While you were out...

I was awakend very early yesterday. VERY early.

Screamapillar had a kidnap breakfast for two friends' birthdays, so I had to wake her up and get her out at 5:15 am.

Then I went back to sleep. And was awakened by some horrible noise. I assumed it was Screampillar's alarm clock, which is renown for it's ablity to wake the dead in the next county (but strangely enough, it does not awaken the Screamapillar). That, or someone's cell phone alarm (there were four in the house at the time). Wandering blindly through the house, I search for the device that has ruined my sleep.

It turned out to be the phone. The old fashioned one that has wires coming out that attaches to the wall. You may remember such a thing from you childhood if you're old enough. It was my parents calling from Florida. They were on vacation, they went for a little boat ride all the way from Washington State, thru the Panama Canal and on to Florida. They had no cell phones or internet for the duration of the three week trip.

"Do you think you could run over to my house and check on something before you go to work?" my dad says.

(yeah, run over to your house. do you remember that you used to live a couple streets away, then you abandoned me and moved to a different city 25 miles away? and that EVERY route to your house is currently undergoing construction, making the trip an easy 45 minutes one way?)

"I guess, what's up?" I reply.

"It appears that we've either had a burgular or the basement is flooded - the alarm went off a few days ago and we weren't notified until we got off the boat."

He goes on with more detail about the different notifications from the alarm company, the neighbors, and the police department that he got via text, cell phone, and email. LOTS of notifications. The alarm system itself sent him a bunch of messages. One said "FLOOD" and the another "BURGULAR."

So of course, I'm going to the house.  But I've got to get kids off to school, and IT'S STILL ONLY 5:30 AM! Dark! and cold! I crawl back into bed and try to get a little more sleep until I have to awaken the next child at 6:15.

But I can't sleep. Images flash though my head: a suspicious-looking panel van is parked outside the garage. They've already cleaned out all the power tools and electronics. A creepy dude dressed in black is rifling though my mother's jewelry box. Another creepy guy is trying on my mothers hats and shoes...."Bill, do we want any caftans? This lady has a lot of caftans. Do pawn shops even buy caftans?"

Like I can sleep now.

So I get up, get showered and dressed, get the bigger kids off to school. Then I have to wake up Thing One (I have already tried to wake up Thing Two instead, but got a boot thrown at my head for my efforts). I'll need her to help Eclair get ready, because Hubby is defintely going with me to defend against the gang of theives at my parents house.

"Honey, I'm sorry to wake you early, but I need your help. I gotta run over to g-ma's house, they may have been burgled."

She leaps outta the bed and says "Whaaa?" But she's a good sport. She goes to sleep next to Eclair and is going to get her up at 7:30 and get her dressed and breakfasted and off to school.

Before we leave, I have to Google-map my parent's address, because, while I do know how to get there and I know the street name, I do not know the house number. I need this because I am certain that when we get there, the suspcious van will be in the driveway, ruffians and thugs will be plundering my mother's closet, and I'm going to have to park up the street and call the police. And when I say I don't know the house number, the cops are all gonna say "You DON'T even KNOW your parents address?" and I'm going to feel like an idiot. Hubby's planning ahead also. He's dressed for the office, but the scenario running through his head has taken the other possibility into account: he's packed up some work clothes and his old tennis shoes, prepared to clean up a flood.

Dad calls two more times before we can get there. Each time giving me a list of what to do in what order. And he has allegedly turned off the alarm from his iphone now.

We get to the house, and call Dad back. 1: Alarm indicator appears off. 2: Opening garage door has not activated klaxon (literaly, I promise. It's a klaxon alarm.). 3: Enter code in keypad to ensure deactivation of alarm. 4: Open the door from garage to house and go check for damages.

It's locked  But how are we going to get in? Dad's super upset, really needs us INSIDE the house to check things out, and he NEVER locks that door, because the garage is so secure.

"Why didn't you hide some spare keys somewhere for this kind of emergency?"

"I did! But I can't remember where."

"Is it even remotely possible that you have left some keys in one of the cars?"

"Not likely. Check anyway."

LOOK!! Keys in the ignition of the sedan! AND it's unlocked! I guess there was no burgular, Dad, or they woulda taken this car.

We unlock the house and enter, being very careful about fingerprints and such, because we're entering a potential crime scene. More good news: the tv and everything is untouched. Hubby prowls about a bit making sure no other doors or any windows are open. I check on Mom's shoes and hats and caftans: all accounted for.

So now, to check for flood.

We go down the horribly windy stairs (somebody shoot the architect that designed this switchback staircase, k?) in total darkness (because he's been working on the unfinished basement and all power down there is off), surprisingly enough without breaking our necks. As instructed by Dad, we check the window well by his soon-to-be-but-not-done-yet office, expecting it to be filled with water and saturating the wall insulation and everything else. No water, but the small sump he installed in the window well is running.

So, no burgular, no flood.

What really happend was this: when it snowed a few days back, it filled up the bucket the sump pump is in and fired off the alarm (which isn't supposed to sound for water, only for burgulars). The alarm is deafening. Completely deafening.

It was 3 am when the alarm went off. It woke up people who live two streets away.

The neighbors tried to call my dad. They went over and pounded on the door. When it was obvious that no one was home, they called the alarm company, who couldn't find my dad's info, and thus could not turn off the alarm. So the neighbors called the police. The police borrowed a ladder and disconnected the klaxon alarm on the outside of the house (acutally, they had little success disconntecting it, and just tried to beat it to death in order to silence it). The damage to the klaxon is what triggered the "BURGULAR" alarm, and set the klaxon off again. And then they ripped it off the house.

Dad told me he's fixing the water error so the alarm won't sound. And he has a plan (which includes notifying me to come turn off the alarm) which should keep such a thing from happening again. I told him that if neighbors have to wait 45 minutes for me to get there and turn it off, he's probably going to need to move instead. People are going to start egging his house.

What I recommend is writing a formal apology to the masses who were so unkindly awakened by the horrible alarm and publishing it in the paper, and make your neighbors some cookies.

Lots.
And Lots.
Of cookies.
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The Follies of Youth

Utah. Home of the Greatest Snow on Earth. Says so on our license plates. Having lived here my whole life, snow is nothing new. You can count on snow cropping up at any time between October and May. Usually our mountains are snowcapped until late August. So all in all, we're used to it.

(it lets us make giant ice sculptures like this)

Clearly, I have learned nothing in my 21 years of Utah winters.

This last weekend, my friend Happy Banana and I decided to go up to her cabin at Strawberry Reservoir.

***NOTE: Mommy will be adding random heckling from this point forward. Two Blonde grils have wandered into the wilderness and have apparently left their common sense in the car. Back in the parking lot. Far, far away.****


We knew that there would still be lots of snow, and we would have to park in the community lot and hike in on the packed snow to the cabin. All in all, should have taken us about an hour, maybe hour and a half to get there.  ** your mother would have told you not to do this if she had know what the true plan was....hiking through deep powder during a snowstorm for more than an hour? Did you forget something? like your brain?***


We packed up our food in a sled, and off we go. We're happy! This is our weekend getaway, the last one we'll get to have for several months before Happy Banana leaves me for the excitement of Europe.  *** Happy Banana is even blonder than Thing One is  -- just thought you should know. *** We're both dressed in jeans and down coats--we forgot the snow pants. We arrived at 8, with plenty of light (even though it was snowing a little). All was going well until it got dark. But as we passed the halfway point **** walking how many miles in the snow? following snowmobile tracks? probably made by young men having a good time and not really caring where they were going? If they had known they would be leading two foolhardy young women to lostness in the woods, they may have made it even more interesting for you...*** and continued on, we started sinking into the snow. About up to our hips. **Good thing you're so short. Your hips aren't too far from the ground that way.**

For anyone who's never sunk into the snow up to their hips, it tends to want to take your boots off when you try to get out. **I'd do a "Nelson" laugh, here, if I wasn't such a wonderful mother.** I didn't look at my clock at all during this whole excursion (until much later), so I'm not sure how long we tried to keep swimming through the snow. After a short **?**  while, we were starting to feel our energy drain from trying to drag our sled of food along. We decided to leave it behind and come back for it in the morning, taking a loaf of bread along with us to tide us over. *** I must insert here, that they were discarding things from the sled before this. The first thing they dumped was the 24 pack of Dr. Pepper. That was the worst mistake of the trip.***

This is about the time that the thoughts that this could have been a bad idea started to creep up on us. But we'd come so far that the idea of going back seemed even more exhausting than what lay ahead. Or so we thought.

By about 11:00 we were so wet, cold and tired, we couldn't go any further--even though we could see the cabin, we still had another 1/4 or 1/2 mile to get through in (what we later found out was) six foot deep snow. ** In case you didn't know, dear daughter, snow tends to be just a little bit deeper in the mountains than what we get here in the valley. Especially after you run out of snowmobile tracks to follow.** We were fortunate enough to have cell phone signal, and we were able to call my friend H.B.'s parents. After explaining that there was no way we could keep going ** because your banana friend had succumbed to hypothermia and was turning purple like this text**, she told us she would see what she could do to get us out of there. Her mother called search and rescue, then told us they were on their way. We then backtracked to a locked-up garage we had passed a short while before, waiting for SAR to contact us back.

As we were headed back to the garage, the thought crossed my mind that if SAR was on its way...there was a distinct possibility that we could end up on the news. As horrified as I was by this thought, I realized that my mother would KILL me if she found out we were lost in the barren Utah snowdrifts through the local news ** LOOK! She found her brain!! **. Once we reached the garage, SAR called us back. H.B. was in bad shape at this point **like I said, purple**, so I spoke to them and called 911 so that they could get our GPS coordinates for SAR. They said it would be about an hour til they got there. We call H.B.'s mom to touch base, and I ask her to call my mother **Thank you for remembering me at all. That way I didn't have to spend all that money on gas so I could drive up there and kill you**. Then we huddled together to try and stay warm.

A bit later, H.B.'s mom calls back and tells us she was able to reach a couple who lives in the area year round **thank heaven for crazy people who for some unknown reason live in the wilderness all the time on purpose**, and that they were going to come out on a snow-mobile and look for us. Miracles of miracles, a few minutes later, we hear a motor and then see lights coming our direction. Our rescuer, Mr Hancock arrives, and I have never been so happy to see someone I've never met **why, oh why, couldn't it have been some eligible young bachelor that came to your rescue?**. We called SAR back and they were able to call off the rescue. As H.B. gets onto the back of the snowmobile and I get into the towing sled, Mr Hancock explains that he had found our abandoned sled of food and followed our tracks to find us **how good a rescuer can he be if he didn't pick up the Dr. Pepper? Seriously, Mr. Hancock!**.

The Hancock's let us spend the night at their house. I have no words for how incredibly humbled and grateful we were for their hospitality. After warm showers and brief chatting with our rescuers, I called mom, then H.B. and I turned in for the night **how you could sleep with the gulit after scaring the bejeebers out your parents, I will never know**.

The next morning they took us back to our car, where H.B.'s parents had driven out to meet us there. Then we went home **where everyone was still picking up their jaws from the floor in astonishment that you survived this fiasco**.

Summarizing: We are both complete morons who's own pride and stubbornness should have gotten us KILLED. It was only through answered prayers that we were not killed by our own stupidity. My parents refrained from telling me "I told you so," to my face **but we did a lot of sniggering behind your back, dear one.**. Probably because they figured I'd had the living daylights scared out of me already and I've learned my lesson. **I love you, dear demented daughter, and I'm glad you didn't die.**

How was your weekend?
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Can YOU breathe fire?

An incident occurred at the Sweet 16 party that I have failed to report until now.

Eclair learned how to breathe fire. Or vapor anyway.

All you have to do is CONSUME THE DRY ICE IN THE YODA SODA.

PLEASE DO NOT EVER DO THIS!

Because you will likely end up at the ER like we did.

It started out like this: I sent Eclair to bed thirty-five times, and she did not go. She kept sneaking back upstairs, because there was a party going on, and she didn't want to miss out on anything fun that the big people were doing. So I gave up sending her to bed and let her have some punch.

Here is where I give the warning: DO NOT let small people serve their own punch when there is dry ice involved. Yoda Soda is lime sherbet with lemon-lime soda and dry ice. A very small piece of dry ice was stuck to the ice cream in her serving, and she swallowed it whole. Then she started to burp.

Eclair has always been well known for what we call "Barney burps." Not the dinosaur. This Barney:

Seriously.

So, she swallows the dry ice, starts up with these tremendous burps, accompanied by enormous clouds of vapor. Everyone is cracking up, like she's the entertainment.

Then the barfing begins.

Yuk.

So, I call Poison Control (wonderful people, at Poison Control. So level-headed and calm.), they tell me to call my doctor, right now. So I call the doctor and get the answering service (as the after hours pediatrician went home thirty minutes before), and the doctor calls me back: take her to the ER, right now.

Who woulda thought a little dry ice could be such a big deal? We were at the ER until after 2am, and THAT was a joyous experience. All the girls went, because the boys don't love us and didn't care one bit (actually, I'm sure they do, it's just that as girls, we are incapable of going anywhere without an entourage).

Don't forget the silky blankie and the platypus.

The best part of the ER visit (apart from excellent doctors and getting to go home intead of being admitted) was the "pediatric" room in the ER. I had no idea that they had one whole room decorated just for little patients. Whether the decor is good or bad for the little people I will leave for you to decide. I will merely show you what it looks like (photo disclaimer - all photos taken with my horrible cell phone camera so they stink):

I must say that the flying elephant has me a little concerned. Or maybe the elephant has gone carnivorous and is about to pounce on the giraffe? Either way, a little disturbing.

Oh! Look!

There is also a flying zebra. Set to pounce on this:



This terrifying Screamapillar. Or maybe it wants the "bananas" over there on the left. I think they are bananas? I hope they are bananas.

Here's what you should REALLY be worried about:

This slightly deranged and loopy Thing One who is up past her bedtime.

 Fear not, gentle reader, for Eclair has recovered! Minor burns in her throat which allowed her to live on ice cream and smoothies for three days before returning to school. Lucky duck.

BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH!

and dry ice.

Epic Family Stories Chapter 2: Why Luke Skywalker is afraid of the Vacuum

The phone rang.

"Honey, do you think you could come over and help me with something?" said my mother. She lived less than three miles from us, a very quick trip and not inconvenient.

"Sure, what's up?"

"I seem to have a little problem. I'll explain when you get here. Could you please hurry? I'm in my bedroom."

??

"Okay, be there in a minute."

I load the little ones in the car, as it is early in the day and the big ones are still at school, and make the quick trip to my mom's house. Unload the little ones, and go in to look for Mom.

"I'm in here!" shouts a muffled voice.

I open the door to her bedroom and find her sprawled on the floor in front of her dresser. The phone from the dresser is beside her. And for some strange reason, it looks like she might be using the vacuum for a pillow. It doesn't look very comfortable, actually.

"Could you get some scissors?"

???

Here's what went down: Mom was using the hose attachment on the vacuum to clean under her dresser. She leaned just a LEETLE too close to the rotating brush of the vacuum and...

ZZZZUUUPPPP!

It sucked up her hair.

The hair was burned and matted, and wrapped very tightly around the brush. Her scalp was very sore. She had the presence of mind to pull the plug to keep the vacuum from sucking in the rest of her hair, and was able to reach the phone to call me as well. But I guess it would be pretty hard to walk through the house with a vacuum attached to your head to find a pair of scissors.

She cut off the scraggly crispy hair, and her 'do was a little lopsided for a while until it grew back.

"Well, I guess that's something I won't try a second time." Wisdom from my mother.

Four-year-old Luke Skywalker learned an entirely different lesson:


Given ample opportunity, the vacuum WILL try to eat you.

He had always been afraid of it. Scampered from the room every time I turned it on. Made sure nothing he cared about was on the floor and in danger of being "disappeared" by the evil beast.

And now his worst nightmare had come true.

There was his grandma, on the floor, valiantly fighting for her life.



Fast forward nine years: Luke Skywalker is thirteen now.

And he still scampers from the room.

Let's hope there's no custodial work in his future. And that his future wife likes to vacuum.
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The Mo Tab.

There are a few advantages to living in Utah.

No, not the freezing cold of winter.

Or the blistering heat of summer.

Or the volatile fall and spring where it can be freezing in the morning and blistering in the afternoon.

Really! There are a few advantages!


We have the Mo Tab. Or Mormon Tabernacle Choir. And they are amazing.

Every Sunday morning there is a broadcast of "Music and the Spoken Word" that if FREE to attend. Free, I say! Why haven't you been yet? We totally love to go. Get up super early at 7am on a Sunday morning when we don't have to be at church until 11 am, drive for 45 minutes to Salt Lake City........Okay. We don't love that part. Especially when it's snowing. But we do it anyway because it is not to be missed.

I would go every week if it were manageable. But it's not, so it's easier to make the family go with me if I try for a few times each year. Our most recent trip was.....eventful.

The Christmas concerts are always the best! And most crowded. We would need a good plan: right day, leave very early to get a seat, pack snacks. We decided our date a few weeks in advance, making sure everyone would be available. Unless Hubby had an unscheduled meeting that he wasn't told about until the last minute, which he did.

We woke up to snow.

Tons of snow.

I tried to talk them out of it, the children. But Thing One was determined! She shovelled the walk & driveway, dug out the car, and started it early to warm it up. She cheerfully (and not so cheerfully) poked and prodded everyone into motion. She helped Eclair to dress, combed Luke Skywalker's rebellious hair, and packed little bags of cereal for snacks. There was no getting out of this. We were going, as a family.  And we began the white knuckle trip to SLC.

We had no idea when we departed how bad it would be. The snow flew thicker the further north we went. They call it "lake effect." I call it horrible. It appeared as though the snowplow drivers were on strike. The normally four lane freeway was lost in the frozen wasteland of white. I followed tire tracks of the other brave souls who proceeded me, hoping that I wouldn't be following someone into the median or off the road altogether. All the way there, I kept muttering "we shoulda stayed home.....we shouldn't be out in this.....we are all gonna die." Each time she heard the muttering, Thing One would flash a brilliant smile my direction, reminding me that this was all her fault and I should shoot her when we got home.

The trip normally takes 45 minutes. On this day, it took 75.

We are supposed to be in our seats by 9:10 am. I dropped the kids at the curb at 9:25. "RUN! You might make it! I'll park, and since there's not a chance I will make it in, I'll meet you in the North Visitors' Center after the broadcast!" And I hurried to park in the underground lot.

The underground lot is quite nice. It's not so cold, and there is no snow. For those of you who may live where there is no snow, you may not be aware of how difficult it is to park when it snows. No one can see the lines. So they park....wherever. Which is really freaking annoying. And annonying. Really annoying. I'm very annoyed by it. Really. It is only made worse by well-meaning plow drivers who create these giant snow mounds while they're clearing the lots - usually the mounds will take up 4-6 parking spaces, making it even harder to find a spot. So, yeah, underground is BLISS.

But underground is usually crowded. Because I think everyone else hates street parking as much as I do. This day was not crowded. Hmmm. Unusual for Christmas at the Mo Tab.....I was able to park right by the elevator. I sprinted. Shuffled, really. Because it was slick I tried to be careful, yet quick. I crossed the street against the light and managed to avoid getting cited for jaywalking. I shuffled even faster - the doors were still open! One of the senior missionaries, a man in his seventies, started running toward me "We'll get you in, Sister, take my arm!" They held the door for me, and I climbed the stairs. Where are my kids? Found them quick. Walking quietly to sit by them as they count down "four, three, two" and the broadcast begins.


This video is a different day/year from when we went, but this song was my favorite:


 (I miss Craig Jessop. He's an incredible conductor. He's so exuberant that he once gave himself a nosebleed when he hit himself in the face with his own baton. True story.)

It was great. Some of my absolute favorites, Wilberg arrangements. Spoken word was inspiring. Stupid ungrateful children fell asleep. Or at least dozed a little. But we made it.

I found out why underground was not crowded. Why they held the doors for me. The place was nearly empty, especially compared to normal at Christmastime. Afterward, Bro. Newell got up and thanked everyone for braving the storm to be with them. This is the stuff memories are made of.

Here's the photo:

Sleepy children after an amazing concert.

Can you tell these were taken with my poor cell phone? I wonder what it would have been
 like if I had taken the real camera? Maybe something like this?

Much, much better. Hi, Mack Wilberg!

 Of course now it's two weeks later, and we're not in the Tabernacle, but the Conference Center.

Which is pretty amazing.

I didn't actually go this time, I'm old and I need my sleep.
Screamapillar and Thing One went. 

And it wasn't snowing.

The fountain...

and the lovely waterfall window.

See how lovely it can be? I highly recommend it.

For our sad family trip, we didn't have such great pictures.

And on the way home we stopped at McDonalds to use the bathroom and were accosted by very agressive panhandlers.

But that's another story. For another day. Hopefully one I can forget very soon.
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Epic Family Stories Chapter 1: My ankle hurts.

My ankle hurts because I'm old. And because I have some serious arthritis going on.

But mostly because Luke Skywalker ran over it with the car.

It was many years ago, when he was a little tiny three year old. And it's an exciting tale. Every family has these epic tales that add spice to our lives. So I share it with you today.

I had just made a quick run over to the school for some reason, and I had to go somewhere else in just a second, so I left the van parked uphill on the wrong side of the road in front of our house. At the curb. In PARK. I promise. The kids were all in the backyard playing, supervised by the ever-responsible Thing One.

I ran into the house to grab something: the bag of aluminum cans hanging from the doorknob in the kitchen. And ran back out again. In the house for less than one minute. Didn't stop to use the restroom or feed the chickens or anything.

When I stepped out the door, I saw the van starting to roll down the street.

Luke Skywalker is standing up on the drivers seat.

Panic (just a wee bit, mind you).

What do I do? Continue running. Down the sidewalk. Chasing the van as it rolls backward downhill hugging the curb. I'm pretty sure I dropped the cans at some point. I played basketball in high school and college, and I don't think I EVER ran faster. Thing One comes into the front yard to find the missing Luke Skywalker, sees what's going on, and offers the useful contribution of screaming at the top of her lungs.

The neighbor across the street (not the one who spent the better part of a month painting the mortar between the bricks of her house with a craft brush and craft paint, the other one) who is out front pruning her roses, hears Karen screaming, sends her husband after me and calls 911 (I especially love how she didn't wait half a second to see how it would turn out -- she prepared for the worst). Her elderly husband tries valiantly to catch up with me and the van.

Me? I'm able to catch up with the van because I'm amazing. Then I try to open the driver's door. Which I actually succeed at while running sideways now. The transmission is in reverse. Thank you Luke Skywalker for changing the gears for Mommy. We had just had a new transmission put in, and I recall thinking "Crap. New tranny. Must save kid from certain death. To hell with the tranny."

Have you ever tried to change gears in an automatic transmission while it is rolling downhill and you are running sideways outside the vehicle?

I don't recommend it. I don't really think it can be done.

You'd probably just trip and fall. Like I did.

I hung on to the steering wheel, and proceeded to be dragged by the car down the street. Left hand gripping the steering wheel, both legs under the car. Right hand? Put that on the foot brake and stopped the car.

Yep. I'm amazing.

Except the car stopped on me, the tire having rolled up my foot onto my ankle.

Ow. Quite a lot of ow.

The two elderly neighbors caught up with me (another saw what was transpiring and joined Neighbor One in the chase) and then pushed the car off me. Luke Skywalker wasn't even slightly unnerved by the adventure.

The paramedics, a police car and a fire engine arrive. Did I mention we live one block from the fire station? Very convenient. Allows you to be humiliated in front of ALL your neighbors so much more quickly. They check me out, diagnose me with "lacerations and contusions," and a little bit of road rash. Since I can walk okay, they chose not to transport me. They do recommend that I see a doctor if the ankle gets any worse. And then they blessedly leave quickly.

Thank the burly neighbor men who pushed my van, and Neighbor One's quick-thinking wife. Start the car, drive it home and park it in the driveway. Reassure Thing One that she is not a failure at babysitting, Luke Skywalker is just an unstoppable holy terror. Calm the kids down, and start counting the bruises.

Fifteen minutes later, my INSANE PSYCHIC MOTHER calls. "Is everything okay? I was just feeling kind of worried about you." What's up with that? This is not the first time Insane Psychic Mother has done this. Gave her the run down, everyone is okay, no worries. "But what about the baby?" Oh, he's fine. Just fine.

"Not him, the new one?"

Holy Crap.

I forgot I was preggers.

Four months along, three high risk babies with history of miscarrage.

"I guess I could call the doctor and get checked out."

There's an understatement.

I spent two months in a giant black velcro walking boot. Eclair was born 5 months later, and I still wonder if maybe Pervasive Developmental Delay can be caused by extreme levels of stress and anxiety? We'll never know.

Alas, no good lessons were learned. Luke Skywalker? He learned that it's easy to put the car in reverse (new cars you have to push the brake pedal to change gears from "park" so this lesson no longer applies), and if you run over your mom with the mini-van FIRE TRUCKS AND POLICE COME TO YOUR HOUSE!!! Thing One? She learned that you can't take your eyes of that kid for even a fraction of a second. So instead she went on babysitting strike. Had to take that little ornery boy everywhere with me.

Why do I share this today? Because Luke Skywalker just turned 13. He's a teenager now. Almost old enough for a learners permit.

Not in a million years, buddy.
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