Cracking Up

A little while ago I made a plumber’s crack joke. Pretty funny, right? Then I spent a week and change in Raleigh, NC, visiting my brother, and we had an interesting conversation. We were at the exceedingly awesome Marbles Children’s Museum where we spotted a Mom squatting and chatting with her kid. She was late 30s or so, not too far out of shape, but her shorts were hanging low and there was some serious visible crack.

This was the conversation inspiration – the visible crack, I mean. See, I told my brother just how much Mom crack I’ve seen in 9 or so years of parenthood. Seriously. I don’t know what it is, but a lot of women, when they become Mom’s, seem to lose all sensation in their buttocks. I mean, that must be it, right? I know that I am very aware when my rear is exposed. And I admit, there have been a couple rare circumstances when I had to let my own crack show.

For example, one time I was cutting wood. I had the chainsaw halfway through the downed tree, about 8 inches to go, and my jeans started to slip. I was in the woods with no one around for hundreds of yards. Totally invisible from the street. And still,I was aware of my visible crack. Like, maybe my wife would come calling for me because lunch was ready or the sweepstakes people were on the phone. And I actually remember it. Yes, I actually can remember individual instances over the last 38 years when I momentarily bared the top couple inches of my butt.

So how can so many people just let it go? It’s a little depressing. Like, when do you just give up on being aware? When do you get your degree in not caring? Are there graduation announcements for it? Somebody, please just whack me with a mallet if I ever stop caring about my visible split.

I thank you for your support.

The plumbers came at the crack of dawn

Well, not exactly, but they did arrive pretty early. I just wanted to write PLUMBER and CRACK in the same sentence… cuz that’s how I roll.

We’re having more work done to correct the nonsense perpetrated by the builder (now in the wind) and the contractors who did our addition (apparently physically unable to step foot on our property ever again).

Someone told me it was the fault of manufactured homes. I pointed out that we actually live in a modular home, which is pretty different. And also, the only problems we have are with stuff that was done on site by contractors – you know, the purveyors of the stick build and detractors of the modular build. So… maybe they should get their “do it right” hats on and leave their “deny my screwups by making cracks about the modern way of doing things” visor on the work bench in their garage at home.

Shouldn’t have napped

I am confused by water. Not the water itself so much as all the machines and chemicals and brouhaha available to mess with it. We have a well and that works pretty well for us. We also have a filter on the incoming line because we once discovered that sometimes the water coming in from the well has some fine sediment in it. And that crap adds up.

We have hard water. We deal with that with a soft bristled toothbrush and vinegar when the crust develops on the fixtures because I don’t want a water softener. I’ve just heard too many questionable things about water softeners. And wany, I’m supposed to watch my salt intake, do I relaly need to be drinking homemade sea water just to keep my faucet sparkly a little longer?

The thing that gets me is this reverse osmosis stuff. I know I should have stayed awake more in science class. It has something to do with stuff leeching into other stuff or something

Eavesdropping on rocket scientists…

I overheard a wonderful conversation in the Dollar Store the other day. Two plus-sized women were talking about the safest diet pills that work. I couldn’t help myself, had to get a closer look. It turns out they were browsing the selection of energy booster shots. I looked in their shared cart. Eeeek!

At least a  dozen packages of microwaveable link sausage (I don’t get why they buy that at the Dollar Store when the same size name brand package is 80 cents at Stop and Shop), two flats of big plastic Arizona Iced Tea bottles (I love that stuff, but when I checked the info one time there was like 800 calories in half the bottle – youch!) and a bunch of mini-tubes of bubblegum flavor toothpaste.

My last post about camp…

Well, maybe. I mean, right now I intend this to be my last moaning about other parents, but who knows? Maybe I’ll come up with something else juicy and interesting. This is another cookout story. While I sat with the boys on the grass, clearly not as special as the folding chair people, there was a small group behind us. About 10 feet behind us. A Mom and two boys. They were sitting at the base of the flagpole on the small concrete pad that supported the flagpole. It was a small space, and I thought possibly a little weird. I don’t know if it is disrespectful to lean against the flagpole while you’re eating a hot dog, but I figured I’d play it safe and hit the grass.

Anyway, I’m sitting there, chatting with my boys and enjoying the baked beans, when a sudden pain flares in the middle of my back. I yelped and whirled around. About 8 feet behind me was a kid twirling around. He had just randomly hurled a rock, and did not even realize he had hit me with it. It was doubly annoying in that you didn’t need a rangefinder GPS to know you were located a literal stone’s throw from dozens of people, and if you were going to launch a golf ball sized rock, point blank, you should probably point it at the woods. Not the crowd.

I barked, “You want to watch it, Buddy?” in a fairly passive aggressive annoyed tone, choking down expletives and the desire to throw a rock back at the clueless brat. The thing that really ticked me off, though, was the Mother. She looked away as I turned and mumbled something about “being careful” to the kid, who’d only realized that he had done something stupid and dangerous after I scolded him. and maybe I’m projecting here, but he actually seemed to have a little bit of that “you’re not my Dad, you can’t discipline me” attitude plastered over his otherwise blank countenance.

She didn’t scold or chastise the kid. She didn’t offer an apology or encourage her child to apologize. She did get up with rock boy and her other kid and attempot to discreetly leave about 45 seconds later. They were right behind me and I was fairly aware of their presence (planning to dodge the next missile that I figured there was at least a 50/50 chance of being flung).

What really irks me about it is that she clearly knew her kid had made a mistake and she was embarrased by it because she chose to take off as soon as she possibly could, when my back was turned. Maybe I should have called her out. Maybe I should have whirled around and said “Hey lady, your kid hit me in the back with a huge rock and it really hiurt. Don’t you think he should apologize?”

Maybe I should have done something like that. I doubt it would have done anything for her. Old dog, new tricks, and all that. But maybe the kid would have felt put on the spot, and maybe he would have learned a lesson.

I love how I end up blaming myself for letting someone else’s kid get away with doing something for which they should be reprimanded. But it is a real problem when adults witness wrongdoings and choose to flee the situation rather than dealing with it.

Another camp week

You have to love dropping the kids off at camp. It’s a wonderful opportunity to hang with fellow Americans. This week at scouting camp, though, there was a surprisingly small number of people in the market for the best weightloss pills. Still, somebody might want to get some of these people a book, because they could surely use some learnin’. I know I sound judgemental, as usual, but some of the nonsense that goes on… it can be trying on the old patience, if you know what I mean.

The thing that was driving me nuts the most on Monday morning was all the coffee cups. At least 2 out of 3 drop off moms had a ginormous cup from Dunkin’ Donuts or Starbucks. I can’t think of a location for either chain within 20 miles of the camp, so I have to ask, how long do they nur