Tuesday, December 20, 2005

For Lack of a Whacker

I am in a last-minute Christmas shopping mode. I found some good
stuff at a neighboring Wal-Mart this afternoon. They even had a
helpful saleslady. Who knew? She wasn't wearing the standard blue
Wal-Mart vest, but a smart little business suit. She might not really
have worked there. Maybe she liked to pretend. But she did know
her way around the video games and computer CDs.

Nothing fell on my head at this Wal-Mart. I see the disappointment
on your faces. I can't be entertaining all the time.

#1 son was in trouble this afternoon for backtalking, badmouthing,
and being mean to #2 over playing Nintendo DS. He also crushed
a paper airplane he had made for #2, just to see him cry. #1 was sent
to his room, and came out without permission. He told his dad that
he "didn't know" he couldn't come out. He had a little meltdown
and shouted that he didn't want anything for Christmas anyway,
which made #2 tell him all he was getting was some coal. #1
replied that this coal business was just a myth, and that neither
one of them needed anything for Christmas, since they both were
mad at me.

This made #2 cry, because although he was mad, he still wanted
Christmas gifts. He sniffled to his dad that there was not ONE gift
in this house for him, and he was getting worried that he would not
get anything. I tried to explain that I wouldn't put out his gifts yet
because he was always grabbing them and begging to open them
early. He used to say, "Well, Santa will bring me some" but now
he won't even mention that. I fear that #1 has told him (in a fit of
rage) that Santa is just a myth like the coal. Poor little thing. I've
got to wrap a couple of presents for him and put them out.

#2 was in a good mood today, until all this coal business. I saw
him get off the bus with a "whacker." You know, a long cardboard
wrapping-paper tube. He ran up the sidewalk, wielding it like a
sword. I intercepted him before he whacked Mr. H with it in the
hall. He has had murderous tendencies toward Mr. H since Mr. H
asked him one time, "Hey, buddy, you got some candy?" in
reference to a Valentines' party bag. #2 swung the bag of candy
at Mr. H, and hit him in the chest. Now Mr. H is more cautious
about such inquiries.

I wondered, "Who in their right mind would give my kid a whacker?"
"Mrs. M!" stated my child, elevating her to a pedestal. This is the
teacher he said he loved so much he wanted to kiss her, except
"We can't kiss at school. Only hug. And only hug if all our work
is done." At parent conferences, Mrs. M said she has been telling
her class that now that they are in 2nd grade, they are getting to big
to hug her and each other at school. They have to grow up too fast.

#2 said that Mrs. M told the class that since the whackers were
just sitting there, they might as well take one if they wanted one.
I guess it was a matter of craft items not being needed anymore.
#2 said that "You could get two if you were getting one for a
brother or sister." I noticed that he did not get one for his brother.
I guess it's more fun whacking an unarmed victim. #1 seemed
bitter about the lack of a whacker. Maybe that's what started
the bad blood.

I caught up to #2 a little ways up the hall. Mrs. C's kindergarten
kid was saying, "Let me see that. Just for a minute." #2 pirouetted,
keeping the whacker away. I would have like to see what the kid
wanted it for. To give #2 a sound whacking, no doubt.

I need that whacker. I think administering a good whacking might
brighten my spirits. I think it's in the SUV, because there has been
a lack of whacking since we got home. Maybe I can get hold of
it tomorrow. It's a half day of school. I could get in a lot of whackin'.

5 Comments:

Blogger Misha said...

lol @ the Valentine candy missile - brilliant I say.

Ahh, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, isn't it? All the last-minute shopping and the tantrums... sigh

I wouldn't mind some coal :(

12:22 AM  
Blogger deadpanann said...

All I want for Christmas is a gigantic bag of weed. If the ferrets can smoke crack, the teachers should be able to smoke weed. Write it into the policy book: Weed allowed after 3:30 p.m.

HBMom, You've got to teach those kids to leave their whackers where they belong.

5:29 AM  
Blogger MrsCoach2U said...

Might I borrow the whacker? There is a whole basketball team full of teenage boys I'd love to smack with something. Anything....just so I can smack them upside their dense-thick skulls.

10:38 AM  
Blogger Rebecca said...

Hi Hillbilly Mom,
Oh I laughed so hard at this post. A Whacker here in the land of OZ is someone who has lost their mind.
"They were leftover art supplies so they were told they could take one each." I thought slavery had gone out the window, but obvously having a few people on hand, even if they have a lower mental capacity, must come in handy.
I guess the good thing about the kids each taking one (or two for a brother or sister) home, is these whackers get fed at Christmas.
HooRoo
Rebecca

12:30 PM  
Blogger Hillbilly Mom said...

Misha,
Is this reverse psychology? You wouldn't mind some coal, so we are supposed to do the opposite, and NOT give you coal, but rather a very shiny and expensive gift?

Miss Ann,
Santa must need a lot of grow lights at the North Pole. You would also have to amend that policy to allow teachers to flame up on the school grounds, so they wouldn't have to drive around in their cars to consume it.

Mrs.,
Get your own whacker, Girly! We can't spare a whacker here at the mansion. Maybe you can get a charity to donate you a whacker, since smacking teenage boys in the head is definitely a good cause.

Bec,
Give us your tired, your poor, your wretched whackers you don't want anymore. I think that is inscribed on the Statue of Liberty that those Frenchies gave us.

10:03 PM  

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