Thursday, September 17, 2009

Friday, September 4, 2009

A Vision of Pink Lightning: My First Boogeyman

I am eight. My father's almond shaped eyes focus on my newly scraped knees and limp form as I lay sprawled in pain on the gravel in front of our driveway. His expression is kind but one of exasperation. We are unwilling actors, he and I, in this unscripted play whereby I am a would-be bicyclist in training under his tutelage. This is all well and good except my Miyagi has grown increasingly tired of seeing his female lead always produce the same outcome no matter how many variables he changes in the scene. My prop is a small bike known only as Sweet Thunder. It is she whom I must master - my pink monster sans training wheels. Finally, I meet Dad's eyes and recognize that sadly even our dialogue has grown stale and cliched over time:

- "It's all right, honey. Perhaps, today was simply not your day."

- "Sure, Daddy. I guess you're right."

Now, imagine this scene played over and over again for a series of months.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Finally, one night I dream...not just any dream, but a vision. I see myself very clearly. I am on my pink nemesis. We are riding around the neighborhood and I am smiling at all my friends who are excited to see that I have finally bested her, my Sweet Thunder. They cheer in unison; they share in my triumph for they know I have tamed the beast.

The next morning with those images so tangible in my mind's eye, I calmly walk toward the front porch. Thunder waits there patiently. She has no reason to fear me for SHE is the predator. Calmly, I place my legs on the pedals. With a whispered Hail Mary on my lips, I release the brake and for the first time in my life, I ride. I RIDE. And ride...and ride. I do not look back. I do not collapse in a heap before my father. I have no need to. I am of of Thunder's hold on of my true As I round the corner and double back toward my home, I can see my father's figure on the adjacent sidewalk but I cannot make out his face, yet I am certain he is smiling. He knows.
-Sweet Thunder

My story may not be as "legendary" and most certainly not as charming as Thunder's
but it should explain what you need to know.
Most children love to walk about or even dance in their parents shoes.
I guess it makes them feel closer to us or maybe they become little Shakesperean
actors on their living room stage, acting out their future roles as mommy or daddy.
I happened to be more of a boot kinda gal as a young girl. I would mosey around the
house in my dad's big cowboy boots which meant in turn many a picture was taken
of my tiny frame (aw, what I wouldn't give to have the word TINY be in anyway a reference
to my, now, body type) standing with these thigh-high towers of leather strapped to my legs.

And as time grew on, and my life led me closer and closer to my dad's, these snapshots of the
past are, in fact, testimonial of what would truly take place in my adulthood. But lets not get
ahead of ourselves, we're just getting to know each other and all. So getting back on track here,
my dad, who through my hints, is a very important person in my life and has added much to my
identity, likes to talk a LOT. One evening back in my 20's we were re-watching Dances with Wolves.
He turned to me and said, "I think your Indian name should be Stands-in-Boots". It stuck and the rest,
as we said growing up, is "Lagniappe" which is French for "a little something extra" .

By the way, he of course didn't get off the hook. His is "Talks-Too-Much"....*cheese*


Dear Wallflower Mommies:

  • I'm finally able to chime in on this dual-launch that Thunder and I are attempting so here goes. To all of you others out there who are in the same boat of not feeling the mommy support that you should, myself (boots) and Thunder, implore you to comment your angst and share the "hurt" on our couch of shame. We both hail from very similar cities and have relocated to a much smaller, more rural-minded area where rational mommy thinking doesn't much exist. I am ever grateful for my new found friend and hope to make more but the fact that I'm even discussing this topic at the age of @# is just un-called for. (Excuse the flaring diabetes).

  • Do I hear the cry in the wilderness, do I feel your pain? Absolutely! Everyday. I sometimes get so down and out about the ever draining pond of energy that it takes to keep up, that I hardly take a moment for self.

  • Well it's time we all come together to vent a bit about the woes of motherhood in this here society. Don't get me started on what this country once was because I may spin into the old standby of how I had to track uphill through sleet and snow to get to school when really the worst it ever got was when my stepdad would drop me off in his UncleBuck rendition of a clunker and wait until I got through the doors of my H.S. Plus what would I know about real hardship, I've always had a roof over my head and food on my plate (too much food, I concur).

  • But as for what, we as creative, innovative, intelligent, baby-making peeps can do to make our world a better place....well I'm here to talk it out. I believe in no sugar-coatin (as they would say in these here parts) so lay it out ladies.....Thunder and I can take it! God bless!

  • -Boots

Flaring Diabetes

I like the internet. It teaches me really cool otherwise hard to comprehend important grown up things. You know what I'm talking which spices best compliment that country fried sausage recipe I've been saving for just the right moment or what type of tunes I can blast on my car stereo that will solidify me as hipster in my neighbors' eyes as I drive past them at 60 miles an hour with the windows rolled down., I know what you're thinking: Yes, I am quite the giver. They know this, too, and appreciate the exposure to these modern tunes - albeit brief as it may be. I am always afforded a wide-eyed expression of surprise or some other token of appreciation like the bird because (and I am guessing here) the implication is that "I'm so fly" - or some other urban gesture of gratitude that I'm not quite so familiar with. Anyhoo, as I was saying...the internet can be very beneficial. Why just last week it cautioned me that perhaps replying to that Nigerian prince who wants to me make his bank trustee is probably not a good idea.

That said, however, it let me down recently and I mean in a BIG way.

I had absolutely no idea that swearing like a sailor is a symptom of diabetes. Did you? Well, it is. Mmm-hmm. Yesterday, my daughter came home from school and informed me that her coach told everyone in the class that he "has diabetes" and that he "occasionally swears" all in the same breath as if to link the two afflictions. Well, I immediately researched this gentleman's condition online and came up with zilch, nada, the big zero. Poor man. It seems unlike many of my family members who actually endure the obligatory challenges that come with diabetes, this man now has also been saddled with uncontrollable onsets of excessive cursing as well and tragically - there is NO attention being given to his sad situation; therefore, I hereby swear in an effort to alert others to this dear soul's plight, I avow to curse more often in public from here on out and blame it on my "flaring diabetes."

- Sweet Thunder

Click "M" for Mommy

Team Thunder Boots:

Once upon a time, the newly transplanted Sweet Thunder and Boots or members #236, #237 respectively met in the Mommyhood - a psedonym for many of the various local playdate groups designated for moms in their area. It would certainly seem these likened twin souls were destined to meet. They were three-legged tables thrust into a sea of four-legged acerbic-tongued-stepford-caricatures and "so-I'm-a-mom-whose-no-longer-a-girl-but-yeah-I've-still-gone-wild" incarnations. Not a good fit in either category, they soon became known in inner circles as 'Playdate Killas' because of their odd immunity to the crackberry; their insatiable need to actually spend time with their families over their friends; and most troubling of all? Their blatant lack of desire to formulate an entire sentence bashing any Mommy who temporarily stepped out of earshot. "Tsk! Tsk, ladies! Now, that's 10 points taken from Gryffindor since everyone knows that gossip mongers are the new pink!"

OK, So Why Blog?

Well, we want to contribute to the greater good of the whole - charity and all that sunny-side-up jazz in the best Pollyanna way we know how which is with advice and laughter. So, go ahead - solicit our advice. We are immensely qualified for the gig and by "immensely" I mean we're sitting across from you in your local Starbucks right now sipping our Two for One Tazo Chai asking "and so how does this makes you feel?"

- Sweet Thunder & Boots

P.S. We wish to thank our resident cartoonist Toonmania for the nifty bits of eye candy.