In this instance, words do not suffice. And yes, I used a tired phrase.

Said title of this blog was uttered by Youngest SON of Thunder the other night. He, his siblings and yours truly were watching a YouTube video. Quite instructional some of those videos are by the way.

Anyway. We were learning … wait for it … wait … how a milk snake eats. Snake, not shake.

And why pray tell would we care? Somehow, Eldest SON of Thunder convinced yours truly and the Little Black Dress that he really, really, wanted a milk snake for his birthday. Said birthday is today.

An aside – happy birthday Eldest. You are awesome. And The Dress and I are very proud of you and are simply grateful you are in our lives.

We’re back. So here’s how it happens. The nice commentator on the video drops a very cute little white mouse into the glass terrarium. Said terrarium also includes a milk snake. Said snakes are about a finger or two wide and grow to about 36 inches or so. Just so you know we’re not talking rattlers or pythons or such.

And the little precious mouse scurries about and the snake just looks at it. And then out of the blue, in that whole Santa twinkling of an eye speed, the snake strikes, wrapping itself completely around the aforementioned precious little mouse.

And the snake starts to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze. And the nice commentator lets us know the snake is basically suffocating the precious mouse to death.

After about a minute the snake decides the mouse is dead enough. And it’s time to eat. Now we all know snakes don’t have arms (you know that right?). So I figured the snake would just sort of gnaw on the mouse. I say this because the mouse – at least in width – is way bigger than the snake.

That would be a “no.” Because the snake basically opens its mouth to some absurd stretch and begins to swallow the now dead, former precious mouse.

And it was about that time Youngest SON let out the “AG@!#!! … Not the circle of life!!!. Complete with all the exclamation points.

In the background, The Dress is muttering. Something along the lines of “What was I thinking,” “This was the dumbest idea of all time,”  ”What was I thinking,” “If that snake ever gets out …,” “What was I thinking.” And so forth.

A few days ago, Eldest Son and I were on the Internet searching for the perfect milk snake. Eldest wanted a Nelson milk snake. We found one an ordered. They are shipped overnight delivery. Eldest was completely calm and rationale and didn’t check his e-mail every five minutes to see if it had shipped and exactly when it would arrive. No, not at all.

We finally got an e-mail. They were out of Nelsons. They suggested an Apricot milk snake. Eldest did not want an Apricot. He wanted a Nelson. Another aside – basically the various names refer, I’m guessing here, to the color patterns of said snakes. I say that because they also have Albino milk snakes, which, yes, have a lot of white. For some reason, The Dress was adamant there would be no Albino milk snake in the house.

So Eldest and I search some more and find a Mexican milk snake. And we order it. It’s due today. And Eldest calls The Dress to inform her. Bad mistake son.

Because within nanoseconds of that call The Dress has speed-dialed me and just lays into me.

“I thought we were getting a Nelson snake. What is this Mexican snake. We agreed on a Nelson snake. That’s what the science teacher said to get” and so on and so forth.

And then she let out, “what if its personality is different.”

And I pause. And in my sweetest voice say, “honey, it’s a friggin snake.”

And then spent quite a bit of time explaining that said snake was indeed a milk snake and the only difference was the name, which simply referred to its color pattern. And she may have bought that line, but we’ll see. And that will all depend on said snake’s personality.

Anyway. The Dress and Eldest head off to the Big Box Pet Store to get a terrarium. And silly me thinks they will be bringing back a big glass case.

That would be a “no.”

We have special wood chips – Aspen no less – because cedar apparently kills them. And the terrarium isn’t just a big case. No. It includes a 5.5 inch “Premium Reflector Dome Fixture” that “provides warmth and light with a ceramic socket to withstand constant heat.”

And we have a “Day Blue Light Bulb” that “emits full-spectrum light and UVA rays needed for a healthy reptile environment.” And we have a “Heat Mat Terrarium Heater” that “helps reptiles thermo-regulate for daily activity, appetite and metabolism.”

Think I’m done don’t you?

That would be a “no.” Because we also have a “Terrarium Liner” described as needed because “reptiles thrive on the absorbent, non-abrasive material. Treated with a biodegradable enzme that reduces reptile odors.”

And I admit, I had no idea snakes stunk.

And finally, we have the “Fresh Air Screen Cover 20 x 10 inch” that “provides solid security and air flow to promote a healthy exchange of air needed to help keep pets active and healthy.” Yeah, it also means it better keep the snake because if it escapes and finds the LBD …

I did not make any of that up. It’s all on the box. You have to love marketing.

We also learned milk snakes eat Pinkie Mice. Said mice are available at the Big Box Pet Store. Said mice are frozen.

That last sentence is key. Because the mice have to be warmed up first before the snake will eat them. That means you have to heat up some water and basically thaw the mouse.

It will never happen. But just imagining the Little Black Dress wearing a surgical mask and rubber gloves and holding a frozen mouse by the tail with tongs while dipping it in hot water to warm it up …

I’d probably bust several blood vessels from laughing so hard.

It is time to go. The doorbell has rung.

Felipe is here.

In honor of this infamous week, known simply as CRCT Hell, here’s a repost of the blog I wrote about this time last year:

There is a well over-used cliché about the tension being so thick you can cut it with a knife. That’s unfortunate, I mean that the cliché has become, well, a cliché, because it’s a pretty good phrase.

But this week, across the state, you can pretty well cut the tension with a knife. Everyone is all smiles. But the smiles are tight. The kind you get when you’re about to go through a procedure that includes the words “root” and “canal.” And you hear something in the background along the lines of “what do you mean we’re out of anesthesia?”

Routines are no longer that. There are lots of discussions among the Sons of Thunder about the exact rules. Said discussions turn into debates, with deft phrases punctuating the air – words like “uh huh” and “uh uh” – in ever-increasing volume. More on that later.

Welcome to the Criterion-Referenced Competency Tests, affectionately known as the CRCTs. Also referred to as, borrowing yet another cliché, Hell Week.

There is a quite informative website run by the state to help parents understand why their kids are freaking out and teachers are screaming in the halls. Said site is, quoting verbatim, “producing well-designed assessments aligned to the state curriculum with timely dissemination of results.” In English, this means “we’re testing to see if your kid has learned anything and we’ll let you know as soon as we can.”

The friendly web site even lets us know what the CRCT is, as only a state can do: “The CRCT is designed to measure how well students acquire the skills and knowledge described in the Georgia Performance Standards (GPS). The assessments yield information on academic achievement at the student, class, school, system and state levels. This information is used to diagnose individual strengths and weaknesses as related to the instruction of the GPS, and to gauge the quality of education throughout Georgia.”

Again, in English this means “determining whether your kid is smart or dumb, and whether you’d kill to get into this school district or give it up, your school sucks.”

Apparently, we can blame all of this on some kid named Johnny. Who, again, apparently, got through school without knowing how to read. The nice people up in Washington were shocked, shocked I tell you. They immediately stopped sharpening their No. 2 pencils and decided everyone should take a test.

This has resulted in what down here is referred to as “teaching to the test.” And it’s also a time of knowing looks among parents, double-checking of ammo clips, hiding of silver and references to something about “The War of Northern Aggression” and “Damn Yankees.”

Our home is not immune.

The Little Black Dress lets it be known, more than once I might add, that she “suffered through test anxiety” when she was in school. And so she feels the Sons’ pain. For the record, I never said she freaked out and threw up every time the word “test” was mentioned.

To help the Sons get over any “test anxiety,” The Dress made sure they were prepared. This preparation involved the necessity of buying the Sons new sneakers. No, I do not understand the correlation.

Said preparation also involved buying pencils. This I understood. However, instead of getting a box of pencils, available just about anywhere, the LBD goes to the Big Bulk Store. Meaning she returns with not 10, but rather 1,000 No. 2 pencils. When she returned, I was about to ask what I thought was a rather obvious question; namely, do we need this many pencils?

Before I was able to utter anything, I got The Look. And she made the comment that the Sons would take extra pencils in case someone forgot to bring his/hers. So the entire school is now well-stocked. And the Sons’ backpacks look like some cactus plant.

So anyway. Last night I’m asking the Sons about the tests and before I get two words out …

“YOU CAN’T PEE!!!!”

“YOU CAN’T POOP!!!!”

“YOU CAN’T THROW UP!!!”

Wait, what was that last one?

“YOU CAN’T THROW UP … YOU HAVE TO HOLD IT!!!!”

There are other rules as well, which apparently vary depending on whether one is in elementary or middle school. Or, the rumors on said rules have taken a life of their own.

For the elementary school, one must sit quietly after finishing. No reading of library books allowed. However, one may play thumb wars – by oneself.  And now we know where the phrase “twiddling your thumbs” came about.

For the middle school, you apparently are required to read after finishing. Quoting the eldest Son, “they want to make sure our brains keep thinking.”"

The biggest debate is reserved for whether one may lay one’s head down on the desk. This will result in immediate removal and a meeting with The Man From The State, or is allowed provided you don’t fall asleep.

This Man From The State has taken on a life of its own. Either it’s a total fabrication or involves walking down a long dark hallway into a room with a single light bulb and coming face to face with a leather trench coat and monocle.

We’ll be able to lay this one to rest when the Sons come home this afternoon.

Or rather, if.

It is rather easy to write a  Thankful Thursday today because we have a lot to be thankful for as believers.  How blessed we are as Christians to know our hope is in Christ as we prepare for Easter Sunday!

Today is known to many as Maundy Thursday, it was the day that Jesus had the Last Supper with the disciples before his crucifixion on Friday. One of my fondest memories has always been attending the re-enactment of the Last Supper and even a foot washing service with my parents. It was always an awesome experience.

We refer to Friday as Good Friday, but it was certainly a day full of pain, torment and suffering for our Lord and Savior. For the believer, however, it is a good day.  A day when Jesus took on my sins, your sins and all the sins of the world.  Those sins that were, are and ever to be.

That is amazing love.  And remember the best part is Sunday is coming!  Resurrection Day!

Last spring I picked up my father’s bible and saw his hand written notes in it. What a gift.  What a legacy to have his bible but more importantly the Godly influence he imparted to me.  For a moment, I could not believe he and my mom are both gone.  Sometimes it feels like a dream.  A wave of loss washed over me that I could never describe, but all of you who have lost someone you love know that kind of grief I am talking about.  I thought to myself , God knows my pain because he too watched his Son suffer and die.  He cares about our every need, our greatest joys and our deepest sorrow.

I turned to one of my favorite books in the bible, John, and finally made my way to John 14.  

The first thing I read, which was underlined in pencil was the following:

John 14:1

Do not let your hearts be troubled, Trust in God; Trust in me.  In my father’s house there are many mansions, if it were not so I would have told you.

What a comfort to read this passage “Do not let your heart be trouble”  and “In my father house there are many mansions.”  To all those who have lost loved ones, it is a comfort indeed. It was so wonderful to read those words. On this Thankful Thursday, dear friends, do not let your heart be troubled, trust in God. Our hope is in Christ and the we are indeed safe in the Cross of Christ. What a gift to be reminded of this. What a hope.  What a future we have in store for us!

I read further and the next scripture dad underlined was John 14:6

I am the way, the truth and the life.

He knew it and I am so blessed that I know it too!  For all who know Christ as their Lord and Savior, we know He is the way!  He is the way for help, for wisdom, for guidance, for freedom, for healing, for restoration, and for eternal life!  He is indeed the way, the only way!

He can help you break any addiction, any stronghold and any giant that you face!

As Winters writes in his book, Everyone needs a Sam, I love how He shared that Jesus is the Ultimate Sam.  He is the guy that says I can carry you and I carry your burden too.  He is the guy you want beside you and guarding your back,  you will never find a better mentor and friend than Jesus Christ. He will never leave you or forsake you!  I hope you know Him well and if not, I urge you to get to know this guy, this amazing Savior, Jesus Christ! You won’t be disappointed I promise.

This Easter I pray that you find your hope in Christ and Him alone and let the things of this world be less and less important and allow Christ to become more real in your life.

I hope you never forget how precious you are to God, so precious that He would send His only Son to die just for you! May we set our attention and gaze at the Cross of Christ this Thankful Thursday.

Be blessed and encouraged abundantly today as we celebrate what Christ did for us on the Cross and the resurrection of our Lord and Savior!

Remember dear friends, Sunday is Coming!

Praise Be To God!

On This Thankful Thursday I am reminded of the week ahead.  It will be Spring Break in Newnan and the Sons of Thunder will be thundering through the house, yard, neighborhood and everywhere else in between.

Mothers all over Coweta County are gearing up for a busy week. But I point my heart and mind to the good blessing we have. I am so grateful the Sons can run! I am grateful I have ears to hear their loud yells and tender words like “I love you” and I am grateful I have eye sight to see all their beautiful faces and the list goes on and on. I know you have your list too.

Winters and I always tend to try to look to the good and yes we are grateful most of that God hold’s us in the palm of His hands.

But I am also reminded that we will soon be approaching Palm Sunday, Good Friday and then Resurrection Sunday!  How humbled and honored we are to be loved by a God who would do so much for us.  I so grateful for a Savior who loved me enough to die on a cross for me and you!

This simple song puts it so beautifully so I thought I would share the lyrics with you.   I am sure you have sung it a million times but I pray it especially blesses you today!

GIVE THANKS
WITH A GRATEFUL HEART
GIVE THANKS
TO THE HOLY ONE
GIVE THANKS
FOR HE’S GIVEN
JESUS CHRIST, HIS SON

AND NOW LET THE WEAK SAY
I AM STRONG
LET THE POOR SAY
I AM RICH
BECAUSE OF WHAT
THE LORD HAS DONE
FOR US

GIVE THANKS…

So my dear friends if you feel weak or poor, weary and down trodden remember on this Thankful Thursday that you rich, you are strong and you are loved more than you could ever possibly know!  You are love and accepted by the Savior, Jesus Christ.   He counts you worthy! 

Be blessed and encouraged on this thankful Thursday as we give thanks with a grateful heart!

Not just any blender. In my mind, a blender is something where you put stuff in a glass/plastic container, push a switch and said stuff blends together.

Fairly simple process. But no, because our blender not only blends, but mixes, and pulses, and dices, and purees, and chops, and crushes, and other assorted blending functions.

To cut to the chase, the manufacturer simply uses all these exotic terms rather than something simple, like slow, fast, faster, and super-duper fast. That way, they can charge you a lot more. And we, as consumers, fall for it. Every time.

I mean, do you want a blender that goes fast, or one that can puree?

Back to the blender – it broke.  And so now our extremely and absurdly expensive blender is a rather large paperweight.

The Dress will be off shopping. But first she enlists the help of Eldest SON of Thunder, who does the whole internet search thing and together they come up with is, apparently, The Blender.

Enter The Ninja.

Despite an absurd amount of attachments, I like the basic unit. There is a rather zen-like simplicity to it. Three buttons: dough, blend, crush. Gone are all the purees and dices and mixes and whatnots.

You want to knead some dough, that would be the “dough” button; want to blend ingredients, that would be the “blend” button; want to crush some ice, that would be the “crush” button.

The Ninja, like all such devices, comes in a box. The difference is the box has enough warning labels on it one would think it was toxic. This especially holds true for the various blades, which are sealed in cardboard with several other warnings, that in simplest terms, say, “touch and die.”

The Dress makes it through all the warning labels, hooks it up and well, blends something. That would be using the “blend” button if you recall.

She is happy.

Fast forward to the evening meal cleanup. The LBD decides to move the Ninja and touches a blade with her thumb.

We now know why the manufacturer went with the “Ninja” name.

She did not cut her thumb, but rather lacerated it. Picture one of those awful B-grade movies where the guy gets his hand cut off by the zombie and he just stares at the lump as blood starts gushing and spurting and …

About like that.

And despite her best attempts – applying pressure, running under cold water, wrapping it in a towel, the bleeding will not stop.

And that’s when I get the “do something” look.

“Put paprika on it.”

“What????!!!”

“Put paprika on it.”

“I’ve been married to you for 18 years Winters and I’ve never seen you put paprika on any cut.”

“Yes I have.”

“No you haven’t.”

I should probably put her comments in all caps. And we’re really not getting anywhere. So I take her hand, grab the paprika and pour it all over what’s left of her thumb.

And within a few seconds the bleeding stops. And I wrap it up in some gauze and tape.

Ta da.

I have exhibited yet another gift.

The Dress looks at me with disbelief, looks down at her thumb, back at me and yet, can’t quite figure out an appropriate response.

A simple thank you would suffice.

I learned the trick years ago working in restaurants where you weren’t a chef unless you had a few massive cuts to display. Sharp knives, lots of cutting, you will bleed.

We were at a party the other day and The Dress still had her thumb wrapped up in a bandage. Someone commented on said bandage and The Dress relayed the story. And the other person just started laughing because one of her friends had gotten the Ninja, and created what was described as a rather massive near amputation herself. And apparently bled and bled and bled.

She did not know the way of the paprika.

But now you do.

(Chinese proverb)

So Eldest Son of Thunder decided to go hunting.

He had it in his head that he needed an animal skin for something, what that something is, or was, I’m still not sure. I was invited to join this little safari, but declined.

And yes I realize I missed one of those “bonding moments.” And yes I know the “they grow up so fast” and “you have so little time with them” and “opportunities like this come so rare” and fill in the mantra.

This was not an Alaska bear hunt; not even a deer hunt. Rather, Eldest was off to get a rat squirrel. My extreme and total loathing (The Dress does not allow the words “hate” or “hatred” in the house) of squirrels is well documented within this blog and in my latest book, The Little Black Dress and the SONS of Thunder – Recipes On Life and Food.

I digress. I’ve shot my share of deer; love a dove or quail hunt; and put me in a salmon river where I can wave a stick (or fly fish) and Nirvana beckons. I’ve gutted deer, plucked dove and filleted more salmon than I can remember. I love being outdoors, and am happy to just tag along on a hunt. I’m just at that point in life I’d rather shoot with a camera than a gun. And that’s probably because I’ve never really gotten into the taste of wild animals. Dove and salmon, however, is another matter.

I am more than happy to plug away at rats and squirrels all day. But I’m also at a point where I think you should eat anything you kill from God’s bounty. And the refrigerator was pretty well stocked as it was and this was not Dual Survivor and we were not out in the wilderness starving to death. So I just told Eldest to go ahead without me. And the fact The Dress was pretty adamant we were not having squirrel stew for dinner sealed the deal, at least on my end.

An aside. Thank you in advance for sending in your great-grandmother’s squirrel stew recipe. No, we will not be trying it, no offense.

Anyway, Eldest being Eldest is successful and sure enough comes back with a rat squirrel. There is something incredibly satisfying about a dead squirrel. And I gave him the big high-five from dad and all the other congratulatory necessities and life was good and I was proud of him and …

“Will you help me skin him?”

Well crap. (The Dress isn’t too crazy about that word either).

To be honest, I am simply not in the mood to skin a friggin rat. Yes, and go back to all those “bonding moments” comments. But he’s pretty pumped and this is my chance for one of those “bonding moments” and sometimes you do things you don’t want to for the greater good and it’s a teaching moment and I need to man up and …

“You can do it.”

And he looks at me with a confident nod and disappears upstairs.

A few minutes later I go out to at least check on his progress. He’s got a big old Ka-Bar knife out and has just successfully separated said squirrels’ head from the rest of his body.

And then I notice the laptop.

Eldest, being Eldest, simply went online and found various YouTube videos on the proper way to skin/gut a squirrel. And he enlisted Youngest Thunder Son to hit the pause button as needed.

And before you know it, we’ve got a squirrel skin hanging from a tree.  And Eldest did it all by himself, or, at least figured out how to do it all by himself.

And I was pretty proud of him and told him so.

No, I didn’t go step by step with him on the squirrel skinning. Oh, the flaming arrows of dad failure.

Life is a collection of lessons. Over the years I’ve taught him the proper way to use a knife, how to shoot, to think things through, and more importantly, to trust himself. To trust himself enough that when he sees a problem, he can find a solution. That, to put it simply, he can do it.

And he did.

Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and  you feed him for a lifetime.

And yes, I’ve taught him to fly fish.

The Little Black Dress was adamant she would be watching said show. The SONS of Thunder were pretty adamant they would not. The Dress pointed out if the SONS would like to earn some “points,” it might be wise for them to join her for a while. And let’s face it, the fact the SONS need lots of “points” right now was fairly well implied.

So with a few “ughs” and “do we have to” comments, the SONS settled down. As least settled down as much as the SONS can when they are forced to do something they really don’t want to – which basically means they didn’t.

Anyway … so the young ladies start parading and it is obvious a little competition is starting among the SONS. They are all pushing for their “birth” state. Youngest with Georgia, Middle has Nebraska and Eldest takes Alaska. The Dress is pushing Miss Oklahoma all the way.

The reason for that is she competed in Miss Oklahoma for several years. The only blemish to that incredibly fine organization is that The Dress never won the state title. Everyone makes mistakes.

The SONS are quite happy with Miss Oklahoma as well. They lived there for about two years, yours truly and The Dress grew up there, plenty of friends and family are still there. And, well, you know, mom was in that competition.

Well, Top 10 come out and all three of the SONS’ home states are out. Which means they are basically “out” as in continuing to watch.

Yeah, and then comes the bathing suit competition.

“Um, we can hang around for a little longer if you really, really want us to mom.”

“You all know she won that don’t you,” I point out to the SONS.

“Won, won what” they all ask.

“Um, the swimsuit competition.”

Total silence.

They look up at the television, look over at The Dress, look at the television … back and forth.

And I’m cracking up watching that interaction. Because you know at one level they are looking at these 18 to 20 year-olds and trying to equate that age with The Dress’s age, which we all know is 29. So it’s not a hard leap, but still …

And I also see a little bit of pride and a few winks and high-fives among the SONS.

So the swimsuit competition ends and then there’s the whole talent thing and the SONS are like, so gone after that. And The Dress gives her blessing so they are like, seriously and physically gone.

For some reason, I am a master at these competitions. I always get at least two out of the Top 5 and almost always pick the winner. I got three out of the Top 5 this year. But I admit, I did pick The Dress, or rather, she allowed me to pick her, so I do have some good practice.

Anyway, so with it down to the Top 5 The Dress and I are pulling all out for Miss Oklahoma. And The Dress is going crazy with all her “Go Betty,” “Go Betty”- like it’s some big football game or some huge national competition for young women with a title like Miss America or something on the line.

Miss Oklahoma misses by one – she’s runner-up. And yet The Dress is quite proud of Miss Betty Thompson.

The Dress will see Miss Betty soon.

The Miss Oklahoma pageant will be gearing up this summer. The Dress will be there, as will all the contestants. The young ladies are competing for the crown – the Miss Oklahoma title.

The Dress will be there, helping and showing them another Crown.

You see, The Dress was named this year as chaplain for the Miss Oklahoma pageant. Her role is to mentor and guide and also to help them “win” the true Crown. Only one wears the Miss Oklahoma crown; each of those young ladies can win the Crown – the Crown of Life.

I can’t think of a better title – and position – for the Little Black Dress. And while I know the LBD really wanted the state crown, I also know she’s really, really pumped about this title.

And honestly, I like the title better.

Yes, those keys. The ones where you tear up the house because the kids are late for school and you can’t find the keys you left RIGHT HERE YESTERDAY AND WHO TOUCHED MY KEYS AND HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU NEVER TO TOUCH MY KEYS.

Yes, those keys. The ones that start the car and open the front door. And on whatever key ring you choose to put said keys, there is always a key or two on there and you have no idea what it is for. But you will never take it off because one day you might remember and there’s this old lock and …

Yes, those keys. And that key ring, which I mentioned earlier. A person’s key ring  says a lot about one’s personality. The LBD’s includes a strap with a leopard pattern – see?

Anyway, this blog is not about keys or the fact the LBD lost her keys. Although that’s all I’ve talked about. It’s actually more of a cause and effect, losing the keys I mean.

Our house at the moment, is, shall we say … hang on … I’m trying to find the right phrase that won’t end with some headline of Husband Spiked To Death By Precious Woman Wearing A Black Dress Who Can’t Find Her Keys.

Our house is undergoing a transformation. That works.

With the holidays approaching, The Dress is in the midst of getting her various booths ready for her shows. She’s an artist, a designer, a take this old crappy piece of furniture and turn it into … “wow, that’s actually really nice” type. And she does mirrors lined with seashells. Which end up weighing enough to cause me to have a heart attack. But even I will admit they are really cool, especially if someone else has to hang them.

The problem is she needs somewhere to “create.” And to store all her “stuff” that she has picked up off the side of the road  discovered at those secret places only designers know about. Somewhere other than the garage and kitchen and master bedroom and living room and bonus room and …

I have actually solved this situation, which I will share in an upcoming post. So stay tuned.

Thus, right now our house is, what was the word? … oh yeah, in slight disarray.  Basically, you put something down and you may never find it again. Like losing the youngest SON of Thunder for a couple of hours the other day.

Or losing the keys.

Which leads to the point of this blog. The Dress had to take stuff to her booths. She can’t find her car keys, meaning she can’t get to said booths with said stuff. incredible works of art.

There is only one solution – The Truck.

I don’t know why, but I find it rather sexy to see the Little Black Dress in a Little Black Dress and cowboy boots driving a pickup older than she is.

And so The Dress loads up her stuff  works of art in the back of the pickup and heads off to the consignment stores where she has her booths.

And every single woman looks at The Dress. And looks at The Truck.

And every one of them says, “I need a truck.”

And so gentlemen, the point of this blog. You now have the Golden Ticket.

Don’t try the “I need a truck.”

Try, “Honey, wouldn’t you like to have a truck to haul your stuff works of art in?”

And they will say “yes … what a thoughtful idea.”

And you have your truck.

Unless of course, she needs it to move her stuff works of art.

The intent was there – getting together with friends and their kids so said kids can have fun. To create, as the Little Black Dress would say, “memories.” Sometimes it’s best to not go there, create the memory I mean. Because once it’s there, you never forget. And it takes decades of time before you can maybe laugh about it.

But no. We are going to create memories by golly. And so the three SONS of Thunder, the two SONS of Lightening, the DAUGHTER AND SON of Fire, along with the appropriate parental units, hit a fall festival.

And we’re actually having a good time and bonding and creating those memories. Until someone comes up with the brilliant stupid idea of trying the Corn Maze. I don’t know who actually came up with the idea, but I can assure you it wasn’t me.

Because we get to the entrance of the corn maze and the first thing they hand you is a flag on a long stick. And then you read a bunch of rules:  rules like don’t cut through the corn maze, stay on the path; don’t start a fire (I will come back to that one); STAY WITH YOUR GROUP (why yes, we’ll be coming back to that one too); don’t freak out because you are totally lost in a field of corn and are going to die as the corn stalks slowly bend toward you, wrapping their sheaves of gold ever so tightly around your body and take one of their ears of bountiful corn and ram it into your eye.

No, on that last one, you are supposed to remain calm and wave the aforementioned flag and someone will come to get you. Even if it takes a day or two. And hopefully before the corn stalks have done a number on you.

I bring up that last point because one of the more inquisitive SONS asked what I thought was a pretty smart question; namely, how long does it take to get through this pit of hell corn maze.

And the nice woman says some people have actually made it in about 10 minutes. And then she says some people … and she looks off in the distance, like she’s remembering something. Like a relative who died a slow and painful death.

Remember those memories I was talking about? Yeah, here’s why sometimes memories should not be created in the first place. Because we walk into the corn maze and the first thing I think of is that D-Grade movie, “Children of the Corn.”

It was decades ago, and as near as I can remember, it involved some children and some corn fields and some psycho minister. Thus the title, naturally. And basically, if you didn’t do exactly what the psycho guy said, you got sent to the corn field to be shucked.  Or stabbed to death with a bunch of ears of bountiful corn. Or something.

All I remember is 1. you never wanted to go into said corn field and 2. if you did get sent there, you were going to die a horrible death.

So I’m thinking about that as we walk into the corn maze.

And it takes about, oh, six seconds or so before the SONS of Thunder and the SONS of Lightening and the SON of Fire have totally violated Rule No. 3 – the one I put in big capital letters – STAY WITH YOUR GROUP.

As an aside, the DAUGHTER of Fire and her father went for a pony ride. She was the only smart one in the group.

Back to the maze of death. Basically, it takes another seven or eight seconds before the various SONS are all screaming each other’s names. Because they are already lost and a couple of them are already freaking out because some SON did not STAY WITH THE GROUP. And I look back and realize I’m only about 10 yards from the entrance to this incredible memory I got suckered into and I start walking back and The Dress looks at me and says, “don’t even thing about it.”

Ugh.

So we round up the various SONS complete with the STAY WITH YOUR GROUP lecture, which, as all parents know, is a complete waste of time. But as parental units, we have to give said lecture to show that we are, you know, parental units.

And that lasted about a minute – I mean the STAY WITH YOUR GROUP impact.

And suddenly we come to the proverbial fork in the road. And there’s a sign with a question and three possible answers. Depending on your answer, you go straight, left or right.

It’s at this point I should mention this pit of hell corn maze has a “theme.” Why a theme? I have no friggin idea. But the theme is “space exploration.” How does a pit of hell corn maze and space exploration tie together? Again, I have no friggin idea.

So the questions relate to space exploration naturally. And I’m just standing there waiting on the various SONS to tell us the answer because they are the ones in school and getting the education and should know this off the top of their heads because The Dress and I just wasted about a month of our lives building a space ship out of flour and salt and duct tape for some science project and as soon as we got them to school with said project they opened the car door and the project fell out and broke into a million pieces and our precious SON failed said project and we ruined his life forever.

And I’m still waiting.

There are some technological advances that I truly am thankful for, especially at times like this.  Because another dad and I do what any sane person would do in a similar situation – we pull out our smartphones and just Google the answer.

And we end up doing that on more than one occasion.

And that’s pretty much how this memory went. Some SON would violate the STAY WITH YOUR GROUP rule, everyone would start yelling and freaking, we’d hit another multiple-choice crossroad, Google the answer and move on. And the whole time I’m singing “children of the corn, children of the corn, children of the corn …”

Until the mother of the SON of Fire hits me in the arm.

Ouch.

So by now I pretty much have this “memory” seared into my brain. Time to get out. But of course we’re in the deepest, darkest part of this pit of hell corn maze and the wind is blowing and the corn stalks keep bending toward me and the sheaves are starting to wrap around my legs and …

I’ve hit my wall.

And I realize I have about 538 different ways to start a fire in my backpack, being the father of Boy Scouts and being prepared and all that. And I think if  I start a fire right about here, the wind will blow it and we can just follow right behind the inferno blaze and walk right out. And then I realize knowing my luck the wind will shift and the headline will read “Idiotic Dad Freaks Out In Pit Of Hell Corn Maze, Burns To Crisp.”

Somehow, after lots of googling, tracking down lost SONS and doing the whole STAY WITH YOUR GROUP lecture way too many times, we find the exit.

And I kiss the ground.

And I think the only thing that would make this an even super-duper gee-whiz bang better memory was if we had done this in the summer, in 100-degree weather.

And I decided I’d rank this “memory” right up there with sleeping in a cave.

The kind of memory where you think back and go, “been there, done that … and never again.”

But all the SONS said they had a great time. So I guess we’ll let them keep the memory.

As you know, the SONS of Thunder and I are one with fire. And pretty much one with various knives and basically anything that involves the woods, burning things and sharpening sticks.

We are becoming, as the Little Black Dress points out, gear and survival junkies. For The Dress, “survival” means no lipstick – or high heels. But I digress.

And, we’re pretty much experts on the whole “you are playing the role of a couple of really, really stupid tourists who decide to wander around in the Amazon jungle with nothing more than a toothpick, a left shoe and some gum” shows – the ones where you take said implements and somehow start fire, build a canoe and kill a hippo.

There are three main shows relating to said “I’m a tourist trying to survive” shows: Man Verses Wild, Dual Survival and Man, Woman Wild.

And based on which show you prefer, I can pretty much sum up your entire life history and personality.

Let’s start with the original one – Man Verses Wild featuring Bear Grylls. He already gets points for his name – Bear. And let’s face it, he does fall into the “stud” category. He climbed Everest at the age of 23, broke his back parachuting, and circumvented the United Kingdom on jet skis.

He’s also a former Special Air Service member, which as near as I can tell is the equivalent of our Navy SEALS. Except they take a break from fighting for afternoon tea.

Bear started off well, but let’s just say he’s sold out to the commercial world. He’s now teamed up with Gerber – not the baby food, but knife company – and has all kinds of Bear Grylls’ survival knife, fire starter, glow-in-the-dark compass, all-in-one survival kit and just fill in the blank.

When he starts a clothing line at K-mart, I am definitely done.

He’s also become more of a “don’t try this at home” type. Like he’s standing at the top of some waterfall and for some reason the only way to get down is to jump 60 feet down into a 3×4-foot pool of water. Or, he jumps across a gorge by leaping 30 feet into the air and smashes into a tree, with his weight pushing him and the tree to the other side. Did I mention said gorge is about 500 feet down?

And every time he does one of those stunts The Dress looks at the SONS and says “If you even think about …”

He’s becoming too commercial, too perfect, too daring, too …

“Eye candy,” The Dress says.

And there you go.

The newest member of the survival shows is Man, Woman Wild.  This basically involves Mykel, another one of those SAS guys, and his wife, Ruth, a TV journalist. They happen to be married. Trust me, it shows.

I had high hopes. Think about it, The Dress and I out in the woods, surviving with what’s in our pockets, just hanging out together while the SONS bring up coconuts they scrounge off the beach, watching the sunset …

And then I always wake up.

In a nutshell, here’s how it goes. Mykel will go into this long explanation about something involving the equinox and tidal currents and how that somehow relates to building a fire. And Ruth will do something, or not do something, and Mykel goes “now honey.”

And Ruth will call Mykel a horse’s arse. She says that because she’s English, but it sounds funny and is not nearly as powerful as the American version. And then Mykel gets mad and puts on his helmet cam with an extended pole for the video camera and goes out to kill an elephant. And that pretty well kills the show. Because Mykel can probably decapitate you with a credit card, but when he puts on the helmet cam, you’d laugh in his face – even knowing he can decapitate you with a credit card.

And in the meantime Ruth starts playing journalist and gives us the history of how the Incas used to take acorns and smash them up to make a pie, but first they had to leech them to get rid of some weird something in said acorn. And Ruth does the whole leech thing with a sock.

And then Mykel comes back and they both say they love each other and kiss. And the SONS go “ugh.”

The Dress does not like this show. And she always asks why I watch this show and I simply say: Eye candy. Ruth that is.

And then there’s Dual Survival, which is the favorite of the SONS and I, and even The Dress likes this one. It’s probably because they don’t wear helmet cams, leech acorns in socks or leap over tall buildings in a single bound.

It features Dave, an Army-trained Scout and sniper, and Cody, a primitive skills expert. That’s what the bios say. To cut to the chase, Dave is from the backwoods and drank too much moonshine, Cody is a hippie who experimented – a lot – with peyote.

And they are like an old married couple. Cody plays the wife, gathering wood chips and snails to eat, building the “home” back at camp and muttering to himself. Dave is out hunting for meat and beats his chest will bring back a wildebeest. Cody is mellow; Dave is an ADD poster child.

But these guys are good. Dave can make fire from a rain cloud. Dave can take a boa constrictor and squeeze it to death.

And what I admire is they’ll look in the camera and say “don’t try this at home.” And they’ll look at each other and say “and we’re not trying it either.” And they don’t have a clothing line at some Big Box Store In The Sky and don’t say “arse” and would kill any producer who tried to make them wear a helmet cam.

At least, not yet.

And there you go.