting done. So here we are, choosing colors.

We’ve made our final decision. If you click on the photo and then mouse over the colors, it will tell you what we chose. One small hint:

In other fun fall news, we made it out to the pumpkin farm, a wondrous place full of fallish activities. A joyous time was had by all.

A ride on the tractor train

I think she’s stalking this one

Mission Accomplished! The “Farmer Judd” look on her face kills me (as in, “I got me this here punkin. I growed in mah-self”).

And even the littlest of peasants has cause to rejoice.

You really have to look at this. Thanks to Karli for sending me the link.

My Dad’s been driving down to Beaumont, Texas every Saturday with a chainsaw…..don’t jump to conclusions….. to help with hurricane cleanup efforts. Since he recently shaved his beard for the first time in many years, several of his friends from church worked alongside him, not knowing who he was.

Eventually some super-friendly guy who my dad knows quite well walked over and introduced himself, “Hi. I’m [Jo Shmoe]. I don’t believe we’ve met before.” My dad just shook his hand with a big smile, “Good to meet you, I’m [Daring Young Grandpa].” Everyone was in complete shock and totally embarrassed that they hadn’t recognized him. What a great joke!

Here’s another I heard recently (I’m pretty sure it’s not a true story):
A Panda walks into a bar, sits down and orders a sandwich. He eats, pulls out a gun, shoots the waiter and gets up to leave. When the bartender tries to stop him, the bear just says, “Hey, I’m a Panda. Look it up,” and storms out. The bartender opens the dictionary to panda: “A tree-climbing mammal of Asian origin, characterized by distinct black and white coloring. Eats shoots and leaves.”

Considering the current state of my health, this one just about did me in. Maybe it won’t seem funny in a week.

My lawyer Andrea (pronounced on-dray-ah) has an impeccable sense of timing. Our first meeting with her coincided with Laylee’s most infamous poop smearing incident to date. We discovered it 2 minutes before we were supposed to leave to name the beneficiaries in our will. Let’s just say that when Andrea asked who we wanted to leave all our earthly belongings to, “these people” did not appear to be likely candidates.

Now I’m dying, well at least I’m sick as a cheese, and yesterday I had my first major jaunt out into the world of the living — yes, it was a meeting with Andrea to sign my last will and testament. I do think I’m on the mend. Today I graduated to pants with an elastic waist. I’m almost there clothes-wise.

While I was out, I had to stop by Old Navy b/c, being a “preferred cardholder,” I had a $10 off coupon I HAD to use. They sure are tricky, those credit card people. It was a coupon for $10 off if you spend $50. Let’s just say I spent a tiiitch over $50. The kids can’t go naked, OKAY? Get off my back. When your 4 month old son is already wearing 9-12 month clothes, shopping becomes a major necessity. That card is actually pretty great, as far as rewards goes, if you shop at any or all of the 3 stores.

Which brings me to a point. Security. (Guffman fans unite!) My annoying thing of the week is credit card offers. Here are a few from the last 2 weeks that I haven’t already shredded. These people are major predators.

In a July Good Housekeeping article, Clare Ellis said, “Stop the credit card offers. The average household receives 60 offers in the mail each year. Thieves can steal these, fill out the forms and open a new account in your name. Call 888-567-8688 to stop these offers.” I haven’t done it yet but typing this up just reminded me.

Not that I’m against the plastic. My financial advisor suggested that I keep a couple of accounts open, with my name as the primary cardholder, that I pay off every month so if something happens to Dan I will still have a credit history separate from his. But, come on, do you really think I’m just gonna sign up with the person who sends me the most offers? This is one area where I would definitely suggest some real research and comparison. The option of debt is too scary.

Oh, and some updates –

Laylee just begged me into watching a movie this morning. So guess who stopped by? Yup, our friends who only stop by when I’m in my bathrobe, the house is a mess and I’ve given up and let her watch TV. The timing is incredible.

Also, a package just came in the mail from Parenting Magazine. The note obviously got to someone because I/Laylee am now the proud owner of a free Looney Toons dish set. Yahoo! It’s actually super-cute.