In case you can’t figure it out, it reads exactly:
Plan A
I bomb his base intil its destroyed.
Luckely he can’t read so he can’t figyrer out my plan
<whoosh>Â <bang>
There’s no other plan mentioned, or required. The course is laid before us, and it is absolute, and it shall end with the utter destruction of “him”, known to us as Cael. Whoosh, bang, indeed.
To be read followed by a long gleeful cackle, with much dry hand-rubbing.
This morning I stopped at Starbucks on my way to work, as I do every morning without fail. I gave my order to the cashier and she repeated it to the barista (a nice word for coffee schlepper) who looked at me, looked around helplessly and said, “But where’s his cup?”
You see, I normally bring my own cup, which is rather identifiable, but had forgotten it on my desk the day before. Also, clearly I have been spending way way too much money at Starbucks if this kind of thing happens. So, on one hand I am doing my best to save the environment, but on the other hand I am clearly powerless when it comes to deliciously wonderful coffee, and this habit is sucking $5.37 out of my pocket every day, not to mention the caffeine I’m consuming.
Funny how things change. Remember when I was off caffeine altogether? Remember when we discussed the merits of coffee: Timmies vs Good Coffee anywhere else? (Special bonus is this comment from Ali, which I had forgotten about and which still makes me laugh)
My name is Courtney, and I like coffee.
Cael was mentioning the other day that Jesus (remember him?) did something or other, and he called him Jesus Priced. Nikki and I had a good laugh about that one. We have at various times over the years purposefully not corrected the various mistakes the kids made with words because it was either too cute, or the potential for comedy was too great. For years Cael wanted a certain “banklet” on his bed because it was soft and fuzzy, and Nikki and I would privately snicker to each other. It’s a form of child abuse, basically. Ok, not really, but still it’s slightly dishonest.
Similarly, Quinn was patiently explaining something to Cael after listening to Nikki and I talk, and he said that we would all eventually get a needle so that we wouldn’t get the spine flu. Don’t tell the media, because that sounds like a scary-assed flu to me, imagine the frenzy they would whip up with a name like that. Swine flu (but pigs can’t fly?) has nothing on that one.
Jordy used to have a couple of good ones that we never corrected, she just figured it out on her own. A callipater was fun to let crawl on your arm. If you couldn’t read the fine print you got out your findafying glass, and then when you were hungry you ordered a hangaburger.
Finally, as we seem to have been hanging around hockey rinks way more often that before, Cael has discovered the simple joys of watching the ice get surfaced after a hockey practice. Yep, the plamboni comes out and does a great job of making the rink smooth.
If you don’t mess up your children, someone else will just come along and do it for you, and they will probably do it wrong. It’s best these things happen early and often…
In Memoriam:Â Dusty and M. Physema
Recently and suddenly, my two pillows (Dusty and M. Physema) were relegated to the pillow graveyard, the stuffed animal filler pile. We were longtime friends, I honestly couldn’t recall a time when I didn’t have them with me. They were perfectly shaped into flattened, shapeless rectangles that supported my neck and head just so when stacked together. They were a sleepytime dream team, I fear I shall never find their equal amongst the roster of bland, slippery, new hypo-allergenic pillows on our bed. Indeed, the cruel joke of it all is a nightly wake held in honour of my missing pillows.
Nikki gently convinced me it was time to let them go to a better place; as stuffing for Cael’s Superman pillow buddy. Tearfully I let them go, but to be honest I did everything with them tearfully since they had become so old that the atmosphere that surrounded them was constantly swirling with wonderful motes of mould and dust, irritating the eyes and lungs equally. Every morning I would wake, my sinuses packed full and wheezing mightily, my head dizzy from lack of oxygen as my spongy airways constrict with mouldy love for my pillow friends.
Indeed, in the morning when a ray of sunshine found them, it was like sleeping inside a beautiful snowglobe, my explosive sneezes stirring the molecules of irritants wonderfully, given a wondrous glow as I squinted through rheumy eyes. As I now struggle to cope with their loss, and to become adjusted to their annoyingly puffy and light replacements, I can’t help but remember the good times we had over the years; the asthma attacks of ’96, ’96, ’97, ’99 (four times, sniff), and the oxygen tent in ’03. Truly we had fun.
Good times. Guys? Thanks for the phlegmories.
Before you accuse me of sacrilege, does it help to know that the title of this post is not my own, but rather the utterance of my 5 year old son? Probably not, but still it wasn’t me this time.
Allow me to relay the whole story.
Nikki and Cael were having yet another one of their conversations (anyone who knows a 5 year old knows that there is actually only one conversation, it starts around the 4th birthday, and just never ends until about the 7th birthday). This excerpt goes something like this:
Cael: “You never come back after you die, right Mom? Except for Jesus?”
Nikki: <yikes> “That’s right Cael.”
Cael: “Huh. So, was Jesus a zombie?”
Nikki: “Ah, no.”
Cael: “Huh. Did he have to dig his way out through all of the dirt?”
Nikki: “No, he was in a tomb and moved a rock.”
Cael: “Oh. I’ll bet he said…” (and this part was in his best Jack Nicholson wheeze, with the finger guns demonstrated previously) “It’s good to be back!”
Sometimes you hear something so obvious you wonder how it never hit you before. The idea that the Bible was actually a zombie story is so fundamentally awesome that I really have to give Cael credit here. He definitely has given this some thought.
Anyway, there you go. Now that we have hit new levels of irreverence and sacrilege, I guess I should probably just go outside and shut my eyes and await the (by now inevitable) smiting.
Fortunately, I will not be the first to be smoten, there seems to have been a long line of people who have had this idea before (be sure to friend Zombie Jesus on Facebook!). But I bet they didn’t think of it when they were only 5.
…may I charm the bejeesus out of each and every one of you?
I for one will not be surprised if Cael goes into the performing arts because he can strike a picture perfect pose (see above), absorb and deliver killer lines from movies and TV, and have us all laughing til our guts burst with his rubber facial expressions. If he doesn’t do acting, or dancing, then he will move on to sales where nobody’s money will be safe from this kid. Look at this picture, it was a spontaneous shot, he grabbed my sunglasses and put them on, and I said give me a cool guy pose and snapped this with the iPhone. It’s killing me.
It’s certainly his superpower.