WIN! WIN! WIN!

By Jody Worsham, co-author “Kin We’re Not Related To”

All rights reserved for bigger, taller, wider, heavier trophies

Our state song says it all:

“Texas, our Texas, all hail the mighty state!  Texas, our Texas so wonderful so great!                   Boldest and grandest, withstanding ev'ry test.  Oh Empire wide and glorious, you stand supremely blest."

Now you might think it was a sad day when Alaska joined the union and became the assumed largest state, but Texans just claimed that when all that ice and snow melts, Texas will still be the biggest state.

Texans are by nature the most competitive people on earth.  Whatever it is, we have to be the best, the biggest, the tallest. the smartest, the cutest, and the fastest.

 I was born and raised a Texan so I am competitive to the bone.  Get a room full of Texans and a contest, well, what can I say.  This past week has been highly competitive.  I made a quilt for the school's Fall Festival.  Rather than raffle off the quilt, the school decided to hold an auction for the quilt.  Now I had spent six months hand quilting that thing and as soon as the auctioneer asked for an opening bid, up came my hand.   Then another Texan raised my bid, and my husband raised that bid.  Well, not to be outdone I raised his bid. 

"Jody, you're bidding against me," Dr. Hubby said.
"That's ok, it's your money.  You can afford it."
"Not at this rate” and he hustled me out of bidding range.  I heard the quilt went for a high price, but it would have gone higher if Dr. Hubby had just let me stay in the bidding.

Then there was the Fall Festival Children's Costume Contest.  No prize, just a First Place 8  1/2 x 11 Xeroxed certificate...in color.  The thirteen-year-old flat refused to wear anything I created.

"Mama, I have to go to school here.  I see these people every day.  You really expect me to go as 'Miss Recycle' and wear a costume made out of trash?   Pleeeeeease don't ruin the rest of my life!"  as if I had ever done anything to ruin any part of her life... past, present, or future.

Ok, she is thirteen...and taller than me...and I would have to raid a couple of dumpsters for the necessary recyclable material.  On the other hand, the nine-year-old is shorter....

"Look boy, just do what she says.  You might as well learn now; it is easier to give in then to argue with a woman, especially one born and raised in Texas her whole life. You are not going to win," said the wise and experienced Dr. Hubby to the panicked nine-year-old.

"You only have to wear the costume for five minutes.  Just long enough for the judges to be suitably impressed. " I blatantly did not lie, just stretched the truth a little.

"Ok, but can I at least be a zombie?"

"Sure." My brain neurons began firing like tinfoil in a microwave. 

I skillfully sprayed two empty two liter sized Dr. Pepper bottles and a swim mask with gray paint. I found a gray painters head stocking I had been saving for just such an occasion. I cut the straps off a back pack (oops sorry, did you need that for school?) removed the vacuum cleaner hose from Dr. Hubby's shop vac (you never really cleaned your shop anyway)  hot glued part of a semi-broken flashlight to the vacuum hose, and made some swim fins out of construction paper.  I guess you don't mess with a man's chain saw covers.  They were too heavy anyway.

I hot glued some dead leaves and twigs to the mask and glued the "air tanks" to a piece of cardboard.  Then I slapped some white baby powder on the nine-year-old's face and Wah-la!  Scuba Zombie! 

And yes First Place Funniest Costume.  And yes, therapy will be required.

Next, Atwood's Pet Costume Contest.  Let the Competition Continue!!

Lego Wars

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for Diplomatic Immunity

My eight-year-old purchased a Lego set with the Christmas gift cards he had received.  I would have preferred that he purchase a small country instead, but he wanted Legos.  When he got home, he piled all 514 pieces on a dinner plate and proceeded to separate them out.

“Have fun!” and I left to take the twelve-year-old to ballet class; then I would have another Wal-Mart walk-about while I waited.  When we returned home, I found the eight-year-old with frustration streaming down his face.  With my teeth artfully imbedded in my tongue “I told you not to get such a complicated toy” came out as “I bet your sister can assemble that in no time.  Want her to try?”

With the pre-teen throwing dartful glances at me, I whisked the eight-year-old to the kitchen for the universal magic cure-all…chocolate and Diet Coke.  With caffeine and endorphins coursing through his veins, he raced outside and up a tree while his sister assembled micro Lego dots.

An hour later, the eight-year-old once again came running in with anger streaming down his face.

“She put my Super Secret Police all terrain SWAT mobile together, then took three pieces off and won’t tell me which ones they are,” said a little future-hubby-without-a-clue.  I bit my tongue, again.

“Well I spent a whole hour putting that thing together when I could have been doing something really important like texting my bff" came from the future-wife-in-training.

 My teeth attacked my tongue.

“Wid  ooo ahwebble it an hi wee pieces wike he ed?”  My tongue had doubled in size.

Translation:  “Did you assemble it then hide three pieces like he said?”

“Yes, but he wouldn’t come down out of the tree to even look at it after I spent all that time putting it together."

At that point Dr. Hubby entered the playroom.  He spoke not a word but went straight to work and scooped up all the logo pieces and turned with a jerk.   Sorry, wrong season...poem.

He placed the logos in the center of the table and declared it the DMZ.  Eight-year-olds to the north, twelve-year-olds to the south.  It didn’t matter.  The eight-year-old had already lost interest and retreated to the tree and the twelve-year-old had gone to her room for uninterrupted texting.  I was in the kitchen soaking my tongue in a glass of flavored alcohol and ice.  Hubby followed close behind looking for his universal tranquilizers: “Where’d you hide the Snickers?  Not even any chocolate bars left? Who drank all my Dr. Peppers? “

With the Lego Truce in effect, I am once again going to Wal-Mart.   I will avoid the Lego aisle.  I don’t think I could resist the temptation. With my current frame of mine and swollen tongue, tomorrow’s lead story on CNN might be “Wabbit Woman Wacks Wego aisle.” 

A Visit from ???

by Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for Freedom of Speech

T'was three days before Christmas and all through the house.
Every creature was scurrying, even the mouse.

The stockings were packed in the attic somewhere
In hopes they would be found before Santa got there.

The children were zoned out in front of the TV.
School had been out for two days, you see.

Taco shells were in the oven, the timer was set.
They will burn anyway, on that you can bet.

I with a glass of Chardonnay and Hubby,Dr. Pepper in hand,
had just given up trying to get the Christmas tree to stand.

When out on the drive-way there rose such a clatter,
I slowly got up to see what was the matter.

Away to the security cameras I swayed in a flash,
Hit the zoom button and hoped it didn't crash.

The moon on the crest of the Si Gnome and yard art
gave the appearance of a garage sale, the unsold part.

When what to my blurry eyes should appear
but the UPS truck, on that  I was clear.

With a little old driver, so slow, you see
It reminded me of Uncle Nebecaneezer Lee.

More rapid than Andretti he ripped through the gears
And he shouted and called out strange mutterings to my ears.

" Dag-nap it, consarn idget, you stupider than dirt,
You blithering mullat, I'll put on the hurt!"

To the top of the drive way, to the patio floor,
he managed to park very close to the door.

I ditched the wine glass and was turning around,
when down the sidewalk he came with a bound.

He was dressed all in camo from his pants to his shirt
And his clothes were all muddy and covered with dirt.

His glasses how they twinkled, his dimples how merry,
His cheeks were like roses and his nose like a cherry

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And the beard on his chin reminded me of that TV show.

A wink of his eye and the tilt of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but set me to work.
And had me unload all the packages, then turned with a jerk.

He grabbed his blue cup, took a long drink of tea,
And tore down the drive-way, barely missing a tree.

But I heard him exclaim as he drove into the black
"Happy Happy Happy Christmas to all and that's a fact, Jack!"

The Old and the Sleepless! or Dr. Pepper Seniors, Up at 10,2, and 4

By Jody Worsham All rights reserved for a herd of sheep and a fence.

One of the side effects of getting old….er is the fact that you only sleep for about three hours at a time. Something about lessening levels of serotonin or increased melatonin. I personally think it’s the shrinking bladder which causes frequent trips to the bathroom that keeps you from your eight-hours-straight. Course add to that mix a five-year-old, a nine-year-old, and a thunderstorm and you can forget about any kind of continuous sleep.

Last night between claps of thunder, rounds of bedroom roulette, and trips to the john, I made some interesting discoveries. For example, did you know that even if you have 150 channels on your TV set, there is nothing worth watching at 3a.m.? Or if the reason you are up and watching the TV at 3a.am it’s because you are suffering from low back paint which only a Joy Seat can cure, you are still cleaning your floors because you don’t have a Shark Steam Clean Floor Cleaner, or you feel the sudden urge to chop grape sized bits of onion, pickles, and tuna for a sandwich and you don’t have the Magic Slap-Chopper?

Not only that, did you know the TV shows that you watched before 9p.m. start repeating at 1 a.m.? Now this can be a good thing for me because I usually fall asleep before the third choice of a vacation home on Devil’s Island is revealed. I have, on more than one occasion, awakened three hours later to not only see the third choice but get in on the final decision, never the one I would have picked.

And, surprise surprise, the 24/7 live recorded weather channel is on some kind of video loop. I almost moved the entire family into an interior walk-in closet before I realized I was currently watching a rerun of the same thunderstorm I had just experienced an hour earlier. I watched that same storm cross my part of the state four more times in much the same way one watches reruns of a movie, just to see if you missed something the first three times. Plus I wasn’t in the market for a genuine cubic zirconium naval ring even if they were going fast and there were only 1,200 of them left.

I also discovered that there is a direct correlation between when a roll of toilet paper will actually run out and the wee-wee hours of the morning. However, this has not been totally verified as the empty-roll-syndrome has been known to happen when a) there’s absolutely no one else in the house and b) when there is absolutely everybody in the house including the preacher regardless of the hour.

I realized, too, that my hearing is 200% better in the hours after midnight. Why are sounds, any sounds, louder, spookier, and more irritating the closer it gets to morning? Tree frogs that were soothing sounds of nature at 10p.m suddenly sound like the latest reject of American Idol at 4 a.m. and can set every dog in the neighborhood howling at the moon, even when there isn‘t a moon. A slight drip from the water faucet you didn’t quite turn off at 7p.m. becomes Niagra Falls on a gigantic tin drum in the early morning hours.

I finally gave up on any kind of continued sleep and headed to the kitchen. That’s the other good side effect of getting old..er. It’s always time for chocolate...at
10, 2, and 4.…and all the times in between.