Archive for August, 2010

Church: Rated the #1 BEST Place to Have a Freak-Out Fit

August 30th, 2010 at 10:03 pm » Comments (5)

You know, sometimes y’all think I exaggerate and I’m not REALLY that shy or weird and in person I’m probably just fiiiine and completely normal. I don’t know WHY y’all think this, but you do, and I know because you tell me so. I predict a sharp drop-off in that sort of sentiment right about…. now.


I don’t volunteer to do much of  anything. But if you ask me, I’ll almost always agree.

I don’t have a problem saying ‘no’ and then listing a million reasons why I don’t want to – it’s just that I prefer the strategy of being invisible first so that no one notices me or thinks to ask me anything in the first place. (brill, I know!)

So when someone asked me to help out with the older kids at church on Sunday, I agreed. Even though I prefer the little ones. Even though last time I was in the 3 yr old room, one of them asked if I would please wipe his bottom exactly five times after he pooped because that was the number his parents suggested. But helping the little ones wasn’t the request.

I showed up at the appointed time, fake smile in place. And there…. there was one of my biggest, oldest, lifelong scariest phobias of all time. I should have expected it. If I’d given it more thought, I woulda known. But I didn’t.

There was a large group of kids singing Christian songs. No problem. It’s kids. It’s church. It’s worship.

But when you add in Hand Motions, I lose all perspective and it affects my breathing. I do not want to see/participate/hear/sense kids doing swishy hand motions to songs. Hand Motions are silly, in an almost unexplainably, highly threatening way. I am not silly. (shut it, I’m NOT. I’m ridiculous, and that is DIFFERENT.)

I HATED that part of childhood. Yes, Hand Motions With Singing is a viable Part of Childhood now.

I was not a silly kid. I was not the child who would grow up to be someone who appreciates Jim Carrey’s humor. Yaknow? I was a solemn kid very busy perfecting the art of Blending Into The Wallpaper. Songs with Hand Motions is totally counterproductive to this, my childhood life’s mission.   It was a problem at church, at church camp,  occasionally at school, and those 5+ yrs I did children’s ministry. But the other ladies understood and let me stand in the back or hide during that time, so it was fine.

Always, it was something to be endured. Even as a kid, it affected my breathing and I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t get why adults always thought this was a good idea for kids. (And fine, it IS a lovely idea for every single other kid, and even in the name of the Lord, but ooooh not me.)  I used to be okay if it was a song with Sign Language. That is a valid, admirable Real Language, and not the same at all. I’m fine with that and always was. But when you have to spell giant letters with your whole body or pretend to swim, or make sound effects, or anything else that is not part of Sign Language — then you have crossed the bridge on over to Silly and that I just cannot do.  I cannot find a sense of humor and just go with it. That is impossible. I can’t fake it. I just canNOT do Hand Motions.

So I stood at the back of the room and wished I’d worn something with pockets. It looked hostile the way I kept crossing my arms, but I FELT hostile, and the fake smile wasn’t helping. I finally made myself hold my hands loosely behind my back. In case anyone looked, then maybe that wouldn’t be quite so rude. And no, I did not EVEN briefly consider doing the stupid Hand Motions. I can’t. I couldn’t. I would have passed out. I’m kinda freaking out just re-living in order to type about it, and even now I keep noticing I’m holding my breath. I’ll type faster.

It went ON. And then it went ON. SOME. MORE. Because it was my first (and only) time, I had no idea if this went on forever, or if it just would feel like it. I checked the exits. There was a woman with a nice-not-fake smile standing by one of the doors. I’ve talked to her maybe once. I asked her how much longer with the singing. I couldn’t help it. That was my strategy in childhood as well. Mental countdown. She gave me a funny look but told me maybe ten or fifteen minutes.  I might have looked a little like I was about to cry, but I wasn’t. It was just that holding my breath and trying to avoid an all out anxiety attack was making my eyes water.  And that’s really so different. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m just really allergic to the singing with the motions and the hands and everything.”

In hindsight, ‘allergic’ was not the right word, but I was kinda out of it with the decreased oxygen to the brain and all. Also, this is one of those times where I wish I were not QUITE so candid where I just don’t know how to sugarcoat something and out comes the Crazy Truth.

She smiled, then laughed, then realized I was definitely serious and so she tried to make a solemn face and pretend she hadn’t just laughed at me and then she told me good luck. And then she got out of there. I think I had the same effect on her that the music was having on me. I wanted to run after her, but I didn’t because she was running FROM ME and if I did then she’d be really scared. And I didn’t want to scare the nice lady.

I returned to the kids and the music. With the motions. And the motion sickness.

I would have rather been wiping a 3 yr old’s bottom exactly 5 times after he pooped because that is the number his parents suggested.

I would have rather been somewhere where toads and frogs and gnats and flies were  touching me.

I would have rather been making small talk somewhere.

I only stayed because I said I would. And the person who asked me was RIGHT THERE and I couldn’t sneak out.

I made it. They finally STOPPED. I was so glad. The rest of the kids’ service was fine. They didn’t need me at all, but I enjoyed watching the different kids’ personalities.

I lived. I made it through kids’ church. I learned that next time – if there is a next time – I am asked, I will gladly violate my usual policy of ‘don’t volunteer, but agree if asked.’

Next time I will say NO WAY. Send me to the kids who are not fully potty trained and who tend to wipe snot on me. That I can handle. But keep me away from the kids who can wipe their own butts and sing while spelling “J-O-Y” with their whole bodies because those kids scare the breath right out of me.

Lovely Morning Til The Flies Wake Up

August 30th, 2010 at 1:48 pm » Comments (0)

3 boys got up early, were oddly extra polite to each other and to me, dressed in clean clothes and without drama, ate breakfast, cleaned up after themselves without being asked, and were generally such sweet joys that I hated to drop them off at school.  I really wanted to keep them.  I don’t know how or why this happened.  It was glorious, though.

And then I REALLY wanted to smother/mother the cat, but there were things to do. I think I’ll turn my daytime attention in the direction of this guy. I’m thinking long walks and talks.

Unrelated, Hate to Admit it Sidenote: fine. y’all were right. I am regretting the relocation/release of the latest 30 frogs on Saturday. Flies and gnats, suddenly, and a lot. I don’t want to talk about it (much less write a Gnat/Fly Plague Series with Parts 1 Through 9,763 and aren’t we glad for that) but feel free to gloat amongst yourselves. I know – it’s already written in Exodus anyway.

Seth-4yr’s Homework

August 28th, 2010 at 3:07 pm » Comments (2)

I’ve been completely caught up in the heartbreaking scenario with the teenage mom. Thanks for your prayers. (so sad update is in that last link, am waiting to hear more)

I”ve been looking at my own children a little differently, a little closer.  They’re so healthy. So safe, so blessed, so wonderful… so obnoxious and rowdy and they’re learning new Burp Skills. (and… ew.)

I’m so thankful. For their general well being. Not for the burping. Never for the burping, unless they’re under 4 months of age, and no one is.

Last week Seth-4yr did NOT want to do his homework. It was his third day of preschool. He told me it was actually my train homework paper, not his, and that I should do it.

I told him homework was part of school, and if he wouldn’t do it, then maybe he didn’t need to be in school. He thought about it. I asked him to come sit in my lap and he pouted and I kissed his cheeks and did what any good mother would do.

I told him he could drop out of preschool.

I kissed his warm,  chubby cheeks and told him he could stay home and be my baby every day and I wouldn’t make him do homework and I’d just snuggle and kiss him and mother and smother him ALL. DAY. LONG.  It’s my last kid and the last time I’ll ever GET to offer a drop out option. So I took it. I was hoping he’d take me up on it, really. (The cat was hoping he’d take me up on it, too.)

He didn’t.

But he didn’t do his homework either.

Mike and I have seen this before. We don’t offer to ‘help’ and then end up doing the kid’s homework. We remind them to do it, and then if that kid STILL refuses, we’ll say something like, “Fine. I’m not getting all worked up over this decision of yours. I’m having a great night that does not involve undone homework drama. I wonder what the consequences will be for you…?”  The next day, that kid goes to school with a blank homework paper and a note that reads something like:

Dear Teacher,

As a parent, I know you expect me to check my kid’s homework and sign it. This homework is not completed, checked, or signed. My kid refused to do his/her homework even though it was not too difficult for him/her.  This was a deliberate choice, and is now a Learning Experience. Please show no restraint, mercy, or hesitation of any sort in handing out a shower of consequences and please do so with my blessing. And thank you!

We have never, EVER had a child test our commitment to this particular policy as early as the 3rd day of preschool, however. And Seth-4yr is really too little to get the full effect and benefit of having to take such a note to his teacher, but if this continues, we’ll gladly go there.

(and YES, I WILL offer my kid the option to drop out of school rather than do his homework for him. Those are MY makes-sense-to-me mixed up priorities, so… um…  yeah.)

I told Mike of Seth-4yr’s refusal to address the Train Homework and how it was still an issue and how I’d smothered him and kissed him and offered to let him be my Full Time Baaaaaabeeeee but he said, “no thank you, Mommy.”

Mike waited til I was at the gym that night and then took the “GET OUT OF THAT BATHTUB AND DO YOUR HOMEWORK” route.

And that worked.

Score one for the Hard Core Father Approach.

Got a Sec?

August 26th, 2010 at 12:04 pm » Comments (6)

If you are the sort who prays… there’s a 17 yr old girl  who really could use all the extra prayers you might have time for. She’s five months pregnant and her baby is having serious fluid-on-brain-type developmental issues. She has a few options  - and they all appear rather grim because the prognosis is so poor.

thank you.

OOoooOOOH Baby, Let My People Go

August 23rd, 2010 at 9:40 pm » Comments (8)

Mike just came into the bedroom where I am huddled under all the covers – as usual – and asked if I was doing homework.

“No, look. I’m reading Exodus and it is FREAKY STUFF.”  I pushed the laptop in his direction, with on Exodus 8:1-4

Then the LORD said to Moses, “Go to Pharaoh once again and tell him, `This is what the LORD says: Let my people go, so they can worship me.

If you refuse, then listen carefully to this: I will send vast hordes of frogs across your entire land from one border to the other.


The Nile River will swarm with them. They will come up out of the river and into your houses, even into your bedrooms and onto your beds! Every home in Egypt will be filled with them. They will fill even your ovens and your kneading bowls.


You and your people will be overwhelmed by frogs!’ “


Mike read all this while using a plastic toothpicky thing and looking at me like, “really? REALLY, Kels?”  He does that. And then, as is like constantly the case around me – brilliance struck.

“Mike! Caden-6yr KNOWS Pharoah!  Caden-6yr can end this frog plague just by going to school and saying real casually, ‘Hey Pharoah. Wanna sit next to each other at lunch? And hey, let my people go, huh?‘  Then the frog plague will stop!”

Mike still had that look on his face – that “really? we’re having this conversation…?” look that he has totally passed on in perfection to Caden-6yr who uses it on me all the time.  ”Yeah. I know.”

(Note: The man knew EXACTLY what I was talking about, this one particular time. He knew Caden-6yr is on speaking terms with Pharoah.)

At this point, I’m crying and laughing and covering my face so I don’t spit because of all the times I held it in when Caden-6yr talked about Pharoah and I had to keep a straight face and I couldn’t laugh like that THEN, but here it was just Mike and I and his plastic toothpick and I could and it was SO FUNNY I just couldn’t stand it.

The kids go to a Christian school and there are a LOT of lovely names that have biblical origins.

“Pharoah” is not one of them.

The child’s name is Farrah, and she’s darling. And she does not deserve for some adorable blue-eyed, blond headed kid to keep calling her Pharoah – at a Christian school – but he isn’t being mean, or funny. He just talks weird. Like all my kids.

Mike rolled his eyes at me and walked out, still doing the plastic toothpick thing.


I thought it was funny.

I will not be laughing if we get to the Gnat Plague. I read ahead, and watch out because that particular nastiness is up next.

I’ll go to first grade dressed as Moses and talk to Pharoah myself if the gnats start swarming.

UPDATE: This morning, in the bathroom… there was a gnat. I took his picture with my phone, and  thought, ‘yeah, real funny, God,’ and then screamed for Mike. Mike came in, gave me That Look, killed it, and walked out probably real glad he’s leaving on a long trip today.

FULL DISCLOSURE: We normally do not have gnats. Ever. The one exception is if I water all the houseplants too much because my babies have all gone to school and the cat is tired of me mothering him and has gone to hide in a closet and I need something living to smother with my maternal attention. Then, sometimes, we get gnats. This is probably the case.

A Side of Bacon, Please

August 23rd, 2010 at 2:40 pm » Comments (7)

The other day I was running. On a treadmill. Not because I am a runner, or because I enjoy this, but because it is the form of exercise currently doctor approved, and so I go with it. So there I am. And a very large, older, sweaty man gets on the treadmill to my left. I have a ‘no eye contact’ policy for All Of Life, But Especially At The Gym. If you’re at the gym, I won’t see you, recognize you, talk to you, or acknowledge you. (It’s not you. It’s me.)

But this particular large and sweaty man…? I could not get enough of this man. He only stayed on that treadmill for five minutes while he did some moderately paced walking. It was not long enough. For some bizarre, unexpected and of course unexplained reason — he emanated the scent of bacon.

It was positively delicious, those five minutes next to that guy. I found myself leaning to the left, breathing deeply, and turning my head his way but careful not to make eye contact or actually look.

I was concerned I was going to fall right off the treadmill if I ran too far to the left, and I was pushing it. (I have fallen off before. It is QUITE dramatic when that happens. There’s no hoping that people don’t notice, because it shoots you straight off the back and splats you on the floor or into a wall or both, as in my case. People notice these things.)

This reaction reminded me of the dogs on the bacon dog treat commercials, and how they kinda act all crazy for it? Yes. I’m the dog in that analogy. The crazy dog. Or the stupid women in those Axe commercials. Yuck. Men don’t need to smell like Axe. They need to just stand near a pan of frying bacon. Mmmm.

yeah, yeah, you’re remembering right –  I don’t eat meat. But I do like the smell of bacon, and apparently, Bacon Scented Men.

I’m going to the gym later. I’m hopeful he’s there and has progressed to more than a five minute walk.

{this is one of those things I should be WAY TOO EMBARRASSED to tell you or anyone else. But if I had that particular inclination, this blog would be empty.}

Did You Hear The One About the Frog? (YES? Really? No, This is ANOTHER One.)

August 21st, 2010 at 12:44 pm » Comments (5)

I’m talking to the frogs now.

I don’t even like talking to people.

It’s like that old Tom Hanks movie where he’s stranded somewhere (sorry, i forget movies) and he’s talking to a volleyball with a face. Am I making this up? What movie is this? I remember really disliking it. I also really disliked identifying with it this morning when I noticed I was talking to the frogs in the garage and telling them good morning. It is not the first time we’ve chatted, those frogs and I.  And that is not any better than talking to a volleyball. (It usually goes something like “Hi, how are you this morning? Don’t… no… don’t touch me… go that way… there’s a bug over there… yeah. That way. Go try it. Yuuuuum. Breakfast.)

There have been at least 3 Toad Relocations, not including the initial one in our flowerbed which I refuse to count for obvious reasons (relocation means NEW LOCATION, not ‘over there’).  I’ve actually lost count. I have no idea if it’s 3 or 4 or even 5 times they’ve been rounded up and released at a pond. The smallest number was probably 30, and the highest was probably 130. There is no shortage of FOGS as Seth-4yr calls them. Why we’re not relocating the ones in the garage who chat with me, I don’t know.  I can’t be too picky about the detals of this Constant Relocation Project since I refuse to touch them.

School was a huge success, despite my totally predictable maternal freakout on the kids’ first day. Last night Seth-4yr said, “Mommy. That yunch you made me? I yuvved it. It was YUMMY. That sandwich. Those vapes {grapes}. Wow, those vapes were good. The goldfish. It was all SO GOOD and I want that same yunch tomorrow. Can I please have it?”

I was so impressed with the sincerity, enthusiasm,  and the superb manners, that i hated to tell him that today would be a Saturday and maybe I could pack him that lunch on Monday. But I did. And he said, “It’s okay. I will remind you as soon as you wake up in the morning, just so you do not forget to make me that nice yunch for school.”

For me, school is okay I suppose. I can’t shake the “oh please I am too OLD to be doing this” feeling, but whatever. Maybe that’ll go away. I’m doing classes through a place that has a physical location here, but am doing it all online. I thought this was brilliant. No people. I’m not good with people. Ha HA! But, no. Now online classes have lots of online ‘discussion’ assignments where you have to INTERACT with people. Online. And yuck! I didn’t know that was part of the deal when I signed up! Y’all are the only people I like online!

Y’all say the most fascinating things in the comment sections, particularly lately. (It’s always far more interesting there than the post.) And a lot of you email me all kinds of things that have me laughing or crying or trying to figure (technical) things out. You tell me about brands, and products, and sites and stores and sales you think I’ll like. The sorts of jeans that might fit my butt. (Thank you.)  I’m amazed by the things you know and the things you share with me about your husbands and your kids, your faith, and your jobs. I’m always surprised to hear anyone actually bothers to read, and am just so touched whenever you email me and introduce yourselves – 4 of you just in the last week or so, which is way more than normal for those sorts of emails.  It always throws me off guard to get one of those, but in a good way. Not in an OH THERE’S A FOG BY MY FOOT kind of thrown off guard way.

Anyway. I think my point was, “I like you. It’s the other online people  from school  who scare me.”

Yearning, Learning. A Yot.

August 19th, 2010 at 8:59 pm » Comments (4)

Today the boys went to back to school. Mike is in town, and when this is the case – he takes them. Especially on the first day. I tend to walk them to classroom doors and look at them with the big eyes until they feel obligated to freak out and make me feel better and wanted as a mom and really, we all just need to avoid that whenever possible. I should emotionally damage my kids at home, not on school property in front of their friends.

I knew they’d be fine.

I thought I’d be fine.

I stood in my closet and had time to consider what to wear. And that was disturbing. I do not WANT time to consider what to wear.

By 9 am I was looking into Charlo’s green eyes and having a motherly chat with him about his health and how he probably needed to put on his fluffy, kitty jammies today and not eat anything weird that might upset his ulcer. I needed someone to mother, and the cat was just going to have to do.

By 10:30 am I was in Target on a crucial mission to find my favorite brown hair elastic thingies. I wear one on my wrist almost always and I don’t know how or when they disappear, but they do. And all the stores have been out of them. So there I was. (you have one on your wrist at all times too, if you live somewhere windy, love lip gloss, and have long hair) Crisis solved. I bought hundreds.  Put me on a reality tv hoarding show. It’s a bit like a discreet security blanket, that brown hair elastic thing on my right wrist. And today – first day of school – I needed them by the hundreds.

By 11 am I was wondering if I should start my Christmas shopping. I am not an early Christmas shopper. I just had no idea what to do without my three babies. Mike called and asked me if I was okay and if I wanted to have lunch. This does not happen except maybe a couple times a year. I should have said yes. Instead, I said I was quite busy with my carefully choreographed Filling The Time and I just couldn’t possibly. It had more to do with when to eat and still have time to get groceries AND still run at the gym while staring at a golf green for an hour and a half. That was the goal, but it’s waiting until tomorrow morning. I told Mike “more notice next time, please.” (Yes, that is SO obnoxious I get why these invitations are so few.)

By 12 I’d started talking aloud to myself about the genius of Ray Price. What a guy! Saw him in Austin last month. I suppose it was just too quiet without the chatter of the kids and talking out loud helped.

By 1 I’d decided if I actually DID run at the gym as long as I’d  planned, then I’d be limping the rest of the day and long runs are better at night because then I just limp for a small amount of time before bed and am fine the next morning. And I couldn’t be all limp-y for the rest of the afternoon when the boys got home. For some reason. I mean, it made sense at the time. Now, not so much.

So I did get a lot done. Despite the Sudden-Onset Empty Nest Syndrome.

I even went to the inconvenient, across town grocery store I like because it has really great veggie sandwiches that my regular store doesn’t.

I cleaned out my purse and the car. There was a bikini top in my purse I have no memory of putting in there, but looked as if it had been quite at home for a very long time. And about 3 pounds of paper, 2 pounds of spare change, and  a melted chocolate bar from Caden-6yr’s teacher. But it isn’t mine.

Then I thought up a new reason not to send LaLa my measurements. Actually it was an old reason I’ve already used on her, but I’d forgotten it. It’s still valid. Where is one’s waist REALLY, because wasn’t it defined differently in the high-waisted 90s? I kinda think it was. Where is one’s waist now, in 2010…. or where was it then… and are we sure we’re thinking the same place? Maybe we’re not. Maybe you’re a lot more fashion forward than I am (duh) and your version of a 2010 waist is really where I’d think it would be in 2007. Right, LaLa? I have a point here, right…?

If I get nervous, I show up early to wherever I’m going. (If I really like you, I’ll probably be five minutes late.) But when I’m really anxious it shows up in extreme earliness.  So of course I showed up to school early to get the kids.

The kids were fine. They enthusiastically assured me that not one of them missed me at all. Really, this was unnecessary. They didn’t have to do that.

But I wouldn’t have traded today for anything becaue Seth-4yr got in the car and earnestly said, “I yearned  a yot today. A whole yot.”

He didn’t learn how to pronounce the “L” sound. And I’m glad for that.

He yearned. A yot. If you’re going to yearn, it  should probably be a yot.

I yearned a yot today, too.

Measuring Up. Or Not. (Because Who Wants To Do That?)

August 18th, 2010 at 2:57 pm » Comments (2)

My sister, LaLa, sews.* She cooks.* She bakes.* She crochets.* She’s a crafty sort. And often, she’ll do all of these things for ME, which I love.

This morning I got an email from LaLa asking for various body measurements. She knows I love it when she makes me something, but that I get all panicky over ‘tell me the exact size of your butt, down to the eigth of an inch’ emails.

Okay, fine she doesn’t word it quite like that.

But still, I usually stall and am like, “no…. I didn’t take those measurements. because where is one’s waist, really…? Isn’t that a subjective thing….? is there really, really a definitive answer? ….and hips. Isn’t that just code for ‘butt?’ And I know you’re my sister, but isn’t that a bit personal? It’s big, this butt. Must we quantify….? I don’t sew, LaLa, or measure myself for sport, and your  requests are… confusing me…. and remember that one time I tried to measure the RIGHT way according to some expert about bra size, but did it totally wrong anyway, and ended up with a size that doesn’t even exist? That was alarming. Felt like quite the freak. Maybe you could just guess… you’ve seen me recently after all…. no, don’t make me ask Mom to help. She tickles and her hands are cold.”

I can string her along like that for weeks and let me tell you, it drives her nuts. The Ugrateful Whiny Routine gets old pretty fast. Who knew?  But today I didn’t do any of that. I went with the truth.  I told her it would have to wait, I felt gross, and was wearing my Big Girl jeans.

No idea what I’ll say tomorrow. She’d probably know if I just made up some numbers because I’m not good with numbers and I’d probably pick the wrong ones. She’d be onto me. She’s smart like that.


This morning Seth-4yr came in WAY early and said, “Farlo did a big Fo Up.”

(translation: Charlo, the cat, is sick.)

Me: MMmm. ‘kay. Don’t touch it.

(translation: I don’t have to get out of bed yet if you don’t touch it.)

Seth-4yr: I would not do that. Here, let me get Farlo.

Charlo had gotten on the bed, and Seth-4yr was offering to haul him away. I told him he was okay and to leave him alone. The cat probably did not need Seth-4yr squishing his stomach.

Seth-4yr: Ooookay. Well. Don’t let him Fo Up on your head….

I faceplanted into my pillow and giggled until I was so awake I couldn’t possibly go back to sleep.

The cat is fine.He’s just feeling kinda gross and is wearing his Big Girl jeans today, and will not be sitting still for anyone crafty and thoughtful to measure his hips.

And where are cat hips anyway? Not easily measured. And neither are mine.

*something I do NOT do

Onion Rings, Frogs, Homework

August 16th, 2010 at 9:48 pm » Comments (1)

my thoughts are all over the place. like frogs. the boys just rounded up 30 more frogs/toads. it took like, maybe 42 seconds.  will release soon. far away.

had a great weekend. random notes:

*i’m pretty sure i can eat my body weight in onion rings

*and that’s disgusting

*If I have to drive, I get all silent and stressed in Dallas traffic and won’t talk at all

*after the tiniest amount of a bloody mary, I sing

*and I’m so very sorry, All Of Dallas, because I cannot sing and trace amounts of alcohol surely do not help

*the last time I had any alcohol was 7 years ago. perhaps I have no tolerance.

*Caden-6yr is a total stinker. He picked up a dead armadillo by the tail and swung it around a few times, asking my dad what it was. That mental image really sicks me out.

*Dead armadillos hang out at my dad and stepmom’s house. One of their dogs is a fierce armadillo huntress.

*Ethan-10yr is a total stinker. He launched a middle of the night adventure that landed him in a buttload of trouble.

I have to go. I have homework. It’s 9:45 and I have homework and I haven’t started it. Oh, and I have to go feed the frogs I hate. This is my life now. How odd.