Mama Needs a Cosmo

Earlier this year, I wrote about a photographer named James Beltz (who I now refer to as “Professor Jimmy” around the house, because, as it turns out, he really DID feel uncomfortable with my calling him “The Jimmy Lama”).

To know him (through his podcasts) is to love him. He’s southern and charming and hilariously funny in his A.D.D./silly ranting kind of way and frankly, the LOML is starting to get jealous of my constant bringing up of his name. But the fact of the matter is that Jimmy is the only photography instructor that I know that totally gets “it.” He doesn’t take himself too seriously, gets his audience/students to relax, and teaches in a way that is both fun and challenging. And I honestly have NO IDEA where I’d be without his classes or podcasts.

ANYWAY, most of you know that I do quite a bit of my podcast listening while driving. And sometimes even while the kids are in the car. (Usually while they are sleeping, or else I get pelted with Cheerios or Cheetos until I tune the dial to Radio Disney. ACK.)

A few weeks ago, I had picked up Jake from day camp and didn’t even get out of the parking lot when noticed that his eyes were getting heavy and he had leaned the seat back a little bit in order to settle in for a nap on the way home. So I decided that as soon as he was “out,” I would plug in my iTouch and listen to one of Professor Jimmy’s podcasts.

And wouldn’t you know, it would be one where Jimmy uses the phrase “Nekkid” flash about 678 times. (“Nekkid” is southern for “Naked.” And a “Nekkid Flash” is what you would call one of those big long flashes you see on professional cameras WITHOUT what you would call “a white thingy” on the end. A “white thingy” is a flash diffuser, which helps soften and spread light evenly.).

And I remember thinking, Holy CRAP it’s a good thing that Jake is asleep or he’d be asking me what the word “nekkid” meant. BECAUSE YOU KNOW HOW INQUISITIVE THIS KID CAN BE.

Fast forward a few days.

I had hopped on to the computer before going to work to check out some recipes I was thinking about trying for dinner. And without remembering to bookmark the page that I’d found, I shut the browser down and turned the computer off.

When I returned home later that evening, I fired up the browser and decided to go to my internet history in order to find the site I’d been on earlier that morning. And this is what I found:

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Yes, you read that right.

There were searches for “NEY KIT FLASH,” “NAY KIT FLASH,” and “Professor Jimmy,” among other things.

Now, if you are slow to get this, bear with me. BECAUSE THIS IS A DAMN FUNNY STORY. (The LOML had me add, “Damn funny to photographers, maybe . . .”)

After discovering the search queries I laughed. HARD. For, like, TWENTY MINUTES.

Then I picked up the phone and called the LOML.

“Sweetie?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh, can I ask you a question?”

“Oh . . . ‘kay. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Just wondering if you happened to be on the computer at lunch, looking for something to buy me for my birthday.”

“WAIT. Wha . . .? HOW’D YOU KNOW THAT?”

And then I was all, REALLY? Have you NOT ever heard of the INTERNET HISTORY BUTTON?

“You’re joking, right? I KNOW EVERYTHING.”

“[Loud silence, and then a long sigh.] Fine. YES, I was looking up stuff I wanted to buy you for your birthday. But I couldn’t find what I was looking for.”

“And what exactly, dear, were you looking for?”

“Well, this morning on the way to drop Jake off at summer camp, I asked him what he thought we should buy you for your birthday next month, and he said, ‘The man on mama’s radio says that you can do just about anything with a nay kit flash, so maybe we should get her one of those.’”

I’ve always wanted a little boy with long hair.

Growing up and all the way into my adult years, I’ve been a “rocker chick.” I liked my dudes to have longer hair than me. (Until I met the LOML, of course.)

And during those years, I envisioned having a little boy with super cool long hair and a leather jacket and a name like “Dominic” or “Thaddeus.”

I could not have been happier after having Jake — he actually CAME OUT OF THE WOMB WITH LONG HAIR. It was like the metal gods smiled down upon me and said, “Ye shall possess a first-born son with locks that Metallica themselves would be jealous of.”

But then the LOML intervened and Jake got his first haircut at 5 months old. Because the poor kid had hair so long that we had to pin it up “samurai style” to keep it out of his eyes and mouth. It’s been short ever since. And sometimes the LOML goes so far as to shave it all off at the beginning of summer, which irritates the crap out of me because it makes Jake look like “Vern” from Stand By Me.

Then along came Benny. WHO WAS BORN BALD.

It took him three years to get his trademark hair — the hair everyone likens to that of Dolly Madison.

The LOML has been threatening to get his hair cut since Christmas. Then in April, I decided that I thought I’d be ready to go through with it by Benny’s third birthday.

Which came and went with no scissors in sight. I thought I was home free.

Until this past weekend, when the LOML called me on my bet, loaded the car with my camera gear, and said, “Let’s go.”

There were a few moments before we even went in where I thought I might cry or vomit or grab Ben and make a run for it.

But I acquiesced, grabbed my rig, and started to shoot. It was the only thing that kept me from having an out of body experience.

Below is the before picture:

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Benny, ROCKING the Dolly Madison look and waiting patiently for his turn in the chair.

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The noise from the clippers drew Benny’s attention to his older brother. Who HATES getting his hair cut.

Benny looks on as his older brother is subjected to the clipper treatment.

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I probably should have promised him something cool, but all he got after he was done was a root beer sucker.

Seriously. Do I *REALLY* need a caption here?

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Five minutes later, Benny would get in the chair.

I love this image. He sat down in that chair as if we had said, "We'll buy you some ice cream if you sit still." Oh, wait . . .

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I have a photo of the “First Cut,” but I couldn’t bring myself to post it. Here’s what became of the first cut:

Remnants of the "First Cut."

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And finally, the “After” pictures:

This image makes Jake appear to be TWELVE YEARS OLD. Next week kids will start asking him to buy their beer.

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Here's the 'Zilla with his new 'do. His shoulder action reminds me of Schroeder from "Peanuts."

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He seems to think that, now that his hair is shorter, he can run faster. If I had made that argument before going in, the LOML probably would have kept his hair long.

Benny turned three in July.

And, poor little guy, he didn’t get a party or balloons or even a CAKE.

Because he’s the 2nd child. And second children get the shaft until they’re old enough to know better. And, not only that, but he’s ONLY THREE. All he cared about was that someone sang him the birthday song and gave him ice cream and a toy that made lots of noise.

It looks like a tender moment, but what you don't see here is Benny flinging the spoon at his brother 10 seconds later.

I told this story to a few of my co-workers today, and they were all, “Oh my GOD Kathleen!! You need to put that on your blog! Have you put it on your blog? Have you?!” And I was like, “Hell NO!” because I’m totally convinced that Child Protective Services reads my blog and is just itching for a reason to take my boys away.

Then I realized that what I did (in this particular instance) wasn’t all that bad. I mean, it’s not like I left Jake and Benny in a car for six hours while I gambled at a casino or something. This type of “parental absence of mind” is much more acceptable. Or at least “confessionable.”

So, here’s the story:

A couple of weeks ago (the evening of Easter Sunday), Jake came to me and quite dramatically stated,

“Ohhh MOMMMMM, I don’t feel so good. My tummy hurts and I think I have a feverrrr.”

Seriously. This kid has more drama packed into his being than Charlton Heston.

And I was all, “Uh, of COURSE you don’t ‘feel so good.’ You spent all day eating candy.”

But the 5% left of “caring mom” in me chose to feel his forehead, and it WAS kinda warm, so I went to the bathroom and retrieved our newly purchased thermometer. Complete with sample cover for trial use.

I opened the box, and then decided to use the trial thermometer cover. It was one of those “peel here, insert thermometer, then peel off other side” kind of covers, so I didn’t really have to touch it, which made me feel like I was being all super-sanitary and worthy of a gold star.

“Here,” I said, “keep it under your tongue for ten seconds.”

Now, before I go further, I have to explain that Jake has always had a really (REALLY) bad gag reflex. This kid has issues with just getting his teeth brushed in the morning, so I was quite worried that this temperature taking thing would turn into an adventure.

And, true to form, Jake coughed and gagged and spit it out onto the bathroom counter.

“Jake!! What is your problem?! It’s just a thermometer!”

“But MOMMM!”

“Seriously, Jacob . . . I’ve got no other way to do this so put it back under your tongue for ten seconds. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“No mom! It tastes weird.”

“Weird?”

“It’s kinda slippery and it tastes awwfull. YOU DO IT!”

I stopped short of asking him, “What’s your damage, HEATHER?” because I’m also thoroughly convinced that my six-year-old has a teenage girl trapped inside his body and is driving force behind his Charlton Heston dramatics.

Anyway, I decided that YES, I WOULD TAKE MY OWN TEMPERATURE AND SHOW THIS KID THAT HE’S BEING A TOTAL NUTJOB, and then reached for the thermometer without looking at it because for some reason I wanted to stare him down to make a point. And in doing so, I inadvertently picked it up by the “wrong” end (the temperature-taking end) and felt it.

And . . . it WAS kinda slippery.

And for one brief second I had a minor out of body experience, having realized what I just did to my own son.

I cringed, slowly turned around, reached for the bathroom wastebasket, and retrieved the thermometer cover wrapper.

And there it was. All spelled out for moms and dads and grandmas and grandpas and babysitters WHO CAN READ GOOD:

“Pre-lubricated for rectal comfort.”

[Insert gag noise here.]

You’ve no doubt heard the tragic story about Matt James, the 17-year-old All American high school student and top recruit for Notre Dame who, while on spring break in Florida, fell to his death from a fifth-floor balcony of a hotel. Because he was DRUNK.

Now, I did my fair share of drinking in high school. I’d also be lying to you if I said I didn’t do drugs before I turned 18.

HOWEVER, I never got to do drugs or drink while 3,000 miles away from home because my parents were NOT IDIOTS. Hell, they knew that just letting me go on a senior trip to DISNEYLAND (which is a 6 hour drive from my house) could be trouble, so I was forbidden to go. And I really don’t think it was because they knew that I’d been smoking pot here and there or drinking beer and wine coolers at makeshift parties underneath oak trees behind the local high school. I believe that they knew that I was an impressionable teenager, and in a big group of other impressionable teenagers, I’d give in to peer pressure and somehow wind up hurt.

So, on Easter Sunday, while reading all of the reports that surfaced about Matt James, my husband and I made a pact that if our children ever asked to go away on one of those spring break or graduation trips, our answer would be a very loud “NO.”

The VERY NEXT DAY, I received the email below from my niece, Lisa. The story you are about to read is TRUE, and has not been edited or modified in any way (except for my adding paragraph breaks, because you all know I’m a control freak and I need to see white space between organized thoughts or I’ll lose my mind).

The story below is about my cousin Jacob. This story was printed in the Rio Americano PSTA Newsletter. My Aunt Cheryl wrote this a few years ago after Jacob’s Graduation Trip.

GRADUATION TRIPS

Our vigilance as parents begins at birth and continues as our children grow older. Then why, when they turn 18 and graduate from High School, do we relax that effort? Many of us allow our seniors to embark on a graduation trip that for most of them is their first experience with complete independence — an experience shared with hundreds if not thousands of other CHILDREN.

If you are considering one of these trips for your child, please let me share my family’s experience when we made that same choice. “Be careful,” “stay safe,” and “make good choices,” were all words of advice given to my son as he departed for Hawaii after graduating from Del Campo in 2003. What were my husband and I thinking?

Yes, he was traveling with a reputable travel company. Yes, we had informed him of all of the rules. Most importantly, yes, we should have known better.

These were 18-year-olds on vacation held accountable only to themselves (and of course their parents an ocean away). The companies that promote these trips are not accountable for your child’s safety. They are merely providing an adult on the property if your child seeks their help. Their brochures state their zero tolerance policy. This policy is only effective when enforced. Some of the students on these trips are following the rules but many more are using alcohol and drugs, making choices you might never expect them to make.

Choices they themselves might never make under different circumstances.

You might think that because your child has never been in trouble and is involved in sports or other activities that if anything happens, it will be to “someone else” not your child. My son was that “someone else”.

I don’t have all the answers as to what happened in Hawaii. What I do know is that my husband and I  received the phone call that every parent dreads. When you are asked to be seated before the conversation can continue, no matter how much you pray the words coming from the other end of the phone won’t come, they do.

We were informed that our son was fighting for his life after surviving a fall from a third floor window. So badly I wanted to go back 6 months to when the brochure for this trip first came home. Desperately I wanted to go back 3 months to when the trip was paid in full. I begged the Lord to take me back to that June morning when we said goodbye to our son and sent him on his way. There was no going back.

My husband and I were on the earliest flight to Hawaii praying the hospital could keep our son alive until we reached him. The first sign that he would ever come home from his “fun filled” graduation trip to Hawaii came days after our arrival, a squeeze of my finger indicating that he knew we were by his side . . .

It took many days for him to be removed from a ventilator and begin breathing on his own. We were blessed after spending weeks by our son’s side in an intensive care unit to bring him home. His life has changed forever along with the lives of many of those who went through this experience with him.

If a graduation trip away from home is something you are considering for your senior, please learn from my family’s experience. I challenge you to find a student who has experienced a week on a graduation trip. Find out what really goes on. Surprisingly, those colorful brochures tend to leave some things out.

If you still choose to allow your CHILD to go, hold them accountable by speaking to them everyday and for more than 5 minutes. Impress upon them that if they see a friend in trouble, seek help immediately.

The importance of being a vigilant parent with your graduating senior should equal the efforts put forth when they were toddlers. They are still counting on you to make the right decision. Their life could depend on it.

Please don’t let the next “someone else” be your child.

Cheryl Rommel
(cr_grad [at] yahoo.com)

I. was. FLOORED. I had no idea that this had happened to someone that was in my circle of influence.

I replied immediately and asked if she thought her aunt would allow me to post the story on my blog, to which she replied:

The other kids that were there slipped my cousin something and thought it was funny when he was tripped out and [started] acting very odd. This went on for about 3 days before anyone called an adult to check on him. They took him to the hospital when he starting hallucinating and taking showers with his clothes on.  He was being treated on the 3rd floor of the hospital and because he was hallucinating, he thought the doctors and nurses were aliens that we trying to abduct him. So he ran from them and jumped out of the 3rd story window. Crazy!!

I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. I’ll send her a message and let you know as soon as she gets back to me. I’m sure she’d like this to spread so that it will help others.

Wow. Did you read that? Jacob had NOTHING to do what happened. It was the OTHER kids.

Just knowing that this happened to someone near and dear to my family gives me all the ammunition I need to resist the urge to give in to a request for a week in Lake Havasu or Cancun. No thank you.