Snapped Rabbit

Photo Courtesy of Hershey's

   There is almost no greater joy than the pure chocolaty goodness that lies in the rectangular patterns of a Hershey’s bar.  While some people enjoy cigarettes or liquor or even illegal drugs of choice, my addiction lies in the innocence of a candy bar.  It is something that is enjoyed in small pieces, savored, one rectangle at a time.  Whatever genius designed this heavenly creation, divided the bar into 12 miniature rectangles, all looking like a small version of the whole.  It’s mind boggling if you really think about it.  It’s much like putting two mirrors together and seeing into infinity.  With each bite of Hershey’s bar you find more rectangles calling your name.   A wise person knows not to listen to their sirens call, but to snap off only one or two pieces and move on without looking back.  

Photo Courtesy of B Jobse

   My children know the power of the Hershey’s bar and fully understand that stressful events can bring on the dipping of chocolaty bites into a jar of JIF peanut butter.  It’s a marriage that no man can ever put asunder.   While the old saying goes “Don’t get caught with your hand in the cookie jar”  I’ve discovered that my entire hand fits into a jar of JIF peanut butter when I think no one is looking.  It has happened more than once that I’ve been caught at the midnight hour with my hand deep in the JIF jar with chocolaty crumbs all around.   

   Around Easter, the Hershey’s company raises the bar on confectionery delights by bringing us “Snapsy,” a chocolate Easter bunny with body parts carefully molded to “snap” apart into mouth-size pieces.  Everyone knows that ears are the first body part to go on Easter Bunnies and Snapsy was designed for the entire auditory section to break away first.  Now, I admit to cheating on Hershey’s during the Lenten season because of a secret pleasure in biting off the ears of tiny generic brand bunnies, but Snapsy has brought me back into the fold.  The discovery of this magical creature taught me brand loyalty as my daughter and I learned that Snapped Rabbit may actually bring more joy than the twelve tiny bars of the standard Hershey’s candy bar.  Of course, Snapped Rabbit is only available at Easter.  This is probably for the best, as I’m not sure that one could endure such joy all year long without losing appreciation for the gift they had been given. 

   For about a week, once a year, after school snacks include Snapped Rabbit.  I’ve discovered that this is concerning to visiting friends when offered such culinary delights.   An instant look of panic comes over the children’s faces as my own children and I clamor to retrieve refrigerated bunny parts.  Once they see that there is no braised rabbit in a pot and only peanut butter and chocolate, they welcome Snapped Rabbit with open arms and open mouths.   

   Sadly, my daughter still prefers the hollowed out chocolate bunnies that she can slowly devour body part by body part.  No snapping is required, just giant, aggressive bites.  I have to admit that there is something therapeutic about biting off the heads of these creatures, but it's just too difficult to dip the fragile parts in peanut butter.  The chocolate breaks off in the jar and once again, you find yourself wrist deep in the JIF jar trying to gather bunny parts.    

   The Easter season is over now and it's time to toss out the remaining body parts lying around the house.  Chocolate legs and tails remain in cellophane packages and will never be enjoyed. Snapsy, who was brilliantly designed with an algebraic method for manipulating assorted shapes into bunny parts, is long gone. We will now return to an orderly world of geometric solids made of Hershey's love and chocolaty goodness.  Life is good. 

The Wild Goose Chase

  

   Who knew that a male goose could fit the entire length of his neck through a chain link fence to ward off predators or helpful strangers trying to rescue stray goslings who had wandered away from their pond?  Some things like this would be helpful to know in advance. 

   This afternoon, my daughter was tooling around the neighborhood on her golf cart when I received the most distressful phone call from her.  “Mom, come quick” is all I heard as visions of child snatchers or head on collisions came to mind.   I could tell from her voice that something was terribly wrong.  I finally pieced together context clues from panicked cries for help and determined that the baby geese at the neighborhood pond were on the wrong side of the fence and needed rescuing.  

   Unable to convince my daughter that we shouldn’t intervene, I headed out on a wild goose chase.  My son drove me to the pond where I found three girls, none with shoes, running up and down the fence line traumatizing the goslings with their failed attempts to get them back under the fence.  The girls ran one way and the geese ran the other.  By the time I got close enough, two babies were stuck between fence posts and one had taken cover in a large cinder block.  The wedged goslings managed to squeeze through the fence, but landed in the wrong yard.  This time they had pushed their way into the yard of a K9 guard dog. The girls screamed, “The dog is going to eat them! Save them Mom!”  As I placed my head close to the fence post and reached into Cujo’s back yard, Father Goose tried to take a plug out of my head.   At the same time, one barefoot girl realized she was stepping in goose poop and left the rescue effort in disgust.  I was trying to keep my eyes from being plucked out by a ticked off goose as I reached for the goslings and prayed that I wouldn’t have my hand bitten off by a trained German Shepherd.  The geese were out of reach and Father Goose was too close for comfort.  I didn't want to come out of this blind and one handed.  

   I opted for the goose in the concrete block and managed to get him to an opening in the fence where he was reunited with one very rude male goose.  About the same time, my daughter was climbing the fence to enter the dog’s back yard when I plucked her down and explained how the guard dog would eat her, too.  We waited a while and determined that the dog was either asleep or inside and we left the goslings to hide in the ivy and wait for better help than us.   A large pink note was left on the door of the guard dog’s home.  It said, “There are two baby geese in your back yard.  Please don’t let your dog eat them. -Allie  (I live in your neighborhood).”  That should be fun to find when they get home. 

   A few hours later, I drove down the road and all eight goslings were back with their parents again, swimming around the pond.   I don’t know if Mother and Father Goose took matters into their own hands (feet) or if the neighbors got the note.  Either way, a happy ending was had by all, except the girl who stepped in goose poo. 

Disclaimer:  It goes without saying that this video will never win any awards, as half way through, it is suddenly shot sideways.  I'm uncertain why the sudden change of angle, but you never know what you'll find on my daughter's phone. 

The Bus Is Almost Full

    The day my children were born, I began snapping photos, left and right, like some crazy woman.  With my first born, digital cameras weren't available, so I have a million Sears Portrait photos of my son with teddy bears, giants Christmas ornaments and large plastic numbers one through five.   I have enough photo sheets to wallpaper all the bedrooms in my house.  By the time my daughter arrived, we had purchased a digital camera.  She has many of the same photos as my son, but they are versions I took at home with kittens, puppies, and giant bows.  Having the digital original allowed me to only print what I needed, so I don't have quite as many prints of her.   Select sizes were placed in frames and put on display for all to see.

    While shopping for frames for all of my photos, I ran across two picture frames that looked like buses.  There was room in the bus to put your child's photo for each year of school, Kindergarten through twelfth grade.  My children were nowhere near school age, so there was no concern about the bus ever filling up, because that would certainly take a hundred years.   I thought it would be a cool thing to have a photographic progression of them aging.  I never realized that it was simply a countdown for their leaving the nest.  

    Lo and behold, I blinked, and the first day of Kindergarten rolled around.  As a young mom, I was so excited when picture day came and I could put the first picture on that bus.  My son was officially on the bus to graduation and I had twelve more empty spaces to fill. This could be fun, I thought.

    He continued to fill up the bus as my daughter took her place in the front seat of her bus...  a brunette beauty with bangs in Mary Janes and matching cropped pants and top.   The riders on the bus continued to board on an annual basis until my son reached about ninth grade.  He pointed out that when the bus filled up, he would drive away.  That was the last picture I put in the buses.  A subconscious denial kept me from selecting new photos of the kids to put in their escape vehicles.  My son reminded me that I couldn't stop the bus from leaving and someday I would have to put those photos in.  

    After two years of procrastination, and recognizing that college was around the corner, I finally broke down and loaded more photos on the bus.  I held my son's bus up and pointed out that there was only one seat left.  I suggested we put a picture of me there, but we both knew that would never work.  I know after next year, he will drive away and it breaks my heart.  My daughter's bus still has five more seats left on it, so time is on my side.   If we were in a third world country, I could just keep stacking photos of him on top of the bus and he would never leave.  Unfortunately, his bus is almost full and the pre-trip checks are already in play.  I hope that it won't carry him too far away and that it remembers the way home.  I would hate to have to get on the bus with my daughter and go and get him.  Luckily, he knows I'm the kind of mom that could easily be seen coming around the corner in a giant bus, hunting him down if he stays away too long.

    As I ponder where these two buses will go, I realize I should get a picture of a sporty, two seater Jaguar and put it just below the buses. When the kids finish college, I can drop my own photo in the sports car.  It will make the bus leaving a little easier to watch.  

The Disconcerting Look of the Big Eyed Bunny

    Many a child has been traumatized by the big eyed bunny who represents Easter and is known to sneak around our yards at night, depositing eggs filled with tiny candies and golden coins.  As good moms, we thrust our children upon this wily creature, somehow forgetting that even we would veer away from the false lure of chocolaty goodness if it was brought to us by an over sized mutant rabbit with craziness in his eyes.  Because fun is the name of the game,  many a community leader has donned this heavy headed costume that instantly blocks their vision and demands absolute silence.  Unable to speak words of comfort to intuitive toddlers who instinctively know this is absurd, these bobble headed creatures approach our children like walking zombies and we all smile at the great fun that is taking place.   The young man in this photo is now seventeen years old and I've seen this same look on his face throughout the years.  It is a look that says, "What the hell are you thinking?"


    I saw the same expression on his face on his first day of Kindergarten. There were toy trucks, tinker toys, and a giant dog at home, so why was he in this strange place, with me pinning the number "4" on him and placing him at a table with three big eyed girls with giant bows in their hair?  In the same fashion as that bunny from the past, they spoke no words to him.  They just stared with big eyes and bobbly bows.  He clutched his box of crayons and gave me the same "Save me from the Easter Bunny" stare.  

Even the baby knew something wasn't right

    As years moved by,  I saw this look again as I placed him on Santa's lap, on the lap of a crazy uncle, right before a series of vaccines, and when we brought home a new baby. It's a look of uncertainty, mixed with trust for the one who put you in this situation.  It screams, "Are you really doing this to me?"
 
    
   
   This grave look of concern can be given or received.  A young girl, who is much like another daughter of mine, was recently at church practicing her role in the Passion Play, a very emotional production about the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  It is the real meaning of the Easter holiday and has nothing to do with big eyed bunnies.  Because children are blessed and have not forgotten how to have fun in all that they do, she was overcome with joy (and good cheer leading skills) and learned the hard lesson that one should not cheer the Arkansas Fight Song during Passion Play Practice.  I'm certain she was on the receiving end of the Easter Bunny stare with the attached message, "What the heck are you thinking, girl?"   I know God smiled down from heaven because He knows kids are kids.  But moms and dads are good at sending this look across an entire congregation of on-lookers, making even the most joyful child settle down and get back to their lines or tending of sheep.

     As parents, many of us brought this look with us into adulthood and have honed this stare into a true skill.  One eye is clenched tighter than the other and one eyebrow creeps higher on our brow as we attempt to send telepathic messages to our loved ones.  I can look across an entire gymnasium full of people and my children instantly know what this look means.  They put their cell phones down, tuck their fight songs in their pocket and pay full attention.  My mother claims she can give this look from three states away and we instantly sense we are on the receiving end of the Easter bunny stare.  An immediate reassessment of our situation is conducted and we jump back on the right track.  


  As I look back at the pictures of my children with celebrated bunnies, Santas and situations of uncertainty, I see past the looks of concern, and take pleasure in the fact that their trust in me was greater than their fear of a deranged bunny, bearded stranger or series of recommended vaccinations.  Trust is built from birth and can get us through the most concerning of times.   It allows us to face the unknown with a certainty that good things are headed our way. 

A Wrench In Our Plans

    Past travel experiences have taught me that one cannot travel through security checks with more than three ounces of mouthwash, pointy scissors, nail files, lighters, or a half finished grande mocha cappuccino, no matter how tasty it is.  I am now highly aware that there are additional items that are frowned upon, as well.  This list includes a backpack full or wires and a giant wrench.   When you send that through the xray machine, you are guaranteed a free trip to a special area, away from passengers, who don’t travel with such odd items.  It’s certainly a genetic downfall that plagues my family as we simply can’t navigate the security checkpoints with ease.  

    On our recent trip to the Caribbean, my family began the three hour long boarding process on the Mariner of the Seas.  My brother had passed through the security checkpoint first.  It is not unusual for him to travel with enough computer equipment to operate a small business from his cabin.  This time he was traveling with a 27 inch computer monitor, several hard drives and a computer processor.   Most travel with an ipad or laptop.  Not us.  My son enters the line and sends his backpack through the screening stop and the conveyor belt shuts down.  The lady behind the xray machine yells, “We have a problem here.”   Without even looking, I knew it had to be us.  She pulls out my son’s backpack and removes a giant wrench, not unlike those used to build ships, or possibly take them apart.  It was retrieved from a bed of wires and cables housed within his backpack.  She looks at him and then immediately turns to the responsible adult, which would be me, and asks “Should I be concerned?”  I explained that he was a Disc Jockey and had obviously forgotten to take his tools out of his pack. We received a special escort to the island of misfit toys where his giant wrench joined a large collection of confiscated alcohol, lighters, and nail files.  We signed for our contraband material and then we were released. 

    I’m certain our on-ship profile includes a special note that we attempted to board with large industrial tools and enough computer equipment to attempt a small take-over of the ship.  My only goal was to get poolside with a fruity drink in hand, not reroute the ship or rob the casino.  Ironically, my friend Sam and I went to the casino and played the quarter slots where we managed to break the machine after hitting a small jackpot in the first few spins.  A gazillion quarters rained down and then the door of the unit popped open.  Quarter after quarter continued to trickle out until the attendant finally arrived to fix it.  He shut the door, banged on the machine a few times with his fist and secured the machine once again.  I hope they don’t think we did that with our giant wrench!   I imagine a second note was added to our family profile.   

    Upon arrival to Grand Cayman, my children left the ship and immediately sought out American food.  Within the first few minutes I had spent 420 Cayman Islands dollars on frozen lemon aid, mocha latte and a giant pile of french fries.   I should have been buying fajitas and pico de gallo, but I was toting around frozen Dairy Queen products.  As luck would have it, we had to enter another security screening station to reenter the ship.  While it is not unacceptable to bring drinks on board, I now know that you should not send a melted frozen lemon aid through the xray scanner.   I can add this to my list of things they frown upon, especially when it spills half way through.  I’m certain the notes on my family profile continue to grow and we’ll be lucky if they let us through any further check points.  There is the ship pool, though, and I can always stay there until we return home to the states and our giant wrench that waits at the port.  

The Vacation Fund

    My mother has always advocated hiding away little piles of money for a rainy day or possibly a Disney vacation.  Her vessel of choice is a small, white bucket that she places loose change in.  After retiring, she began making and selling gourmet cupcakes to friends and family.   The money earned from cupcake sales was placed in the bucket to wait for that rainy day, when it was needed.  I, too, have a bucket, but its contents have dwindled down to a partially filled tube of lip gloss and some quarters thrown in from doing laundry.   My bucket quickly became a community bucket where everyone reached for lunch money, cigarette money, movie money and more.   I realized that location is everything and that I might need to secure a different bucket and place it in an undisclosed location.

    Around Thanksgiving, my mother asked me to count her bucket money (a favorite hobby of hers) and as I passed a thousand dollars and still had stacks of twenties to go, I realized that people must really like cupcakes.   She suggested we pool our bucket money together and take a cruise.   This was a grand plan, except for the fact that lip gloss and quarters won’t actually secure passage on a real ship. It was time for a better plan. The solution… The Vacation Fund. 

    This cute ceramic container came with dreams of Hawaiian vacations and trips to exotic lands.  It was written on the outside, clear as day…. “Vacation Fund”.  How could I go wrong?  While the first container I used was clearly labeled “Folgers Dark Roast Coffee”, I can see how it was easily mistaken for everyone else’s funds.  I hid my new vacation fund container at the top of my china cabinet and tossed fives and twenties in as the days passed.  Unable to see the contents in the jar, I knew it must be turning into quite the little nest egg.    

    Cruise tickets were purchased with cupcake money and my vacation fund would be used to pay for the extras.   After comparing notes with other sea faring families, I discovered what those extras might actually be.  One family spent $600 on pictures and another had an $800 bar bill.  I can understand the bar expense if I had just learned that I owed $600 for pictures.    Excursions are extra and my mother insists that my daughter swim with the sharks.  I’ve explained to her how that particular activity is usually free and not actually a tourist favorite– it’s swimming with the dolphins that costs $200 a person.  Travel to and from the port is an additional expense and will include two vehicles on a nine hour drive with several stops at Cracker Barrel Old Country Store and Restaurant where we all become nostalgic and buy toys from our youth.  My son will procure a kazoo that will eventually be tossed out the window as we pass a semi and he has driven me to madness with kazoo tunes.  My daughter will have some dancing monkey or paddle ball that will fly back and forth from three rows back, hitting me in the head and breaking my sunglasses.  The cost for one trip to Cracker Barrel can be expensive when it includes emergency Optometric support.   All must be covered by the vacation fund.  "Extras" will also include several stops at gas stations that are more like mini-amusement parks than fueling stops.  We can easily drop $100 on gas, beef jerky, unnaturally colored drink products and foot long strands of red licorice that will be hanging from our mouths before we hit the highway.   

    Afraid to calculate the true cost of the extras, I decided to bring down the vacation fund jar and see just what size vacation it would be.  Surely those twenties had added up over the months.  In an almost ceremonial fashion, we gathered at the table and allowed my daughter to count the funds.  She pulled out a one dollar bill and I was certain it must have just been placed there on top of the stack of twenties.  Then came a five dollar bill.  With one giant smile, she retrieved the first of the twenties.  Unfortunately, it was also the last of the twenties.  My vacation fund had $26!  My daughter cheered at our new found wealth.  My mother laughed.  It looked like we would be swimming with the sharks!

    I secretly thanked God for the savings account at the Credit Union that could not be touched by those seeking theater tickets, nicotine or "Two Ball Screw Ball" frozen treats from the ice cream man.   I gathered  my funds that would enable me to head south to lounge poolside.  I instructed the children not to smile at anyone’s camera but mine.   If the ship photographer comes along, they were instructed to instantly make scary faces.  This plan would save me some money and allow the children to swim with docile mammals while their mother sits on the shore sipping tropical goodness through a straw.  It’s a good plan, I think! 

Business Is Good

Give a kid a camera and they'll take a thousand silly photos.  Give them encouragement and they'll set up an office, build a web-site, crank out audio-visual material and have you delivering dinner to them while they work.

At the age of two, we stuck a computer in front of our son and said, "Here, you can't tear it up.  Try every button and have fun."  He first met "Reader Rabbit", a Disney software character, who led him down the proverbial rabbit hole where he discovered his love of all things high-tech. While he was supposed to be learning phonics from this rabbit who threw random letters on the screen, Joey learned color schemes, layout and effective user interfaces. He just didn't know it at the time.  Knowledge of all things computerized came quick.  By the age of ten, he was banned from on-line gaming for real world trading and turned to building

his own web-site.   His toys had turned into capital purchases and were no longer the kind you can share with the neighborhood kids.  By the age of sixteen, he had an established DJ business and was playing for private parties and corporate functions around the state. Cheerleaders discovered his ability to mix music and soon started arriving at our doorstep for Joey to crank out original dance tracks.  Joey discovered that cheerleaders were nice customers to have around and that business segment thrived.  One Friday night, when I thought we were attending a football game to hear the music he had provided, I noticed my son out on the field with the coaches, filming the oncoming players.  He had no permission to be there, but he learned early that nobody questions a kid with a camera in hand.  He used his skills learned from one Reader Rabbit to create a "Media" badge and soon was spending every game out on the field capturing great shots of our team.  He was preparing the music for the cheerleaders before the game and getting paid.  He was filming the players and editing great plays for college application videos and getting paid.  And then he was DJing the after game dances and once again, getting paid.  This kid can figure out more ways to make money in a single night than I once made babysitting all summer long.

Business was booming and since cell phones aren't allowed in school, he was texting clients from under his desk during Chemistry and AP History.  This plan worked well until people began to drop their deposits off with the school secretary.  Once again, employing the philosophy that it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, he found an empty closet at school and converted it into his office.  First time he called me from the school office, I just knew he was in the trouble until he explained that he was in "his" office.    Coaches began to see the value of his videos for their players and they never questioned his use of this unofficial office.  It wasn't long before the mayor discovered his talent and one day the police chief, mayor and Chamber of Commerce president came to the school to find Joey.  He wasn't in trouble for his unauthorized use of school space and secretarial staff.  Instead, they wanted to take him to lunch to discuss business.  I learned, just today, that instead of being in History class, he was busy working with a local business on how to promote their Wednesday Night Chicken Wing special.  I'm not sure how this will help when he takes his college entrance exams, but I feel it is a worthwhile learning opportunity.  While my funds disappear quickly and my 401K doesn't earn what it should these days, I figure I've invested wisely in the tools my kids need to be successful.

Someone asked me one time,  "How does he know how to do all of this?"  I think it's because he learned early that we trusted him with the tools placed in his hands.   And of course, he figured out that girls, in front of the camera, love the guy behind the camera.  That helps, too.