Aye, Yi, Yi...

...we look like...cartoons!

Remember Kidd Video on Saturday morning cartoons? Cousin Oliver, Robbie Rist, from the "Brady Bunch" was on it. You can watch a video clip here.

There's nothing more to do with that. I just happened to think of it while I was aye, yi, yiing.

Sometimes, I like reading things I wrote when my kids were younger.  I miss them.  Sometimes.  They're both in the Navy now, stationed away from their momma.  After 22 years of being a hands-on, round-the-clock stay-at-home-mom, the silence is almost deafening.  Of course, I focus on writing more than I ever did when they were underfoot, but I do miss them.  I'll often sit here in the evening and it almost feels like someone should come barreling through the front door, full of life with an empty stomach, telling me about their day and asking what there is to eat.  Don't get me wrong - I'm proud.  So very, very proud of them.  It's just that the empty nest isn't always what it's cracked up to be.  Some days, it's absolutely heavenly to hear myself think and not pick up dirty drawers and dishes off the living room floor.  Other days, well, I miss their presence. 

This happened about five and a half years ago, and it's the kind of thing I miss.  The unexpected humor and interaction with my kiddos: 

My 15 year old walked in yesterday after football practice and presented me with a folded up piece of paper.

"What did you do now?" I asked, sure that he'd gotten in trouble already for doing something senseless and utterly teenage-boyish. Undoubtedly, it was something that required my signature acknowledging that the school knows that I know what a heathen child I have raised.

"Look what I drew," he sniggered.

Now, it's been years since my baby has come home from school and presented me with artwork. As a matter of fact, he never brought his masterpieces home from art class. He'd throw them in the trash when he got back to the classroom, or stuff them in the bottom of his locker. Whenever the teacher deemed his locker as a health or fire hazard, he'd come home with a grocery sack full of crumpled construction paper.

How sweet, I thought. He's giving me something. A bonding moment, perhaps. I was touched by the sentiment, but I can guarantee it was short-lived.

I unfolded the paper, very unsure of what I might find.

The kids went through a period of time where they loved to draw pictures of each other, typically doing something gross. The both had a penchant for doodling scenes of the other one farting. No, I never really got what was so funny about that either.

Then they drew each other's socks, with vapors emitting and big holes, sometimes a big toe sticking out with a very nasty toenail.

After that, it was funny to draw each other holding hands with a fat woman. They'd mark the woman as so-and-so's girlfriend.

I don't understand boys. Never did, really. And, I guess it's fair to say I don't understand most men, but that's a whole 'nother rant.

So, anyway, no idea what his crafty little self is offering me.

There on the page is an elephant. I must say it was a decent drawing. A whole lot better than what I could do.

I noticed the elephant is drinking something. Looks sort of like a paint can. I held it up and out from my face because well, you know, I'm seriously considering getting myself a pair of those reading glasses because my vision sure isn't what it used to be.

I squinted a bit and read the label of the bucket, "ANTI-FREEZE."

"Umm, why is the elephant drinking anti-freeze, or do I want to know?" I questioned.

He laughed and said he didn't know.

"Okay, then. Great. This will come in handy one day when the psychiatrist asks if there were ever any signs of you being mentally disturbed," I said.