The German Invasion

Cleaning the house today, I find a bunch of paper airplanes crisply folded but carelessly discarded in a pile on the couch.  What a waste of paper, I think, but as I start picking them up something catches my eye.  Why on earth is my son drawing swastikas on planes?  Has my funny, cheesecake-loving, toy-hoarding, skin-downloading kid become a Nazi sympathizer?  Does he even realize the insanity and the evil represented by that four-armed beast?

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The next plane I picked up bears a star on each side.  Unlike the neatly drawn swastikas, the stars are imperfect.  Kid-drawn.  Aha.  After I left to hit the gym and run errands this morning, World War II was recreated on the sofa.  Somewhere after 9 but before 11:30 a.m., Hitler declared war on the United States.  In no time, an eight year old American engaged in an aerial dog fight with a 47 year old German.  It was an intense, hard-fought battle, as they all were in the theaters of war.  Our living room had been the scene of terrible conflicts as the American soldiers often engaged in warfare with evil enemies.  Sometimes the enemies were Libyan, sometimes Canadians and on a couple of occasions, Decipticons.  This time, it was the Germans,  and like the others, you can bet they went down and they went down hard.

Before Hayes had developed his love of reading, we read to him and we read every night.  Sometimes the stories were about that cuddly pup, Biscuit or that crazy kitten that thought he was a chihuahua.  Other times the stories were reads out of reference books like the evolution of John Deere tractors and the one that always put me to sleep – the chronological history of tanks.  Together we learned about the sizes of the hulls and turrets and we even learned about the howitzers. I’m not sure why, but we both really liked the howitzers.  Along with that, came his fascination with the History and the Military Channels.  Even in this age of multiplayer online video games, he still gets wildly engrossed with documentaries comprised of grainy black-and-white footage bringing to life the events and leaders from decades past.

I meticulously pick up the fleet of planes, not bothering to segregate them.  I know the little stack of planes will quickly get buried under Minecraft toys, half-used Kleenexes and empty Xbox cases.   But I also know, for at least a few minutes, a little boy with a big imagination donned his uniform and bravely faced enemy combatants for the sake of his liberties, his fellow soldiers and his country.  

 

 

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Oh, Funk It!

So today was Monday.  Everyone, at least once a week, has a Monday for most of their lives.  I “like” Mondays.  Mondays are fresh starts. I’m usually rested after the weekend, my house is still reasonably clean as is my laundry and I’m ready to get down to business.  But not today.  Today was different.

For some bizarre reason, last night I set my clock a half hour earlier to get up. Why?  No clue, but we’ll call it optimism.  I knew this day would be so good that I thought it might be a fabulous idea to start it a half hour earlier. Wrong!  Not only did I hit snooze every seven minutes, I turned it into a “let’s stay cuddled up in the bed an extra half hour.”  It’s like I knew that this day was destined to be a not-so-great-day.  I should have lowered my expectations immediately.

So I go about my day, eye-rolling this and finger-tapping that, and just not feeling it.  I check the mirror.  Yep, that’s definitely me and all the parts are where they need to be.  Face looks puffy.  Eyes could use lift, but so could most any part of my body at this age.  Hair is still there, but it’s about as lifeless and uninteresting as I feel.  I try to have conversations on the phone at work, but it’s not happening there either.  I wonder if my yawn was audible as I talk to client.  Just in case, I text the next one. You can fake perky when you type.  I spend the rest of my Monday, faking perky.  If some people can break bad, I can certainly fake perky.  There are certainly worse things I could be doing.

 

 

Take a Deep Breath and Just Plunge In!

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Just because I don’t know how to swim doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to dive into an Olympic-sized pool.

No, wait.  I get scared if I get off-balance in an inner tube in those “lazy rivers.”

Just because I’ve never gone to medical school doesn’t mean I wouldn’t perform an emergency appendectomy on you!

Oh, geez.  That’s almost as scary as tubing.

Okay, just because I know nothing about writing for or maintaining a blog doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have one, right?

I mean, the absolute worst that can happen is that someone reads it.

Hi, I’m Ronda.  I’m not an expert, I’m not selling anything, I have no political agenda and no aspirations for generating ad revenue.  I’m just a woman with a keyboard and a story to tell and I don’t want to lose what few mad writing skills I still have left. One day, I’m going to be brave enough to make this public. Though for right now, this is how it begins.  Welcome.