Cell Phone Wars

My husband is with an engineer battalion in the North Dakota National Guard. For the last few months I sent my cell phone with him because he can’t get a signal with his when he’s in North Dakota. Since he’s a notorious cheep skate (oh, excuse me- I mean frugal), he refused to buy a different phone because the one he got when he signed up for service was free.

I don’t particularly like to be without my cell phone, but there have been a few times he’s showed up back home a day late and a dollar short. He didn’t call to let me know why he’d be delayed; but he explained it wasn’t his fault since he couldn’t get a cell signal. As you can imagine, Mama don’t play that. So, when the Guard sent him to Camp Leonard Wood, Missouri for one month of crane training, I had his number transferred to an old, but good phone that I had previously used. I went into his contacts list and began entering all the names and numbers into his “new” phone. As I worked my way down the list, it started to sound like I was reading a summons of the redneck mafia:

Tigger

Trikki

Krazy

2 Duanes

1 Earl

My arm and hand were tingling and nearly asleep by the time I came to the last name in the alphabetical list: Wife. Even though his friends know my name, he always refers to me as “my wife”. For instance, “My wife deposited my check.”  Or, “I’ll have to wait to pick up that F150 from the junkyard. My wife just paid the electric bill.”

I guess I don’t mind it, though. It’s one of his many idiosyncrasies I find kind of cute; and when he makes me laugh, I no longer have the urge to hit him with a frying pan!

P.S. The Easter Bunny may arrive at your house late. He was delayed.

My Own Personal Tron

I’ve never been much for video games; although, I did enjoy a game or two of Ms Pac Man and Super Mario Brothers back in the day. I should have paid more attention to advancements in Nintendo over the years because I’ve become a character in one of their games. Let me explain.

I walk into the living room. Suddenly, a strange smell permeates the air. I look around for the culprit. The baby looks up at me from her play mat. With a smile and a gurgle, an explosive sound comes from her pants. She kicks her legs as I begin to undertake my Level One task.

I head to the bedroom to collect my first treasure: a clean diaper. As I round the corner, my oldest son jumps from behind the toy box waving a sword he made from a long stick and black electrical tape. Before he can block my way, I rush through the bedroom door and pull the coveted diaper from the pack.

Back through the door, I look both ways down the hallway. All clear. I head toward the living room. A high pitched howl comes from behind me. My youngest son hurdles toward me, Nerf gun pointed. An orange foam bullet hits my butt. I’m down! I’m down! But wait- game is not over. I surge forward toward the living room as he launches himself for a tackle. I speed up, barely missing the attack.

I hear a buzzing sound and look down. Two Matchbox cars wiz under my running feet. I have finally reached the living room! The baby waves her outstretched arms. Almost there!

From out of nowhere, my oldest daughter jumps out from behind a chair. “MOMMY! MOMMY!” I am forced to change direction. I duck behind the coffee table as she climbs on top of it. She crouches down, ready to leap up onto my shoulders. I rush around to the other side as she falls, laughing, on the couch. I fall to the floor next to the baby. I made it!

Now on to Level Two!