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Author Topic: FleetingMoment  (Read 2196 times)


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« on: Sep 23, 2004, 04:11:24 PM »
Damn you make me hot.  The way you structure your sentence drives me wild.

I know, I know, I dangle my participles.  Just trying to show off!!!

Ok, Ok enough of that.  You are a very ingenious poster, although I disagree with most of your positions, as far as I can tell you have not been belligerent/cantankerous/Rude. (as a note - above statements were meant/attempts at humor not demeaning in nature.)

I enjoy you ability to articulate your ideas, a skill which I desperately lack.

as mentioned before I disagree with a lot of your positions however you have not been spite full and it would be rude of me not to at least listen/entertain your ideas.
This is a FREE board to post our ideas.  I hope you continue to post.

When it comes to food I find a little Cajun spice does wonders, same goes for boards. :-)

P.S. Teacher those spit balls were shot by Kitty C. not me.  She’s always blaming me.  I think she needs a time out.


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RE: FleetingMoment
« Reply #1 on: Sep 23, 2004, 08:22:27 PM »

sounds to me like you have a crush on Fleeting Moment....


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RE: FleetingMoment
« Reply #2 on: Sep 23, 2004, 10:31:32 PM »
Regardless, you are all here because of children.  A reminder.


It's Saturday afternoon.  I lie on the couch, channel changer in one hand, a bag of chips in the other with a can of bean dip perched precariously on my naval.  I'm pondering important questions like, whether the dropping of the Hiroshima bomb was necessary in light of recent disclosures about Japanese war plans in response to the Soviet Union's entry into the Pacific Ocean conflagration. ( Actually, I'm trying to decide whether Kirk or Pickard is the better Star Fleet commander). The phone rings.  I sweep the receiver off the hook and reel it in by the cord.

"'Lo," I gurgle.

"Uh, Maury.  You're going to kill me. . .", my brother explains. "It's . . .well . . . Denise has this work thing and -uh- we need a sitter for the boys."

They must be desperate.  My daily experience with children is limited to driving past a daycare center on my way to work.  I'm probably more qualified to be an air traffic controller than a babysitter for two boys.  I'm tempted to feign a seizure.  Instead, I begin creating scar tissue on my face with the bean dip developing my "bad accident" alibi.  Sensing reluctance, my brother resorts to dirty tactics.

"But, if you have big plans . . . I know you came home for the weekend to relax. And, I guess, Denise doesn't need a promotion."

It's the guilt trip.  

"Um-su-re." The words come out like a hairball.

On my drive to the house, I enjoy optimistic visions of leading the two small lads to enlightenment under my firm but guiding hand.  Fifteen years hence I envision the boys and I sitting on a quiet dock, fishing poles in hand, smoking cigars, sipping beer and perusing back issues of Playboy (for the articles of course).

I arrive at my brother's house before six. My sister-in-law has that perfumed smell of Saturday night that I remember as a child meant liberation from parents.  My brother steps over a Tonka truck, four Hot Wheels and his two year old, Kory, to point out numbers, bottles and formulas.  He taps charts, graphs, lists and schedules like a marine commander planning an invasion.  He and his wife take turns apologizing and thanking me.  I wave it off like it's no big deal.  As I pick up one year old Konner and walk them to  the door, I'm feeling generous.

"You kids go out and have a great time.  Hell, stay out till seven-thirty if you want."

"Thanks Maury, We'll be back around midnight."

Midnight! That's six hours.  About twice the length of a marathon.  I try to protest, but Konner has a hold of my lower lip.  The door shuts and the Kory shoots through the room like a mouse.  He has his work cut out.  After all, there's a house to destroy, siblings to torture, and a babysitter to disobey.

Konner and I stare at each other.  Then the terrible truth hits him.  "Mommy's gone and I'm here.  This is a rotten deal."  His face tightens like he ate a sour grape before launching into a scream.  I try talking to him "Doo, doo, there, there, googy, googy".  Evidently, I've said something insulting in baby lingo because Konner coils like a spring and lets out another scream.  This one is sustained like an aria.  I try rocking.  Nothing works.  I try walking.  Nothing works.  I show him pictures.  Nothing works.  I turn to my adult instincts for guidance.  What do adults do when they are upset?

The bottle works like a charm.  Konner grunts with pleasure as his lips tug on the nipple.  His tiny pink hands grab at the air until he pokes himself in the eye.

I check on brother Korey.  He's around the corner in the dining room babbling to himself and examining the roots of the plant he's just unpotted.  The room is a broken ankle waiting to happen.  It's clear the boy has a promising future as an Ergonomic engineer.  Anything that was once outside his grasp has been brought down to floor level for fingertip convenience. Plants, centerpieces, pictures, and small appliances mingle with golf balls, marbles and Tinkertoys.  

"NO!" I say.

"No," Korey repeats with a wide grin.

"Don't!" I intone.

"Don't," he mimics as he scrunches his face into an expression that says "this is a fun game."  

Determined to restore order I charge across the room turning my ankle on what was once a napkin holder from the dining room table.  I yell and Korey learns his first curse.  I pluck him from the rubble as a scream rises from his throat.  In the next room, Konner answers and the din grows into a chorus.  I collapse on the couch in despair.  Somewhere in my haze and confusion, I find an answer.  Of course!  The VCR.  I scramble to the T.V. quickly eliminating the N.F.L films and Monty Python as possible candidate films.  Finally, after a brief exercise in censorship, I slide "the Lion King" into the machine with miraculous results.  
A hush falls over the room.  Korey is on his stomach drinking in the blue flickering light, his mouth open like a bird waiting to be fed.  Konner is nestled in his baby chair cooing in contentment.  

Before the Lion King is over, I've repotted two plants, rearranged the dining room table, wiped the counters and sprained my ankle two more times. Exhausted, I fall into the E-Z Boy and  
lift Konner onto my lap.  I exhale deeply.  

Suddenly, there is a smell.  Almost good at first, like an oven preheating.  I look at Konner.  He grimaces like a power lifter then relaxes with the smile of an artist at work.  This is the moment of truth.  The diaper change.

Konner is on the table.  I open the little plastic package at arms length with the caution of a member of the bomb squad.  My head snaps back in surprise.  The prodigious load is perhaps half the size of the child.  His legs pumping like a frog, he somehow gets a hold of my hair and threatens to pull me into his creation.

Compared to this, the Exxon Valdez was an easy clean up.  I go through half a box of Handi-wipes making sure every fold of fat is clean.  Except for putting it on backwards, the operation is a success.  

The children are yet too small to engage in the bedtime negotiations that made me famous as a child.  Instead, they fall asleep without a fuss.  And not a moment too soon.  Their parents are home early.  As they enter, they eye the room suspiciously looking for traces of struggle.  They nod disbelieving as I tell them it was a piece of cake.  My brother sees me to the door expessing his thanks as Denise checks on the children.

Outside in the dark, as I drive home I think about my parents, who with four children and one income created a safe and loving home.  They are unsung heros.   I wonder at my brother, his wife, and the home they have created with the love we learned, and I realize, that indeed we stand on the shoulders of giants.  What's more, despite daily problems of job, love and money and headlines of murder, rape and war, it's through everyday things like diapers, bottles and love that we are sustained.


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A Friday must read
« Reply #3 on: Sep 24, 2004, 07:58:02 AM »
Oh myyyyyyy, ohhhhhh  myyyyyy that was gooooooooooood!!!

I can hardly wait to here about Uncle Maurys camping adventures.  

I understand that it is a state law in MN that all uncles must take their nieces/nephews on there rites of passage camping trip.  Minimum trip time – One week.


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RE: FleetingMoment
« Reply #4 on: Sep 24, 2004, 08:51:43 AM »
Hahaha!  My two yr old grandaughter is an escape artist.   She literally jumps out windows and runs.  Her 10 yr old aunt and 17 yr old uncle are exhausted by the time we get back from the grocery store.  I don't even want to think about camping trips...


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RE: FleetingMoment
« Reply #5 on: Sep 24, 2004, 06:15:54 PM »
What are you talkin about??? I HAVE a 2 yr old escape artist...LOL (cries).


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2040 HEADLINES.............. humor :-)
« Reply #6 on: Sep 28, 2004, 07:36:40 AM »
HEADLINES from the Year 2040...

1. Supreme Court rules punishment of criminals violates their civil rights.
2.  Massachusetts executes last remaining conservative.
3. Baby conceived naturally....Scientists stumped.

4. Authentic year 2000 "chad" sells at Sotheby's for $4.6 million.

5. Iraq still closed off; physicists estimate it will take at least ten more years before radioactivity decreases to safe levels.

6. Castro finally dies at age 112; Cuban cigars can now be imported legally, but President Chelsea Clinton has banned all smoking.

7. George Z. Bush says he will run for President in 2042.

8. Postal Service raises price of first class stamp to $17.89 and reduces mail delivery to Wednesday only.

9. Results of 35 year study: diet and exercise are the key to weight loss.

10. IRS sets lowest tax rate at 75%.

11. Ozone created by electric cars now killing millions in the seventh largest country in the world, California.

12. Upcoming NFL draft likely to focus on use of mutants.

13. Average height of NBA players now nine feet, seven inches.

14. Microsoft announces it has perfected its newest version of Windows so it crashes BEFORE installation is completed.

15. New federal law requires that all nail clippers, screwdrivers, fly swatters, and rolled up newspapers must be registered by January 2041.

16. Congress authorizes direct deposit of illegal political contributions to campaign accounts.

17. Capital Hill intern indicted for refusing to have sex with Congressman.

Kitty C.

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DID NOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
« Reply #7 on: Sep 28, 2004, 08:06:26 AM »
Those little scraps of paper on my desk are for my art project!!!!!!!!!!  And I only took my pen apart to see how it worked!

I will NOT take a time-out!  Can't make me!   Nyah!  )(
Handle every stressful situation like a dog........if you can't play with it or eat it, pee on it and walk away.......


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