Crazier than a shit-house rat...

Hell Cat!!! Where are you? Here kitty, kitty, kitty...see bottom of last post. I've left a warm bowl of milk out for you.

Sometimes, for very brief and fleeting moments, I suspect that perhaps my children are slightly touched. It's not their fault. Should you be brave enough to study the behavioural traits of both the MacLeod and Van de Velde families, much like one of those old Hinterland habitat vignettes, you would come to the conclusion that my childrens' collective outbursts of madness are an honest representation of their Scottish and Belgian, with a twist of Spanish, genes.

Simply put, the stuff that flies out of their mouths sometimes scares me. Not that it's a bad thing...it's just like, "Where do they get this shit?"  Obvious answer, The MacLeod side. But we won't go there today.

Here's a sampling of what I've been subjected to these past few weeks:

1. We often tell our children to look at our mouths when we're helping them enunciate a word they're having a hard time pronouncing. Upon reflection, this is usually after watching an episode of Swamp People, at which point they all start talking like they have no teeth. It's a uphill battle. So about a month ago, Roddy was wandering into the kitchen to put the coffee on, when he sees a shadowy bandit stealing down the hallway. He hears a bedroom door click shut, and follows the perpetrator into the darkness of the room. What does he find? Isla. With two Oreo cookies tucked under her pillow, one in her mouth. She had tiptoed with stealth-like precision straight to the snack cupboard in the wee hours of the morning to get her chocolate fix on. After hearing this, I told her that she can't have Oreos for breakfast. She turns to me and declares: "Look at my lips, Mommy. I. WANT. AIR-E-O." Oh honey, I can read your lips just fine. It's the Type 2 diabetes looming in your future that frightens me.
2. We were driving in the van the other day, and Jack asked me where I put the iPad. You see I got it as a gift from my husband, very un-Scottish like behaviour, until I realized it was his ruse to get me to spend less money buying books, and get them for much cheaper via electronic copy. I'm a bit old school in this respect, and like to hold an actual book, thank you very much. Not to worry though, as I haven't had my hands on the iPad for longer than 10 seconds at a time. Jack and Isla are now Angry Birds addicts. (Someone please explain to me how adults can spend hours playing this game...) Anyways, we're in the van, Jack's asking me where the iPad is, I'm like, "Dude, I have no idea where it is." To which Jack responded: "I know what must have happened." (cue me thinking he would say he misplaced it or something...) "Some people took your brain out. That's what happened. That's why you're not remembering where it is." Quite frankly, I think he may be onto something.
3. Jack loves playing NFL football on the PlayStation. Occasionally, he will hand me the controller and ask me to kick a field goal. He knows full-well I don't know how to do it, and my resulting attempt always leaves him collapsed on the floor, breathless, giggling with hysterics. Even the announcer on the stupid PlayStation game is like, "What was that? Not sure what he was thinking there...he just drove that ball into the ground...blah blah blah" After that humiliating castigation, the game scans to a visual of one of the players on the sidelines, talking on the phone to a member of the coaching staff, getting instructions (translation: getting his ass ripped a new one) on how to proceed. In a very transparent attempt to get Jack to stop laughing at me, I said: "Hey, what's that guy doing on the phone?" To which Jack replied, ever so confidently: "He's talking to his kid, that he's winning." Uhm...yeah. If that were the case, it would make football much more entertaining. "Hey Champ! Did you see that play? Yes, Daddy's winning! Put your Mother on the phone for a second, will ya? Honey, I can't feel my left ass cheek. Yeah, that hit. Would you mind picking up some ice packs at the supermarket? Love you, too. Give the boy a hug for me. Yeah, ham and lettuce sandwiches would be great. Gotta go."
4. Finding Jack performing CPR on James...by pumping on his stomach. I'm not sure of the correct medical term, but I believe it's called resuscitation via destruction of all internal organs. All this being done while screaming: "He's unconscious! He's unconscious!" I need to monitor that boy's television programs. I suspect that when I think he's downstairs watching TreeHouse, he's really making his way through old reruns of CSI Miami. That Horatio's a naughty boy. Speed! Fetch me my kit. (cue move to remove sunglasses, but thinks better of it, as it's remarkably bright down there in the concrete, windowless basement.)
5. Being told by Jack that we need to put orange slices in our mouth to lure out the leprechaun for Saint Patrick's Day, then freeze, so the leprechaun doesn't see us and get frightened. Jack, honey, you frighten me. However if anything's going to work, it's this. Yes, we're going to catch that cheeky little green bastard.

Part One: Wedging of orange slice into mouth...

Part Two: Teaching Daddy how to FREEZE...

Part Three: laughing at the ridiculousness of it all...

All told, my life as of late has me humming the lyrics of this song by James. The band James, not my son James. And I quote: "Those who feel the breath of sadness, sit down next to me. Those who feel they're touched by madness, sit down next to me. Those who find themselves ridiculous, sit down next to me...." It's one of my all-time favourite songs...one of those crank-up-the-volume-and-sing-until-you-can't-crank-and-you-can't-sing-no-more type of songs. It reminds me that we're all in this together, and we should never worry about what other people think. We're put on this planet to support one another, not judge, to flow with compassion, not criticism, to extend grace, not a finger. We're human beings, therefore by extension, I guess we're all a little ridiculous. We're all touched by madness. And yes, I suspect we've all felt the breath of sadness. And if you think you're hanging on by a f*cking claw, well then, sit your ass down next to me and I'll make you feel better about yourself because some days I feel crazier than a shit-house rat. (Lyrics of last sentence composed by Janita.)

I leave you with the following videos...the first one is Isla displaying her stellar yoga moves, with my Mom bellowing orders like a drill sergeant from the couch. Soothing as Enya music? Not so much. Highly effective? Hell, yeah. The girl's got moves. The other is of Jack performing CPR on James. My son. Not the band. But then again, what do I know; some people took my brain out.