Hiding Candy from Children

I hide candy from my children...
I am preventing diabetes.  I am saving money. I am preventing cavities.  I am teaching them how to eat healthy. Processed sugar is not good for their growing bodies... 
Candy is the devil.
Lies...  All lies. 
I do it so I can eat it all myself.
My days of eating candy without a chaperone are gone.  I do not have children when candy appears; I have birds of prey.  Not even half a rice krispie from a Krackle survives with those vultures circling.  Beady eyes with sharp beaks moving and pecking all around...
Now I resort to desperate measures.
I buy it and deny it like a junkie in rehab.  I search Craigslist and pay with cash. 
No receipts. No records.
I meet “a guy” for a bag of Skittles and a fun size Kit Kat. I tuck away Hershey bars in a tampon box under the bathroom sink and shove Lemonheads in a hollowed out college Calculus book .
 A half-eaten Chick-O-Stick and a watermelon BlowPop reside in a box of Super All-Bran on the top shelf of the pantry.  An Almond Snickers takes up space in a Velveeta box while a bag of Hershey Kisses takes up residence in a box of frozen peas.  They never think to look under the beet salad or the half a head of leftover cabbage.
I have been getting bold lately, though.  
I recently stuffed a box of Peeps up the sleeve of my shirt and waved to my children as I walked by. Daughter Number Two asked me what was wrong with my elbow.
Last Saturday after I returned from grocery shopping, I put M&M’s in my hand and brought it to my mouth with a fake cough to secretly flaunt the candy coated gems and send them into my mouth - right under their tiny little beaks.
“Did you smell that?”
“What?”
“Chocolate.  Mom bought chocolate!”
 Poor little birds.   Scratching through bags. Searching fruitlessly.  Broccoli and cauliflower strewn across the counter.  A jug of milk cast off in despair.  Dented cans of tomatoes forlorn and abandoned.
Unfortunately, I suddenly choked on a W (must have gone down the wrong way) and the kids came running.
“You OK?”
“Hey, what’s that?”
The Little One eyed me suspiciously and closed the drapes. 
The Big One put her knee on me. 
The Middle One...turned…
and locked the door.

Why Some Animals Eat Their Young

I am not particularly hungry this morning but I could eat one or two of my offspring.
Imagine the change in behavior if my children knew that I could eat them.
There they would be just sassing me like there is no tomorrow and then one of them pauses to take a break from their improvisational performance.  But I am no longer standing in front of them.  I have receded to the shadows behind the couch.
"Uh oh... is that Mom?"
"What?  Oh crap."
They peer behind the couch.  I am sitting perfectly still.   My pupils have completely dilated and my gaze is fixed on the biggest one. 
 I lick my lips and rub my hands together.
"Mom?  Hey mom?  Mom?  Mom?  Mother?  Mama? Mommy? Ma?  Beautiful mom? Mom!!!!"
My thigh muscle twitches.
The little one yells, "You better run!!!"
Before the big one can roll her eyes again (which would make it the fifth time this morning) I have pounced.  I devour her in one bite.  I look at the little one and let out a small burp.
"bruuuuppp."
The little one and I make eye contact.
She picks her jumper up from the floor and finishes getting ready for school without one more word.

What Parents Really Think in School Meetings

I recently attended a meeting at my child's school.
I really really wanted to pay attention.  I really did. I promise.   But as soon as I sat down on the hard faux-wood benches in the auditorium or Cafetorium or Gymnatorium or Foodfootfocusroom or whatever it was called I was suddenly overcome with sleepiness.
My head grew 15 pounds heavier and my eyes watered as they struggled to focus.  I looked frantically around the room.  No beverages.  No snacks.  Nothing.  Oh no.
I looked at the speaker.  He could see me.  In fact, he looked directly at me.
Oh no.  Please do not let my eyes cross.
I had to do something.  I looked at the guy in front of me.  Hmm... thick callouses on the bottom of his feet.  I looked at mine.  Not as bad.  Still a little rough.  I looked around at other parents.
What does that guy do?
Where did she get that hair? That's a cool t-shirt.
I wonder if she knows her underwear is showing.  Should I say anything?
Now the speaker was talking about the method of math that my daughter would be learning.  Singapore math.  Mmmm... Singapore noodles...  that sounds good.  yum.  I wished they had some here.
Oh wait, now they are showing math problems.  What?  oh man, the speaker is looking directly at me.  I gave a slight head tilt, almost imperceptible eyebrow lift, interested expression.
Whew.  It worked.  Why are there so many math problems?  Don't they know I don't care?  Oh, Jeez I am a bad parent.
Now time for questions?  I hope no one has any.  What?!  That is like, ten hands up.  Come on, people. What?  Seriously?  Is this stuff that complicated?
I wondered what would happen if I raised my hand and my left eyebrow at the same time and said:
"As a nuclear physicist, I think your approach is top notch.  Thank you so much."
or
"In my work as a neurosurgeon at one of the top hospitals in the country I must say that we use this method quite often.  Bravo! Now let's adjourn."
After what seemed like an eternity of the same question being rephrased by twenty different people we were finally free.
I looked at the student projects in the hallway on the way out.
"Nice job, Uranus.  Glad to see you are still a planet."
It never gets old.

Synchronized Swimming

I went to my first synchronized swimming event this evening.
I know nothing about the sport except that it requires holding your breath a long time.
What I noticed right away was that the pool was deep.
Deep.
Deep deep.
Over thirteen feet deep.
It didn't look too deep until I looked in.  The surface of the water was glassy and the dark blue color seemed endless.  I swear the mast from a sunken ship became visible but the lady next to me said it was just a reflection.  (I still think it was a ship).
Anyway the water was super deep and the swimmers jumped in like it was nothing.
I kept counting heads to make sure they all came up each time.  One time a large gnarled tentacle reached up but the girl was able to wrestle it off to the theme song from "Rocky"
I was forced to entirely make up the rules for synchronized swimming in my head.
"hmmm... that was a nice one.  Little too much flair from red toenail girl, though.  That'll cost her a point."
"oh, nice double shopping cart push with a half smile."
"That's called a flipper roll.  Classic.  Sometimes the basics are the best."
"You see here where she initiated the sushi roll but ended with a vodka splash.  Surprise ending.  This is what it is all about, people."
"Outstanding double handshake. ooooh.  that triple nose gurgle is going to hurt, though."
At the end of the event, the entire team jumped in the pool for the grand finale.  They formed themselves into a giant submarine and took one of the spectators for a ride.
When they resurfaced he was missing.  (If you see him, he is wearing an orange t-shirt and green shorts with palm trees on them.)
They say they'll find him one day.... but I wouldn't hold my breath.

Old School Rap

I like old school rap.  I always have. 

As soon as I drop my kids off at school and I am all alone in my car (and by car, I mean minivan that is leaking goldfish crackers and has the arm of a sweatshirt dragging from under a side door),  the radio station changes.This Friday morning at exactly 8:05am, I jab the 1 button.  My mouth twists into a half smile as I raise the volume, recline my seat back and take one hand off the wheel.  N2DEEP's Back to the Hotel cause my eyelids to lower and my head to bob.

I go into full White-girl chola as my imagination transforms my eyebrows into high thin arches and my button down blouse into a plain white t-shirt.  For four minutes and seven seconds I look for the goods and head to the ho down (listen, it was in the song)
...blah blah blah... sipping purple chongos.... blah blah blah blah... hit the road to the next episode.... blah blah blah....money in my sock, jimmy in the glove...blah blah...blah...gotta get some gum and some tic tacs... blah blah..
I see my neighbor in the lane next to me.  He can only see the top of my head peeping up from the side window.  Probably thinks my chair is broken.  I lift my imaginary 40 oz beer and take a swig.  That's right.  8am, sucka.
I get back to my house and see a kid walking down the street.  I mouth "Orale, holmes" to him with a slight nod.
Rolled into the driveway.  Parked my ride.
Put the key in the front pocket of my khaki capris.

Gotta figure out what a purple chongo is and start serving them to the PTA.

N2Deep "Back to the Hotel"

Why Do Some People Smell Like Corn Chips When They Sweat?

sniff... sniff... hmmm... Fritos?

Ever been near "that guy"?  Or has it been you? 
We all know what the typical musky BO smells like and the corn chip smell just doesn't seem to belong.  Some people smell like corn chips when they sweat... what?! just what is going on?
I did what anyone would do... I consulted a reputable doctor, a young guy, lots of stars on yelp.  His name is Dr. Google (pretty positive it is pronounced "Goooooooooooglay.) He sees a lot of patients but if your name is Bing or Jeeves he totally tunes out. 
Anyway, Dr. Google told me that the corn chip smell is from bacteria which solves the mystery but adds an ick factor.  The other ick factors were the additional questions that Dr. Google's nurse Wiki Answers, RN provided.. (and I am not making this up although I will be inserting my own vocabulary).
All of this was on the same page:

"Why does my [vajayjay] smell like onions?"  [what the hell? sounds like someone needs Valtrex].
"Why do my balls smell like cheese?" [Is that where cheeseballs come from?]
"Why does your groin sweat smell like pus?" [Good God! Sounds like the wifi is on at the free clinic]
"If you smoke opium, what does it smell like?" [corn chips??]
"Where does the corn from Takis corn chips come from?"  [hopefully not someone's armpit or groin]

So seriously, if you smell like corn chips and you were not just scarfing down a bag of honey BBQ delights from Frito-Lay....you may have some bacteria brewing in there. 
As for cheeseballs... you are on your own, Chester Cheetah.

Don't Drink From This Cup

I have been training Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu for a couple of years now and am a blue belt.  It has given me the unique ability to experience an injury that no one imagines....
I affectionately refer to it as cuphead.
Now, this may be too much for people that know nothing about Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu to handle so if this is you... stop now.
For those that are morbidly curious....
Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu is a grappling art like wrestling that relies on body contact and submission.
It is very common to get in some "unusual situations", one of which is a crotch on your head.  yes!  I said it.  Gross.  This is what I also refer to as a "motivating factor" to learn escapes.
Men often wear athletic cups to protect their junk... so to get to my point...
How do you explain to your child's teacher that the goose egg on the side of your head or the bruise in the middle of your forehead is a direct result of of... of....  ew... a... uh... um... uh....
Perhaps I should just say I took a ball to the head and leave it at that.
:)

Welcome to the Honey Badger Files

Welcome to Day One of the Honey Badger Files.
Be forewarned.... I came up with this idea while eating scrambled eggs and fried pastrami on a plastic Pokémon plate, guzzling "limon pepino" Gatorade, and soaking in a bathtub full of Epson Salts at 11:30 in the morning.  I spend my days languishing about in my underwear, taking care of three daughters, avoiding housework, and training Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.

You have been warned.