B.C. (Before Coffee)

We're going to try something a little different this morning. Instead of sitting down to write after a full day and a couple of beers, I'm going to start typing while I sip my first cup of coffee, and see what strange subconscious nuggets float to the surface of a relatively sober brain.

First of all, I say relatively sober not because I've got a shot of whiskey in my Folgers - I don't - but because I'm suffering the lingering after effects of taking a 1/2 dose of Tylenol PM at 10.45pm, and then being woken up less than half an hour later by a sleepless toddler. Half a cup of Folgers is not going to solve this. This may be a 'drink enough Folgers to be able to drive to Starbucks' morning.

I don't know whether to blame the Tylenol PM for this, but I woke up with Creedence Clearwater Revival stuck in my head. Not just one song, either. When I noticed I was hearing it, the song switched from something about a river to Down on the Bayou. It's now pretty much just that, now. "DOOOOWN on the BBBAAAYYOU." over and over again. Because I don't know any other words to that song.

The OCD soundtrack is competing with the sweet sound of Sawyer playing coming over the baby monitor. It sounds something like this:

"Oh No, a fire! OH NO, A FIRE! What do we do? Dinosaurs! Weee-oooo weee-ooo weeee-oooo" (This is the sound of dinosaurs in a firetruck, I think) "Hey Joel, whatcha wanna do today? (Joel is not in there.) Oh NO! A GHOST! Hi ghost! joel, looook ouuuuut! There's a ghost behind you!"

Due to a run of Scooby Doo on our family TV, everything is "BEHIND YOU!" Specificly ghosts, monsters and dinosaurs, but also "Mom! FIRE! Behind you!" (that'll get your attention.) and "Dog! MOM! There's a DOG behind you!" (That's a given. Sawyer could yell that at random and have it be true more often than not.)

And now the soundtrack over the monitor has moved to "MooOOooM, Wheeeere AaaaAaare YOU?!" accompanied by the hammer of a wooden mallet against his door. Time to release the lil'Kraken.

I hope you have enjoyed this foray in to our home before coffee. (Exits stage left, humming Down on the Bayou.)

This one is for Jason

Earlier today, I posted a link on my Facebook account to another blog: Parenting, with Crappy Pictures. The author had updated her status to "I can't do these dishes, I'm too busy drinking wine out of a mug and eating cold spaghetti with a spoon." Now. If you have kids, you are on the floor laughing right now. And if you don't, you should. Not to sound like your grandmother, but kids are great. Plus, an excellent excuse for wine in a mug and eating leftovers at the counter in your jammies.

(Many of my friends are saying to themselves "I have chosen not to have children, which I think is good and right.. but I still drink wine out of a mug in my jammies at the counter with a fistfull of left overs?! Am I a bad person?" No. No you're not. You're probably a better person than me, for not inflicting such behavior on children. But I, I have an excuse.)

In response to my Facebook post, one friend of mine, Mr Jason, said: "But what of YOU? We need a link to YOU so we can post it on our walls and tell others how we love YOU!"

Now, it always freaks me out a bit when people say stuff like this, because I just assume (being a mom) that no one is listening to a word I say. So, to have someone be so complimentary when I was under the impression I was yelling in to the abyss? A little weird. In a good way.

(Jason and his wife have already given their son the middle name Tiberius, which will endear them to me forever.)

This one little comment of Mr Jason's started a landslide of thoughts in my head. How long had it been since I posted to my blog? Who was reading it, anyway? WHY?!

All of this circled around to the following subject: Guys who are awesome influences on my teenage son. (Another benefit of having children: Large leaps of logic and continuity are not 'plot holes' they are 'mom brain.')

Mr Jason is certainly one of those people. Each summer, I yell at my eldest man child "Get your clothes on, we're going to a BBQ." and he replies "Is Jason going to be there?" After I confirm the presence of the all knowing Jason, the boy condescends to wear pants. Jason, you're my hero!

In addition, there's Mr Clow: (No need for sbuterfuge with names here, we call him Mr Clow.) Mr Clow is responsible for the donation of vast amounts of comic books and vampire detective stories. He's also, when in the midst of cooking a BBQ dinner for the entire town of Dover, willing to divide his attention and make my man child feel entirely grown up with a discussion of all things metaphysical, over an open flame. Plus, he makes mix CDs of Soul Coughing's greatest hits. Mr Clow, I salute you!

Mr Graham, also should be mentioned. My son does not 'do' sports. He also does not 'work.' Unless Mr Graham is involved. Then it's wiffle ball tournaments and cleaning the garage for Magic cards all over the place. Thanks, Mr Graham. sincerely.

There's a dozen or more names I could mention here, some female.. some new.. some related to me.. but my mug is empty and we're out of leftovers, so I'm going to go to bed with this note:

It takes a village to raise a child. If you're wise, you'll choose the village. If you're incredibly lucky, the villagers will choose you back.