Frantic Feeding Frenzy

It’s become an unofficial contest.

A challenge of sorts.

How quickly can these two boys of mine eat all the food in the house?

Or better yet…

All the newly purchased groceries?

Before they’re even out of the shopping bags?

Last week, I bought an overflowing cart full of groceries on Saturday.

We were nearly out of food by Tuesday.

Almost nothing left for dinner.

Almost nothing left to pack for school lunches.

One over-dramatic child resorted to drinking from an expired gallon of water from our makeshift storm shelter closet.

(Wait… Water actually expires?!?)

What’s next on the to-eat list, Jett’s dog food?

At least The Bigly Bestest doesn’t eat all his food in one sitting.

Gotta love teenagers.

Especially boys.

The time it takes teenage boys to eat seems to be directly proportionate to the quantity.

For instance:

A box of eight waffles will get devoured in approximately eight seconds.

Which averages out to one second per waffle.

And a six-pack of yogurt cups will last all of six seconds.

This pattern continues in a sickening whirlwind for several minutes.

Until all that’s left are raisins.

And so they move on to rummaging in my purse.

Until they gleefully discover a tin of mints.

Snacking on mints.

Wow.

At least these two haven’t yet resorted to drinking maple syrup out of the jar for a quick pick-me-up.

Sheesh.

They’ll claim that there’s nothing to eat, when clearly there is something still left.

Sure, it may not always be their first choice.

But when you’re snacking on mints, is that really the time to be picky?

How can you tell me you refuse to eat blackberries?

So don’t tell me there’s no food in the house when there are perfectly good berries here.

Eat the damn berries!

Oh, you’re starving?

But not enough to eat that delicious asparagus sauté , huh?

Or some plain yogurt?

Well, that’s fine.

More for me!

And whatever we don’t eat, we apparently save for the ants.

That’s right.

Ants.

Entire freaking colonies of ants.

Because we have yet to master the art of properly closing bags when we’re done snacking.

And so they march across the bottom shelf of the pantry, systematically working their way up the shelves like some kind of microscopic parade.

Until they’ve effectively invaded every last item in the kitchen pantry.

Cereal boxes.

Crackers.

Cheese puffs.

Jett’s special dog treats.

Well.

At least there was hardly any food left to begin with.

~Happy Friday, friends! Have a great weekend!~

Actual footage from our mealtime frenzies.

Actual footage from our mealtime frenzies.

Driving Mr. Mascot, Part 2

Slow down.

Slow down!!

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SLOW THE @&*% DOWN!!!

With 30 minutes to spare after dropping my younger child off at his guitar lesson…

It was the perfect opportunity to continue working with my older son (a.k.a. Mascot Boy) on his driving skills.

And so he took the wheel.

Figuring it was only three miles from the music school to our house, it wouldn’t necessarily be an unreasonable walk for my younger one if scary driver Mascot Boy and I didn’t make it back alive from driving practice.

Unfortunately, the fact that it’s been unseasonably hot out made it a less than optimal scenario.

But it’s always good to have a plan, right?

Mr. Mascot decided he’d like to practice in a shopping parking lot that day.

Did you know different rules apply in parking lots?

Namely, there are no rules .

Especially in a Walmart parking lot.

Between vehicles blindly pulling out in front of other traffic with no regard to right of way, and overall mayhem in general…

The very notion of safe driving seems to go right down the toilet.

All I knew is that I sure as hell didn’t want to die in the Walmart parking lot.

I’d rather get eaten by my dog.

Not that my precious Jett would ever eat me.

But still.

Dying at Walmart/in the Walmart parking lot is definitely not the way I’d like to go.

Especially with a 16-year-old driver behind the wheel.

And not only does this 16-year-old believe he already knows everything there is possibly to know about driving…

I’ve somehow recently ended up with two backseat drivers whenever I’m driving.

Because even though my 13-year-old hasn’t had any formal driving instruction, he too  believes he now magically knows everything there is to know about driving.

Specifically, that he and his brother know everything.

And I, the driver with two decades of experience, know nothing.

As if I suddenly need coaching on how to safely maneuver a vehicle.

That didn’t feel like a complete stop.

You forgot your turn signal! Right in front of that cop over there!

I’m pretty sure even I have better judgement than you!

Meanwhile, Mr. Mascot has taken a liking to barreling full-speed toward red lights.

I’m starting to think I ought to be wearing a blindfold when I’m in the passenger seat.

He attempted to park next to the only car in the back row of the parking lot.

Which happened to be a BMW vaguely resembling The Batmobile.

Which happened to be one that we really can’t afford to gently nudge from behind or do a drive-by mirror sideswipe on.

After one unsuccessful attempt of parking straight in between the lines, I strongly encouraged him to find a different spot.

Away from other cars.

All other cars.

After surviving the Walmart parking lot, we headed back to the music school to pick up child number two.

We arrived safely.

The parking lot was under heavy construction.

So we soared over a massive mud bump, Dukes of Hazzard style.

But ultimately, we didn’t get pulled over by any cops.

And even more importantly, we survived.

So it’s a win.

I’ve come to realize that my son’s learning to drive comes at a price.

The expense of fuel.

And the expense of my sanity.

Which has long been precariously dangling by a thin thread.

Oh, but at least I’m getting a break from driving, right?

If your idea of a break is anxiety, panic, or a heart attack, then yes.

Thanks to me, my dear child, you are gaining experience.

Thanks to you, my dear child, I seem to be losing experience.

Or my sanity.

One of the two.

Or both.

~Happy Saturday, friends! Click here if you’d like to read Part 1 of our exciting driving experiences. Have a great weekend, and watch out for nervous Student  Drivers and their equally terrified parents! Haha!~

The Danger Zone... it's a real thing.

The Danger Zone… it’s a real thing.

The Baddest Apple

I swear, eating while distracted is every bit as hazardous as driving in your sleep.

You know those little preservative packets in packages of food?

They’re called desiccant packets.

But I’ve always called them Do Not Eat packets.

Have you ever wondered what happens if you consume a Do Not Eat packet?

It’s not really something I ever gave much thought to, personally.

Until recently.

The thing is, I may have accidentally eaten one.

You’re probably wondering how that’s even possible.

Either you ate it or you didn’t, right?

Oh, I’m still scratching my head on this one, too.

It all started innocently enough.

I was ravenous, so I bought a bag of freeze-dried Fuji apples to devour on my drive home from work.

Shoveling handfuls of apples into my mouth, I found myself backed up in traffic about 10 minutes into my drive.

Figuring I had time to pass while waiting at a red light, I turned over the bag to read the nutrition facts.

Yeah, I’m weird like that.

It was a single serving bag.

Which was great, because the thing was dangerously close to empty already.

At least the ingredients were simple enough:

Freeze dried apples, ascorbic acid, and citric acid.

Not bad at all.

And 220% of vitamin C per serving.

Whew!

More than enough to ward off any threat of scurvy.

More importantly, it was made in the USA.

Because if I wanted to eat a toxic Chinese import, I’d chow down a box of so-called “non-toxic” crayons.

Or one of those questionable McDonald’s Happy Meal toys with 500 microscopic parts.

On second thought, those toxic little toys could also lead to asphyxiation.

Disturbingly enough, they aren’t not the only things that could present a safety hazard.

Further down on the apple bag was a warning.

Just some nonsense about a desiccant packet.

Yada yada yada.

Hey, wait a minute…

Holy crap!

The Do Not Eat packet!

Where the hell was the Do Not Eat packet?!?

Still sitting in an endless line of traffic, I dared a frantic peek into the bag.

There was hardly anything left in it.

Mostly crumbs, really.

And no sign of the packet.

Maybe they had forgotten to put one in this package?

Or…

Could I seriously have just eaten the stupid thing?

I mean, really?

How would I have missed that?

Even among generous fistfuls of apples, surely I’d have noticed a difference in texture or flavor.

Especially once biting into the packet and unleashing sand-like particles.

Were my senses that off?

Were my standards that low?

And I may very well have reached a new low with this dilemma.

You might think I’d have been more concerned for my safety.

After all, I could have ingested a potentially hazardous substance, for all I knew.

Yet, I found the whole thing mildly amusing.

Did this kind of stuff actually happen to other people?

Or was it truly just me?

By this point, I’m pretty well convinced it’s just me.

When I arrived home 20 minutes later, I Googled “accidental ingestion of desiccant packet”.

Which immediately directed me to the poison control website.

The information was surprisingly reassuring.

Apparently, one can safely scarf down the equivalent of an entire shoebox-worth of those packets and likely only experience stomach discomfort.

I can (almost) understand accidentally wolfing down one of those suckers…

But who would unknowingly devour a whole box of that crap?

A dog, maybe?

One with lower standards than me, perhaps?

Continuing on with my online self-diagnostics, I grabbed a couple of mini blueberry muffins.

Still needing a little more reassurance, I decided to test out a theory.

Leaving the wrapper intact, I made a simulated attempt at eating a muffin.

Would I notice when I bit into a chunk of the thin paper?

Would I?

I was genuinely intrigued now.

I immediately noticed the texture difference between the yummy moist muffin and the grainy paper.

But then, I also wasn’t distracted the same way I had been while driving.

I still wasn’t convinced.

A tray of sugar packets caught my eye a few days later at a restaurant.

I swiped one and shoved it in my purse.

To test something out a little later, just for kicks.

Let’s just say I didn’t get too far with that one.

The paper had the consistency of notebook paper, and the sugar felt like grains of sand.

But there was no mistaking a foreign substance’s assault on my palate.

Even so, a Do Not Eat packet was still smaller and not as grainy as a packet of sugar.

Whether I did or did not eat a desiccant packet still remains a mystery.

But the fact of the matter is, I’m more or less okay after maybe or maybe not having eaten one.

I think.

~Happy Friday, friends! Have a great weekend!~

Do not eat? A little late for that, don't you think?

Do not eat? A little late for that, don’t you think?

(The Baddest Apple originally appeared on Comically Quirky on 09/17/15.)

Super Pooper Pukey Pups

Aren’t doggies the best?

They give sweet hugs.

And affectionate kisses.

They keep us warm on chilly days.

But sometimes, they’re kind of…

Well, gross.

They cram strange things in their mouths.

They sniff crotches and lick butts.

They poop and pee whenever and wherever they see fit.

They inhale their food in one big gulp.

And then sometimes puke it right back up.

Then they eat their pile of puked up food.

Because there’s nothing more appetizing than eating dinner and noticing your doggie quietly sitting in the corner and chewing on…

What, exactly?

A spider?

Oh, if only.

Nope.

It’s a pile of vomit.

Of course it is.

And apparently it’s mmm mmm good.

So lovely.

But at least dogs love to be active!

You know what’s the best part about taking doggies for a walk?

Watching them lift their hind legs to an astounding assortment of things!

Basketball hoops.

Real estate signs.

High voltage electric boxes.

It’s all fair game.

But it’s one thing to pee on fire hydrants…

And another altogether to plop dead center in some random neighbor’s front yard and proceed to take the biggest dump in history.

And so you might find yourself on your hands and knees as you valiantly try to do the right thing.

Which is hard, because you realize you’ve completely run out of doggie waste bags.

But luck for you, there’s exactly one crumpled tissue left in your pocket!

Of course, it’s not the easy to grab kind of doggie doo.

And so your efforts ultimately result in ripping out fistfuls of some random neighbor’s well-manicured lawn.

For the sake of courtesy and thoroughness.

And because, once again, it’s the right thing to do.

The cleaning up part, that is.

But because you’re working with one measly tissue, keeping your hands clean during cleanup is utterly out of the question.

And so spitting on your hands and rubbing them together vigorously is your only means of “washing” up.

Why is it that you never carry hand sanitizer with you?

Ugh.

You head home in defeat, with your poopie hands and one paradoxically happy doggie in tow.

But in this modern time of digital technology, you can rest assured the entire freak show of chaos has been recorded on someone’s home security camera.

And they will watch the video footage later.

And they will be baffled by what on earth it is you’re doing while your happy doggie stands by, kicking up dirt and licking nearby trees while you’re crouched down in their yard yanking up their grass with a filthy-looking tissue.

So much for always doing the right thing.

Maybe it’s better to just stick to your own backyard, huh?

Oh well.

Pets can be downright messy and gross.

But damn, they’re just so irresistibly adorable!

~Happy Friday, friends! Have a great weekend!~

Ah! The perfect place for a little hind leg-lifting action!

Ah! The perfect place for a little hind leg-lifting action!

Failing at Fashion: Denim in Distress

So, I almost strangled myself to death the other day.

In a fitting room at Kohls.

With a sundress.

It’s true.

The sadistic contraption had way the hell too many straps.

Clothing and injury.

These two things evidently go hand in hand.

I’ve said  it before.

And I’ll gladly say it again.

I don’t understand the world of fashion.

Not one teeny, tiny bit.

Upside down jeans are poised to be the next big trend in denim.

Whoa.

And not the good kind of whoa.

More like, woe.

Upside down pants with upside down pockets and useless belt loops that graze your ankles?

Hmm.

Too kooky.

The best part, though?

They’re only $495!

But at least they cover one’s butt.

Unlike crotchless jeans.

Which are essentially a couple of scraps of denim, held together by…

Chains.

And complete with a fully exposed rear, to boot.

Definitely worth $142, don’t ya think?

Or how about the practically nonexistent jeans that couldn’t?

Couldn’t cover a thing, that is.

With 90 percent less fabric than the average pair of jeans, the $223 extreme cutout jeans with exposed pockets and exposed butt cheeks are really something.

Or not much of anything, depending on how you look at it.

And let’s talk about floss jeans.

Described as extreme lace-up jeans…

The floss-like threads comprising the leg portion are essentially thin bungee cords that wrap around the legs.

They look insanely time-consuming to put on or get off.

And downright dangerous.

It would be more efficient to wedge a wild and wiggly lunatic into a straight jacket than to squirm and squeeze your way into a pair of floss jeans.

At least they’re only $168.

Nice, right?

Ha!

For that kind of money, I expect clothing to…

a) Not to be safety endangering.

b) Not make me die of hypothermia from lack of coverage.

c) To cover my literal butt.

Is this so unreasonable?

Oh wait.

Maybe that’s just, like, not cool.

Or something.

I don’t know.

I’m not a fan of holey stuff.

Especially paying for intentionally damaged goods in the name of fashion.

Not with my hard-earned money, thank you very much.

I refuse to pay for “distressed” monstrosities.

And for heaven’s sake, no more buttless jeans!

Oh, now here’s a real winner!

Clear knee jeans.

For only $95.

Complete with…

Stylish knee windows!

And fully covered butt and crotch areas!

Jackpot!

But why stop at clear knees…

When you can rock a full pair of clear “jeans” for only $100.

They’re pants… without actually being pants.

Or how about half jeans, a.k.a. one leg jeans?

They’re perfect for those who can’t decide whether they’re hot or cold.

Nothing like half a pair of pants.

With even more butt cheeky exposure!

Oh, and  let’s not forget about zipper jeans that zip all the way around.

Presumably to air out your cheeks at your discretion.

Wow.

What a mess.

Fashion fads.

They come and they go.

But the fashion industry is clearly flying by the seat of their buttless, crotchless pants.

~Happy Friday, friends! Anyone in the market for pantless pants? If so, you’re in luck! I’m sure some designer, somewhere out there, is busy turning your dream into reality! Haha! Have a great weekend!~

Pants? Torture device? You be the judge...

Pants? Torture device? You be the judge…

Spatulas and Spiderman

Crash!

There’s only one explanation for this.

My house clearly was designed for a ginormous NBA player.

While Shaquille O’Neal would likely be in his element here…

I can’t reach past the second shelf in any of my kitchen cabinets.

Not easily, anyway.

And so I climb.

Or I whack things off those higher shelves.

With a spatula.

Which is why sometimes things go flying off the shelves and hit the ground instead of landing in my hand as intended.

Like that glass I just tried to knock off the third shelf.

Thank goodness it wasn’t the fourth shelf, or everything might’ve come crashing down at my feet.

Usually I can thread a spatula through the handle of a mug and hoist it down like a firefighter valiantly rescuing someone from a burning building.

But not everything in the cabinet has handles.

And so it doesn’t always work out quite the way I plan.

Evident by the occasional crashes and thuds.

Cake pans.

Touch up paint cans.

These things are all out of my reach range.

The cereal boxes are also well out of my reach, in the pantry.

But I don’t feel bad whacking those off the shelf with my spatula.

Because at least if they hit the ground, they don’t shatter and spew shards everywhere.

Sure, there might be a few rogue Cheerios on the loose.

But it’s preferable to glass shards all over the floor.

In case you’re wondering, I do have a ladder.

Several, actually.

But I don’t always feel like hauling one around.

By the time I locate one, haul it over, yank it open…

I could’ve already scaled the kitchen counter faster than Spiderman and grabbed whatever I needed.

So yeah.

I save ladders for more pressing matters.

Like for when the fire alarm goes off in the middle of the night and I’m a solid two feet away from even reaching the damn thing to deactivate it.

Fortunately, I’m a pro at climbing random fixtures.

I seem to be part Spiderman, part monkey.

Wait.

Would this make me a spider monkey?!

Hmm.

At barely over five feet tall, so many things are just out of my reach.

And so I am forced to resort to climbing onto the kitchen and bathroom counters to gain a few inches.

Or feet.

But not just at home, either.

I also scale the shelves at various stores without a second thought.

Oh, come  on.

Whose bright idea was it to stock products  so far above my head?

I rest my case.

I gotta do what I gotta do.

Especially since I don’t bring my handy spatula to the store with me.

Because that’d be weird, right?

The mighty spatula.

Small but powerful.

Just like me.

The Spiderman monkey girl.

I can’t reach much of anything.

And I’m okay with that.

On the bright side…

At least I’m rarely in danger of hitting my head on a doorway.

And yet I still manage to whack my head on car doors.

Go figure.

~Happy Friday, friends! Have a great weekend!~

An actual image of me in action...

An actual image of me in action…

Back to School Blues

It’s that time again.

Back to school time.

Yippee.

More like back to gaaah!

Can you feel the enthusiasm?

Yeah.

Me, neither.

Nobody wants to get out of bed bright and early for school.

Including me.

Especially me.

The novelty has already worn off.

And it hasn’t even been a full week.

Sure, my boys have been complaining of acute boredom for the last ten weeks.

But rarely is a child so bored that they eagerly anticipate returning to school.

My younger son seems especially over it already.

By day two, his alarm clock lay on the floor in pieces, its batteries scattered haphazardly.

It’s no fun for me, either.

There’s the stressful challenge of packing lunches they’ll actually eat.

And having to make sure they’re sanitary enough to be seen in public.

And worst of all…

Homework.

That’s no fun.

For anyone.

Not only that…

Yesterday, we had to do a second round of school supply shopping.

Because once obviously was neither fun enough nor expensive enough.

Or sanity-endangering enough.

Hooray for Walmart and their disorderly heaps of leftover back to school crap!

I mean, supplies.

And so it’s back to battling the clock.

And traffic.

And Walmart.

Yikes.

But now that the kids are back in school, it’s a great time for me to work on catching up on all the things I’d fallen behind on this summer.

Like cleaning.

And writing.

And reading.

And more cleaning.

Oh, who am I kidding?

I’ve somehow managed to fall behind in life as a whole.

I’d probably settle for catching up on sleep, at this point.

But there’s no rest for the weary.

Or the worried.

It’s hard to sleep while my mind gallops off like a crack-addicted race horse.

By the same token…

It’s also hard to accomplish anything that way.

So much to do.

So little motivation to do any of it.

But, hey.

At least my kids are being more productive at the moment.

They’re probably learning something  at school.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

So long, lazy days of summer.

Hello, back to school madness.

If nothing else, it’s back to devising ways of embarrassing my kids at school functions.

I suppose that counts as being productive.

Right?

~Happy weekend, friends! And Happy Birthday to my favorite mascot boy! Woo hoo!~

Augh! Not this again! Didn't summer just start?!

Augh! Not this again! Didn’t summer just start?!

Perilous Parallels

Turn the wheel!

Keep turning the wheel!

More!!!

And the driving instruction fun continues.

Raise your hand if you remember how to parallel park!

Aww, come on.

It’s just like riding a bike!

Really!

I mean, sort of…

As of three days ago, I still had a vague idea of how to parallel park a car.

More or less.

I hadn’t made any legitimate attempts at parallel parking since my own driving test at the age of 16.

And even then, I’d been instructed to park between two snow banks rather than actual cars.

Which is good, because I likely wouldn’t have passed if I had to wedge myself in between two real cars.

Don’t get me wrong.

I do park in parallel spaces.

But only when I can easily drive right in to them.

(Shhh!)

On particularly rough days, I struggle to park my car straight in between the lines of a parking space…

Yet, I have impressive success backing our large pickup truck into parking spaces with amazing precision.

Go figure.

At any rate, it was time to teach my teenage son the basics of parallel parking.

Because how could that be a bad idea?

And so we drove to a nearby school parking lot.

Here, let me show you how it’s done.

Uh…

Show him what, exactly?

Yikes.

Going purely on instinct rather than any delusion of certainty, I tried.

I missed.

I tried again.

This time, the car was in between the lines.

A flawless execution it was not.

But at least complete and utter mortification was avoided.

For how can one teach what they themselves cannot do?

I must not have done too horrible a job of demonstrating, as my child managed several successful attempts of his own afterward.

My boy has been taking pleasure in using every opportunity to get behind the wheel.

On the bright side, he’s been commenting on my driving with far less frequency.

The tables have turned.

Anyway…

After the sobering knowledge that some of my driving skills might be rusty, I’m tempted to try a few more rounds of parallel parking again.

Totally off topic, but…

Did you know I used to speak French fluently during my teen years?

It’s true!

But then I ceased to continue making the effort to utilize my conversational skills.

So now I sound like I’m speaking Klingon rather than French.

Because skills you don’t use are skills you lose.

So use it or lose it.

~Happy Saturday, friends! Hope you all have a great weekend!~

Parallel parking. Yay.

Parallel parking. Yay.

Terribly Terrific Teenagers

Teenagers.

They’re awesome.

Really, really awesome.

Sooo…

Yesterday was my youngest son’s birthday.

He turned 13.

Now I have two teenagers.

With one kid learning to drive and the other playing his new electric guitar around the clock, things are now twice as fun around here!

And that’s not even factoring all the hormonal mayhem and other joys of those delightful teenage years!

(And kids are always complaining they don’t have anything in common with their parents!)

(Well, overwhelmed by something, at any rate…)

(Make that plural. Teenagers. Not one, but two. Twice the woo hoo!)

(Yeah, that. And speaking of wine…)

(Did you know some wine glasses can actually hold an entire bottle of wine? Probably the genius invention of a frazzled, disgruntled mom..)

(It takes my kids a whopping two hours to even realize I’m home from work. Meanwhile, The Bigly Bestest Doggie always eagerly awaits my return. Yeah. Dogs clearly care more.)

(Google takes a backseat to my expert kids and the plethora of factual knowledge they evidentally think they possess.)

(If you’re a fan of unpredictable extremes, then teenagers are totally your people!)

(If you’ve already punished your child by confiscating their electronics, there’s only one thing left to do. Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures.)

(Judging by the size of the average teenager, it’s probably far too late to even consider attempting this.)

(Kids don’t realize all that arguing and back-talking is equally exhausting for their parents. And tired and cranky parents are not happy and reasonable parents.)

(Seriously. Don’t mess with me. Mostly because I’m already at the end of my rope…)

Truly, for all that people complain about teenagers, they’re really not so bad.

Except when they’re arguing with you.

Or being irrational.

Or finding ways to endanger both your life and your sanity.

But other than that, they’re the best!

~Happy Friday, friends! Who here has teenagers, or has survived the teen years and lived to tell the tale? I hear there is hope, so I’m fairly optimistic… Have a great weekend!~

Driving Mr. Mascot

Who knows?

I might be a better driver than you!

And I won’t get any tickets!

Unlike you…

And if YOU keep talking, you’re going to be riding in the trunk.

Eyes on the road!

The light is green!

Let’s move it!

My oldest son, the high school mascot boy, started Driver’s Ed this week.

I’ve never seen that child take such dedicated interest in learning anything.

Ever.

Granted, the monster was a natural on his dirt bike all those years ago.

And I always pictured him to be a decent driver.

When the time came.

Which, evidently, is right now.

After just one day of class, he was already an expert.

Monitoring my speed.

Correcting my hand position on the steering wheel.

Pointing out all the road signs that I’ll obviously fail to pay attention to.

Suddenly, I have new appreciation for the meaning of driving someone crazy.

Not only won’t I be getting tickets like you, I also have way better sense of direction!

Hey! You’re going over the speed limit again!

OMG! GET OUT!

Of course, I didn’t actually throw him out of the car.

But his future as a pedestrian was looking increasingly appealing.

We coasted along to the ultimate soundtrack to insanity:

Crazy Train.

Gangnam Style.

Hakuna Matata.

The thumping music rattled my brain and bones as the rearview mirror reverberated in concurrence.

Then flashing train lights derailed my thoughts.

Oh, shit!

Not again!

Those trains sometimes take forever to pass.

Or worse yet, they’ll come to a complete stop out of the blue, stranding lines of cars for hours.

So yeah, I was less than pleased.

And so was my son.

But not because of the train.

Apparently, that was the second inappropriate word I’d used in just a matter of minutes.

Figuring I was on a roll, he helpfully downloaded a Bleep app on my phone to censor my  inappropriate moments.

Fortunately, the train passed in a timely manner.

And we were on our way again.

I’m probably already a better driver than you’ll ever be!

I’m tempted to take both hands off the wheel and drive with my mouth.

Just clamp my teeth on the wheel, and see how well that works.

That’ll show him…

Show him what, I don’t exactly know.

At least render him speechless for a moment, perhaps?

But I really can’t afford to drive erratically like that.

Sure, it would set a rather poor example for my child.

And also, I’ve somehow already managed to get pulled over twice in three years in No Man’s Land.

Which amounts to more than I had ever been pulled over in all my years of driving.

Collectively.

There’s a line in my son’s driving handbook that cracked me up when I first read it:

Avoid turning your car into a deadly weapon!

Well, my boy nearly broke protocol the first time ever behind the wheel.

Yesterday, he officially got his Learner’s Permit after acing the written test.

And so on the way to Driver’s Ed this afternoon, my favorite mascot thought he’d surprise me by starting the car before I made my way out the door.

Oh, but that wasn’t all.

He proceeded to throw the car into reverse…

And then panicked as he realized he didn’t actually know how to stop the car.

He barreled out of the garage and down the driveway at Nascar speeds, as I ran after him like a crazed woman being chased by the devil himself.

STOP THE CAR!!!

STOP THE #@&%*# CAR!!!

The car jerked to an abrupt halt straight across the street, halfway up the neighbor’s driveway.

Thank God the neighbor wasn’t home.

That guy never misses a thing.

GET OUT!

YOU ARE DONE!!!

The brake is NOT just a decorative item!

Use it!

Before I drop dead of a heart attack in the middle of this road!

And to think, this is only the beginning.

Did I mention I’m two days into a 14 day detox?

So I can’t even calm my frazzled nerves with a drink.

Oh #@&%!!!

~Happy Friday, friends! Aren’t teenagers the best? Never a dull moment. Have a terrific weekend!~

At this rate, I'm gonna need to wear this thing around my neck like a cowbell.

At this rate, I’m gonna need to wear this thing around my neck like a cowbell.