The Mother Lode

Another winter band concert has passed us by. Wonderful, as usual, but with a different flavor this year.

I like to call it “Baby Stank.”

I realize that, technically, Baby Stank is not a flavor, but an aroma. A massive one. One they should harness and use in the next biological warfare weapon. Oh, yeah, you could wipe out an entire city with that funk, I do believe! <shiver>

On the row below Hubby and me in the very crowded gym, a family was seated, holding an oh-so-cute little boy, probably less than a year old. He was really cute, but wait…

What the…

What’s that smell??!

Oh, you mean that green cloud hovering over our heads?

Um, yeah. That would be it.

It was unmistakable.

It was <Dun, Dun, Dun!> Baby Stank.

As we fanned our programs in the hopes of steering said cloud away, we burst out laughing and reminisced about the good old days. The days when your precious one has laid the mother lode in his pants and you have left the diaper bag in the car. Which, by the way, you had to park a mile away. But you would only be gone 45 minutes, right?

Trust me, honey, that is time enough for your child to lay a load the size of Mt. Rushmore in his pants. And time enough for it to start fermenting…and disseminating its bouquet to the immediate surroundings.

Every couple of minutes, they would shift said baby, from Mama, to Daddy, to Grandpaw and the scent would waft anew. Or then, they might start bouncing him in time to the lovely music the band was playing. Surely that poo smell was about to knock them out too? Right? Could they possibly be immune?? Somehow, they managed to pretend that nothing was happening. <shakes head in disbelief>

But we were all on to them.

At one point, the lady seated next to me gave me a look. Cocked head. Raised eyebrows. Wide eyes. Yes, she had smelled it too. And so had her daughter next to her, who had asked her mother, with a confused look, “What is happening? Is something happening??!”

There was simply no escape.

So, between fits of uncontrollable, stifled laughter, we endured, er, enjoyed the concert and thanked God we no longer had children in diapers.

And So, Happy Christmas.

“So this is Christmas. And what have you done?”

This phrase has been haunting me a little bit in recent days.

It is possibly because it is every other song on the radio in this season (Happy Christmas/War Is Over by John Lennon) or because of my LCD, but more than likely, it is because there is some truth there that I am supposed to be “getting”. Otherwise, that is not the particular Christmas song that would be looping in my brain.

SIDEBAR: My most favorite Christmas song is O Holy Night. I particularly enjoy Josh Groban’s version…not only because he is my baby brother’s identical twin, but because his voice is like butter—velvety and delicious.

View and Discuss—Bro on the Left, Gro on the Right:

      

Am I right? Scott has totally been mistaken for Josh Groban on several occasions. They are similar build as well. It is kinda creepy.

But I digress…

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, or more accurately, on that newly discovered planet Keplar 22B,  since its release in 1971, you have heard this song. Now, it is not my favorite Christmas song at all. In fact, I find it kind of depressing. It’s not a warm and fuzzy song, in my opinion. And it doesn’t even have anything to do with Jesus. Mainly, it seems like it is a song that was written as a war protest, and I’m not even sure that the “what have you done” part is so much suggesting we go out and serve the homeless dinner as it is “what have you DONE to those poor Vietnamese caught in the midst of war” kind of statement. But there is something about that “What have you done?” that just gets me and stays in my head.

Isn’t Christmas supposed to be all silver bells and ribbons? Twinkling lights and hot chocolate? Nativity scenes and Baby Jesus? Baby, it’s cold outside and snuggle up to the fire? Yes. It IS those things. But what else?

So this is Christmas. And what have you done?

What have I done?

Have I given a thought to those who will be lonely this season or mourning a recently lost loved one? Have I given a coat to someone in need? Or a smile? Have I hugged someone or encouraged someone? Have I prayed for those in need? Have I given of my time, finances or talents to be a blessing to others? Been to those places where Jesus would have me go?

So far, I have only been to the vast shopping centers of Atlanta, Georgia.

Clearly, I have some work to do.

Fun at the Four-Way

So yesterday, I got cursed out by an old dude driving a truck. Ironically, he looked a good bit like Santa.

Things that make you go, “Hmm.”

I know! It was rather disturbing.

According to Emma, this seems to happen at regular intervals. Really? I guess I hadn’t really kept count. She reminded me that I had been flipped off and/or sworn at before. At the four-way stop.

Oh, the accursed four-way stop!

South Carolina, in my personal experience, is (in)famous for their four-way stops. I find them kind of annoying and feel that there are just way too many of them. Are the DOT people just too lazy to put in a stop light? Or is it because they are too cheap? It’s hard to say. But it seems to me like everyone is sitting there at their own personal stop sign, waiting for the next person to go.

You go. No, really, you go. Okay, I’m going. Wait. No, YOU go….It’s like some weird game of chicken. Only no one seems to know the rules.

Except me. <wink>

Yesterday, at one of our most famous four-ways here in Cackalacky, I was under the impression that it was my turn to go, but apparently the old dude in the big honkin’ Ford F-350 disagreed. So, as he blew on through the intersection he shook his head at me and mouthed some ugly words…yes, I could tell what he said, though I won’t repeat it here. Ford F-350 trumps The Edge every time, so I gladly allowed him to go on his not-so merry way.

I just want to know why people are so uptight and cranky. And what is their hurry?? I tell my kids all the time, you are NEVER in so much of a hurry that you need to drive like <insert your favorite NASCAR driver’s name here—I usually go with Dale Earnhardt for some reason, which is not good, because, bless his heart, he is no longer with us>…that is, unless you have a pregnant woman about to give birth or someone bleeding profusely in your car, in which case you should have called 911 anyway. So again, there is no need to drive like a bat out of hell. Slow Down, People!

SIGH.

What have we learned here? 1. Four-way stops are dumb. 2. Be very suspicious of old Santa-looking dudes who drive big honkin’ trucks.

Moving on.

December rolls crazily along here. I am looking very much forward to the break (Come on, December 16th!) where we can relax and enjoy the sights, the sounds and the joys of the season and celebrate Jesus and family. Meanwhile, we try to finish up school work, scurry to band concerts, get the tree up and finish our shopping.

I am thankful for every bit of it!

“Tradition: sit with husband in a room lit only by tree lights and remember that our blessings outnumber the lights.  Happy Christmas to all.”  ~Betsy Cañas Garmon, www.wildthymecreative.com