Fiddledeedee

Okay, enough of you asked the question that I thought I would give the answer within its own post.

“Why didn’t you just run out the door of Wal•Mart, instead of retreating further inside the store?”

Because I had shopping to do.

Not really.

When all the commotion started, I was at the entrance, but a little to the left. Had I grabbed my girls and run out the exit, I would have placed us right in the path of the crazy man sanity impaired patron and all the managers that were chasing him.

Remember, at this point, I didn’t know if he had a gun, or knife, or pom poms.

So, we ran further inside the store, and cut a quick left into customer service. Thereby, at least putting a wall between us and all the mayhem.

And while I was contemplating the danger, a thought came to me.

When I was a kid, we were out in the country with my family and some friends of ours. I have a very vivid memory of standing at the top of a hill, and being charged by a bull. All of us ran down the hill, as fast as our scared legs would carry us, with the bull close behind.

I made a split second decision to cut right, getting myself out of the path of the speeding bull. And then I cowered behind a pine tree. Crying like a girl.

Everyone made it down the hill, and got over the fence in time. The bull paced back and forth awhile, then tired, and lost interest.

I stayed behind the tree. Only the promise of a Dr. Pepper and Hostess Cupcakes could coax me out.

That was my currency. Which really hasn’t changed all that much in 35 years. And that’s no bull.

Well. That was the really long answer to a short question. Because brevity is my gift.

Carry on.  Let the weekend begin!

We’ve had great success with the “divide and conquer” parenting technique. Especially helpful when the inmates outnumber the wardens.

On Sunday, I took the girls to second service at church while Fiddledaddy wrangled Jensen.  We trade off.

Because Jensen behaves in church much like he acts in the library.

And it’s much easier to find another library. But another church? Well, a good one is hard to find. And the thought of coming to collect him from his Sunday school class only to find him void of pants, is too much for me to bare bear.

So, after church, I called Fiddledaddy to see what the boys were up to. “We’re at Wal•Mart, trying out the vacuums.”

If you’ll recall, Jensen is enamored with all things vacuum shaped. And Wal•Mart and Lowes have about the best selection in town.

“Excellent. That’s where we’re heading. See you there.”

I had some items to return, and an extensive grocery list. That included cake mix, icing in a can, a number 9 candle, and some tampons.

Because if you look under “homemaker” in the dictionary, you would find me. With a cocktail in my hand.

I snagged a cart in the parking lot and brought it in with us. Which is sort of penance for me because I’m always leaving carts in the parking lot after I unload all the children and the groceries.

We made our way in and were greeted by the gestapo friendly greeter who needed to scan and label, then color code and alphabetize my 4 items to be returned.

Only, she couldn’t get her little scanner thingy to work. We stood there until I had another inch of gray grow in at my roots. I mean really. I could have laid down on the floor to take a nap. People could have just stepped over me.

When all of a sudden, we heard a man yelling. Loudly. Something about, “MURDERER! CALL THE POLICE. MURDER! GET AWAY FROM ME! MURDER! MURDER! MURDER!”

And the sound was getting closer to us by the second. I saw a wild looking, very disheveled man heading for the exit. And that’s where we were standing. I grabbed my girls and started to run toward customer service.

And I kid you not, the friendly greeter said to me, “but, your returns don’t have the stickers yet!” “HELLO? I’M GETTING MY CHILDREN AWAY FROM HERE!”

And people, I didn’t curse. Which was a Sunday miracle. Because you know how I get when I’m scared.

As I’m running into customer service, I hear Barry White singing to me. It’s Fiddledaddy calling me on my cell.

“Don’t come in the store!” he advises me forcefully.

“Too late.”

When I was sure everything was quiet, we joined him in the vacuum aisle. Where Jensen was blissfully demonstrating the Bissell Wind Tunnel Extra Sucking feature. My girls were scared spitless.

If you’ll recall, it wasn’t that long ago that they witnessed a young man drop dead right in front of them in aisle 9.

Okay, he didn’t actually DIE. But to them, the end results were the same. It took them a sweet forever to be able to go down aisle 9 again. Which is a necessity, because it contains the cereal. And I’ve simply got to have my fiber, folks.

And there in the housewares, I had to explain one of life’s more difficult lessons. The man looked to be homeless, and quite probably insane.

Really insane. Not just the “Mommy Insane” that they are use to.

One of the reasons I didn’t want my children to grow up in Los Angeles was because of the “interesting residents” that frequent grocery stores and popular locales. I’ll never forget driving down Sunset Blvd. with Fiddledaddy (b.c.: before children) and witnessing a homeless man taking his morning constitutional right there on the sidewalk.

An image seared into my brain.  And now yours. Your welcome.

My children are too young to grasp mental illness. All we can do is lead them to pray for others, and never judge. We have no idea the path that poor man has walked.

A hard discussion, to be sure.

Way harder than trying to explain why a favorite aquarium fish is missing, and the other fish friends aren’t really all that hungry. Just sayin’.

Life’s hard lessons.

Learned at Wal•Mart.

Right after I convince the library to install that drive-thru I’ve been talking about, I’m going to get to work on Wal•Mart. I need never leave my car again.

Have a wonderful and safe weekend, everyone. I, for one, will be counting my blessings.

I’m certain that when God gave me my boy, He was simply exercising His sense of humor.

And what a sense of humor He has.

Last night, I was setting the table for dinner. I placed 3 lonely baby carrots on Jensen’s Lightning McQueen plate. He wandered by his chair, and shot his plate a sideways glance as he stated, “Mommy, those are for wabbits, they are NOT for me.”

Usually, I puree any vegetables I might want to sneak into an unsuspecting Jensen. I can hide them in pancakes and muffins, for example. But on occasion, I throw caution to the wind, and just slap a real live whole vegetable on his plate.

Just to watch him freak out.

Because, hello? Entertainment value.

He then carried the 3 rejected baby carrots to me in the kitchen. I instructed him to go put them back on his plate. He placed them on the kitchen table and pushed them as far from his plate and he could reach.

During dinner, I noticed that the 3 carrots traveled around the table a bit, and then disappeared. I’m sure they ended up inside of a sister. A sister who wasn’t born vegetable phobic.

And because I’m all about letting it all hang out, there was another episode at the library. I thought I should report that. Last week I was standing at the circulation desk, willing the librarian to hurry it up, so that I could escape before incident.

At that moment I heard Cailey call attention to the area directly behind me, with a loud, “JENSEN!” I turned to see Jensen stick both hands down his pants. I knew in another 2.5 seconds, he would be naked from the waist down.

I dove 10 feet across the floor to tackle him before he would be cited for indecent exposure. Luckily, I got to him before he showed no more than your garden variety plumber might show during a housecall.

But then, today was Emme’s birthday. My baby is 9. And to celebrate, she had a few good girlfriends over for girl fun and frivolity.

At one point, I heard loud shrieking. Which, ordinarily, wouldn’t have alarmed me. Because girls are wont to shriek when clumped together. But, this was a more urgent sounding shriek. And I may have detected fear.

I turned the corner to find Jensen standing in front of this innocent gaggle of girls. Naked from the waist down.

These are girls who don’t have the benefit of a brother, so as I scooped him up, I apologized to the girls for their burned retinas and future therapy.

But really. It isn’t a party until Jensen has dropped trow.

I may be looking into suspenders for him. Or staples.

And as long as the medicine cabinet is well stocked with Excedrin, I’ll continue to report on the antics of a small boy named Jensen. Because it’s way better to laugh, than say, lay on the floor with tears in my ears.

Just sayin’.

Fall has finally arrived, here in Horrorhair, Florida. When the temperature dips below 70, as it did this morning, the children all don their winter gloves, caps, and jackets.

And the mommy performed her traditional underwear dance on the backporch.

While the neighbors all gave a collective “Hallelujah” for the invention of the 6 foot privacy fence.

As the kids begin their 10 foot trek to the family van, pieces of clothing are tossed down in disgust, as beads of sweat form on their brow.

And I launch into my yearly dissertation on what is was like trudging 3 blocks to the bus stop. In the snow and sleet. Wearing day-glo goulashes, and an orange fringe poncho, which was actually a vinyl round tablecloth that my mother had fashioned using a pair of scissors and bric-a-brac. Way back in the dark ages.

One thing that comes with cooler temperatures, is a decided lack of humidity. Therefore my hair actually lays against my head, as oppose to going perpendicular.

Ah yes. Fall is here. And with it, good hair days.

The week is off to a excellent start, to be sure. Happy Monday, everyone!

I have a question for y’all. This has been an ongoing debate here in the House of Fiddle for that last 2 and a half years that I’ve been blogging.

When a reader leaves a comment on a blog, perhaps asking a question, is it okay for the writer of the post to answer the question within the same comment box? That would mean editing the reader’s comment, but only by adding the follow up after the initial question.

Or is it bad form to do that, and the writer of the post should reply via e-mail, or in a separate comment?

I noticed that one of my favorite blogging people, Antique Mommy, will often reply to a comment in the same box. And that just makes sense to me. That way, other readers can read it. And she’s commenting directly to the comment. Instead of several comments down.

Sometimes, I can’t read comments until later in the day, and I would love to respond to that comment directly. Seems like that best way to do it.

Am I making sense?

I wanted to get the opinions of other bloggers and commenters in this area.

Carry on. And have a great weekend!!!