June 4, 2004


I like drama with my morning coffee. I specialize in building up the egos of molehills. I think it's fun, I think it's funny, and I quite frankly enjoy living my life in glorious technicolored hyperbole. It keeps me out of bars.

But today nothing bad happened at all.

It could have. Here are some facts:

1) Scott (Mr. Husband-of-me) went to Home Depot.
2) I called Ultimate Pizza to ask them to deliver dinner.
3) Last weekend, Scott's mother told Sam a long story about how Scott used to walk to the corner to meet HIS dad after work.

These things are not related, except somehow they became related in my seven year old son's head. Sam heard me calling for pizza and ASSUMED his dad went to get it, and the Nana story was germinating down in his loamy fertile brainfields, and lo, a wonderful idea sprouted.

Sam came up to me and said, "Can I go meet dad?"

I said SURE! thinking he meant "Can I go squat in the yard and watch for the car" when really he meant "Can I go haring up the road, leave our subdivision, and then attempt to run across a supremely busy intersetion where I will be squashed like a bug or, if I make it across, may I enter a large shopping complex and wander around seeking my father among strangers until I am abducted by a truckload of slavering pedophiles?"

SURE! I said cheerfully. SO off he went. He left the house and went hiking to meet his dad (who was way across town at Home Depot) at Ultimate Pizza...and I was blithely getting my house ready to show on Sunday and not worrying at all because Sam is seven and he plays in the yard all the time. I was thinking I would maybe peek out the window and make sure all his limbs were still attached every ten minutes or so...no biggy, life as usual, la la la.

A few minutes pass. The phone rings. It is an acquaintance from church, Misty, forever more to be known Beautiful Lovely Gracious Adored and Observant Brilliant Beloved Misty, or BLGAaOBB Misty for short, or perhaps just The Hand of God. BLGAaOBB Misty lives WAY on the other side of my neighborhood, and she was turning into our subdivision when Sam came trotting out the front of it, making a beeline for his date with Death-by-Squashing.

Misty has a boy Sam's age, and this THANKFULLY struck her as an ODD and INSANE thing for a 7 year old to be doing. She stopped and, in her role as Hand of God, put his butt in her van and called me and said, hesitantly, in a carefully nuetral and non-judgemental tone in case I was actually a BIG HEAD CASE, "Um Joshilyn did you tell Sam he could walk up to The Ultimate Pizza and meet his dad?"

At which point my head popped right off my neck and I shrieked WHAT?!?!??! WHAT?!?!?! and I ran to the yard to see it was absolutely EMPTY of any sort of perfect and beloved boychild, and my heart gibbered in fear and horror even though by the time I knew anything about it he was already sitting, whole and unharmed, in the highly safety rated Nissan Quest of The Hand of God.

Honestly, atheists make me crazy.

Posted by joshilyn at June 4, 2004 10:33 PM

I suspected something might have been afoot when I returned from Home Depot and my wife informed me that I would have to kill our son after I was done with the yard work.

It might seem contradictory to have your husband kill your son because your son almost got himself killed. Those who think so clearly do not have children.

Posted by: Mr. Husband at June 5, 2004 9:15 AM

Oh yes. He must be alternately smothered with "oh my baby" hugs and kisses, and killed. Oh yes.
Bless your weary heart, Josilyn! WHY do they do the things they do? WHY?

Posted by: Kira at June 5, 2004 9:40 AM

Scarily, I can remember thinking like that when I was little. It was frustrating, because I was so clear and logical in my communications, whereas adults were so dense and unreasonable, not to mention contradictory. It was all terribly unfair.


Posted by: Jensgalore at June 5, 2004 2:37 PM

ACK!!! Oh those children. So, this makes heart attack number what?

Posted by: AGK at June 7, 2004 8:27 AM

Too true, Too True.
Sammi is only 18 months and already she makes such leaps of logic. She says 'Out' (meanin that she wants to go outside). I then say, "ok, go get your coat". I LOGICALLY mean, go in the dining room and get yuor coat off your little coat rack (which she previously understood 100%).
This time however, she has decided she wants a coat from the adult coat rack, which requires a 30 story climb up a chest, a truck, and a shimmy for the last 15 feet.

So, when she does not instantly return with her own nice yellow wind breaker, I go hunting. I quickly race through all the rooms, only to find her suspended precariously, face beaming with self appreciation, a few feet above the ground and over a number of things that will make an ouchie if she falls.

Only 50 or so more years of this and I will pass away, hopefully before she does.

Posted by: Shawn B. at June 8, 2004 9:40 AM