Did you know Satan lives at Chuck'e'Cheese's?

Tis the season of birthday parties.

Tonight we had a birthday party to attend which was being held at the scariest place on earth-----Chuck E. Cheese's.

I hate, hate, hate this place. (My mother taught me that you should never use this word when discussing a person or persons, but I think it is okay in this case as we are discussing a giant hip-hop mouse.)

I even hated this place when I was a kid. I got massive stomach cramps when we went there back in the days when I was a curtain climber, and I got stomach cramps tonight as an 'oh-so' worldly adult. I hated that grown adults became the root of evil as they let thier bully kids push in front of the younger ones to get on the rides or monopolize a given game. Of course, goon number one loves this place so he was completely oblivious to the nausea his mother was experiencing.

First off, the entrance into this joint is chained off and manned by some sweaty and not all-there teenager who is stamping the arms of the people that are looking to come in to spend thier hard earned cash on crap. What I find interesting is that the purpose of the stamping is to insure that the children and adults of a said group are all stamped with the same number so that no adult can leave with a child that is not of thier own group (i.e. we are trying to prevent child abduction crimes on the hallowed groud of Mr. Chuck E Cheese).

Well, as one astute parent pointed out to me over a sugary drink that I am sure is spiked with Ritalin, the teenager at the intake point can get a bit confused when the consumers start entering the establishment in droves. She noted that her child was stamped with the number that matched the adult standing in front of her which was not her child's guardian but was a school acquaintance, so she decided not to throw a fit. Good thing because I am sure her logic would have jolted this teenager back into a reality with which he surely couldn't cope.

So, we move on to the interior of hell. It contains an assortment of games and rides that target both children and adults. These games require special mouse/Satan tokens.

We were in luck as I had a number of tokens left over from our last visit two years ago. We had these tokens because the last time we were here we left in a mad panic because the joint had filled up quickly with the kid equivalent of the scum of the earth.

Cole and I had a bag full of tokens and I was determined to use them all so that we did not have any reason to visit this place again. (I learned at the end of our visit that there is no way to shake all the tokens because upon leaving Chuck E. Cheese there is a paid employee whose sole purpose is to place one last token into the hand of our innocent children so they can try and convince thier parents that they have to return to try thier fate.)

Anyway, given my efficient personality (with a tinge of bootlegger/gambling blood in me), I immediately scouted out the games that would give us the most bang (tickets) for our buck (stupid Satan tokens). You see, Chuck E. Cheese's gives thier patrons these precious tickets when you excel at or play a given game. These tickets can be used to buy incredible and momentously fun items (all made in China) from thier store before you exit through the chain monintored by the imbecile. And guess what? It only takes 4,000,000,000,000 tickets to buy a whistle. What a deal?!!!?

I decided the best place for me to covertly use up tokens was the Monopoly game (kind of ironic isn't it...see paragraph two).

Cole decided that he was really into the 'Deal or No Deal' game. (Give me a break!!!...of course Cole loved this game. Numbers, boxes opening to reveal more numbers, and hot chicks in low cut dresses.)

So, we comprimised. Cole played a few games of 'Deal or No Deal' with no real big ticket wins, and then I headed off to Monopoly. Cole could have cared less that I was using tokens out of my seemingly endless bag, so he headed for the play gym that is mounted into the ceiling of the establishment. (I actually imagined one of the many children that were obviously past the age limit for this play gym causing the ceiling to collapse upon the diners below. See...Satan was influencing my thoughts.)

I plugged my token into the game...waited...and pressed the button so the light would stop in the most adventageous spot.

I really didn't care.

Which is why I hit the frickin' jackpot.

Yes, I WON!!! I won big. Tickets, those useless tickets, came pouring out of the machine. I am talking about hundreds of tickets. Why, oh why couldn't I have been at the Beau Rivage!

People stopped and stared. My win enticed other patrons to play this big payoff game. Other mothers stopped and stared while thier children looked on with envy because I was holding a gold mine and the tickets kept coming.

I couldn't wait to show Cole.

Cole jumped out of the gym, looked at me and said:

"Yeah...that's nice. Ummm. Can I go ride the monster truck and then take another turn on the Deal game."

What the ....

Needless to say, we left with a whistle that Cole was not as proud of as I would have liked.

And...did you know...that people actually eat from the salad bar at Chuck E. Cheese. I am sorry, but if that isn't proof that Satan lives there than I don't know what it is!!!!

What I won't miss....

Okay! I love the middle ground of almost any discussion. So, yesterday I thought about those things I will miss once we leave our current homestead, and today I will highlight those things to which I can't wait to wave good-bye.

One word.

ROADKILL.

Here in Florida there seems to be more roadkill than all the other places I have lived combined. I don't think that my issues are just wrapped up in the quantity of the roadkill, but also with the variety of the roadkill. Well, I am here to report that the most disgusting and horribly traumatizing roadkill of all the varietal is that of the armadillo. By the way, Florida is not lacking in armadillos which equals to abundant car targets.

There is something about seeing that cracked shell that brings on the shivers. Not only do I shudder to look at the remains, but I also can't help of thinking of the time of impact. You know the drivers of the cars that hit these animals MUST hear a distinctive noise as they pass over these armored victims. Based on my scientific count of armadillo roadkill, the sound probably haunts at least 60 million drivers.

I also won't miss my oldest goon re-living the mornings roadkill count with the other boys at school who seem equally fascinated with the gore.

PS: Don't you dare write me a nasty post about the picture..and humane rights for animals. I love animals. I just don't love them dead.

Soaking it all in

Now that we are in the process of leaving the sunny state of Florida, I find myself looking out at the scenery that surrounds us with more appreciative eyes. Even when I was a little girl moving on to the next duty station, I would find one special thing to commit to my sensory memory that I could later always associate with that particular geographic area.

In northern Virginia, it was the smell, colors and sounds of the dry fall leaves that had quietly drifted to the forest ground behind our small home. In North Carolina, it is the strong sea grass that seems to dance and sway in the wind that rolls off the water. In Hawaii, it was the Plumeria flower. I will always remember the way they made our front yard smell in the spring when they opened their silky soft white and yellow petals. The sap from those said flowers will also stick in my memory...literally and figuratively. In Va Beach, the spring azaleas paint almost every suburban street with a pretty palette of colors. The colors of the azaleas are almost as predictable as the brown mucky mess they leave once the flowers fall to the ground a few weeks later. In the blue ridge mountains of North Carolina, it will forever be the memory of the wind; the smell was so clean and pure and the lullaby sounds it made as it whistled through every hollow and ridge sang me soundly to sleep every night I wasn't up writing another blessed essay.

From Jacksonville, I will commit to memory the dignified beauty and graceful elegance of the Spanish moss. It drips from all the most majestic trees as if its presence on their branches signifies a special type of worthiness.

I love its wispiness. I love how it falls over everything like a puffy gray icing. I love how it conjures pictures of ladies in big hats sipping mint iced tea while lazily rocking away on a big wraparound porch.

Watching it sway in the small breezes brings on phrases like: "Dadgumit!", "Lawsy and Mercy Me!", "Ya'll", "Bless your lil' ole heart", and "He's as worthless as tits on a boarhog" (this last one is from the vernacular of Chuck Herndon to which I will devote a future blog entry.)

Good Times

Last night our neighbors threw a going away party for our family and another on our street that are moving out of the area this summer. It was lovely...

The children playing out in the street under the stars believeing that the adults are none the wiser as they sneak up to steal more cookies from the dessert table.

The adults sat in thier circle chatting about life's events while laughing and comiserating about life's challenges.

I am not sure if we will ever live in such a family friendly atmosphere again and this makes me sad.

I never seem to appreciate the place where we live until we find ourselves packing up to leave. I really need to work on this.

Anyway...to wax poetic a bit:

The other family re-locating this summer was not able to attend last night as they needed to return to Missouri to attend to family business that comes from the passing of a loved one. I missed them at our little gathering.

As I sat taking a brief glimpse at the strikingly clear almost summer night, I was taken in by the brightness of the stars which made me think of the Native American belief that our loved ones' souls leave this earth to inhabit the sky and stars.

It is comforting to think of your loved ones always there looking down on you in the form of a star. It certainly makes wishes upon stars a little more meaningful.

Recently, we have been surrounded by a myriad of friends that are struggling with family illnesses and family loss. We have spent many nights discussing/praying/thinking about and for these friends to find the strength and peace they need.

Human suffering is universal and touches us all at some time or another. It seems to me, it is what we do for one another during those times that can really make the difference in our world and helps me to get closer to an answer to the age old question: Are we basically good or evil? I believe in the good.

What I hope to take away from all of this is that we need each other not just in the bad times but also in the good times, and I will try and enjoy the good times as they happen.

Spackle

A pause in my day's activities brought me to this oh so momentous question (prepare yourself it is earth shattering): How the heck did spackle get its name?

Is it a verb? Is it a combination of words made up from the ingredients contained within said spackle? Has its name developed over time or was it patented under the given name "spackle"? Just wonderin'.

Summer Magic Weaving Through the Willows

I had a wonderful date tonight. My wonderful date was with a tall, dark, and thoughtful male. He is sensitive and strong and extremely clever. Can you guess? No, not Boomer. My date was with my dimpled goon, Cole.

Trey was on call, so Cole and I planned to stay up late together and watch a movie. We got Jack to bed complete with a night-time serenade from Cole. I am not sure what the song was but it resembled the melody of the "Mexican Hat Dance". Whatever...it worked. Jack was happy and quiet in his room, so Cole and I set out to find our movie.

Cole and I decided to watch a movie that was a favorite of mine when me and my sister were little girls: 'Summer Magic' starring Haley Mills and Burl Ives. My sister and I were Haley Mills wannabees. We pink and purple puffy heart loved the old timey, fun loving, music filled movies in which she found her niche: The Parent Trap (the original not the one with the pre-tormented young Lindsay Lohan), In Search of the Castaways, Moonspinners, Summer Magic, That Darn Cat. Anyway you cut it, we thought Haley Mills was the bees' knees.

Yes, we were brainwashed...by my mother. She too used to love Haley Mills, so in addition to making us watch horribly cheesey AMC movies like The Enchanted Cottage we were exposed at a young age to the small collection of movies starring Haley Mills. We used to sing her songs in full regalia in front of our extended family members. I even believe there was some intricate choreography involved (Bris, correct me if I am wrong... and if I am wrong, I know you will have no problem in setting me straight).

Anyway, I was so excited that I was going to get to share my very girly movie with my goon. I don't get to do these things that often, so I jumped at the chance to have a little estrogen influenced bonding. Well, he sat through the first 20 minutes pretty well and then looked at me puzzled and said, "Mommy, you didn't tell me that this was another olden day movie. Can I get my Legos?". So, Cole built Lego houses and I watched my movie. This particular movie sends me back to summer nights in Hawaii when my sister and I used to curl up on on the mama-san chairs, sing the songs at the top of our lungs, and munch on beef jerky and oriental crackers.
It wasn't the same without my sister.

As I sat missing my sister, I started to look forward to the relationship that I can see developing between my boys. They are finally starting to truly play and enjoy each other. I pray that they find the same type of love and friendship that I have with my sister because they too will move every two to four years, and they too will find solace with those transitions in each other.

I am so excited that at the end of my upcoming transition from Florida to Virginia will find me home with my titta.

All Pau!

PS: Mom did you realize that Dorothy Maguire is in both The Enchanted Cottage and Summer Magic? Weird!

Two Wheelin'

Goon number one has recently expressed an interest in riding his bike without the training wheels. We were so excited that he wanted to take on this milestone that we planned Trey's day off this week around our expedition to teach Cole how to ride a 'big boy bike'.

Knowing our son as we do and taking into account our own high stress personalities, we wanted to make sure that everything was as low pressure as possible to help procure a more successful outcome. So, we went out and got some pizza and a six pack of beer (for the adults not the children), packed the car up with a blanket and a cooler, and headed out to the local soccer field to practice with out training wheels. We decided grass although harder to pedal upon would be softer to fall upon, and the soccer field although more public than our little cul-de-sac less traumatic than biting the dust in front of all the curious neighborhood kiddos.

Well, we didn't even drink a beer because Cole was off and pedaling on his own on his first try. My goon is a 'big boy bike' natural! Maybe the next Lance Armstrong...or maybe not, but here is a picture montage of Cole's success.

Old Fashioned Picnicking


READY!




SET!



GOOOOO!



Oh, sweet success!



When can I get one of those!!!!!!?????



We are going to try on the pavement tomorrow....only after we get him in a helmet and long pants...and some football pads...OR, better yet, body armor.