Friday, May 30, 2008

Who ordered the Atheist Fashionista?

I did the unthinkable. I agreed to attend bible study with my sister in law. Up until this point, I have been rather successful at coming up with reasons for why I cannot attend any of her church functions. However, this time she went so far as to line up a babysitter for me, so I pretty much just gave in and said, “OK, I’ll go.” And so I went. And I hated it. Surprised?

Hmm, where to begin. Oh! Yes, of course, there was my outfit. Let me just preface this by stating that when I decided to attend this church function I was operating under the ill conceived assumption that women still get dressed up for church. I had a picture in my mind of what bible study women dressed like: frilly dresses, big hats, white gloves, panty hose, and pearls, you know, that sort of thing. So I approached the decision about my attire like, "Hey, I clearly do not fit in with these people but I’ll be damned if I can’t dress the part." What an ass.

Just close your eyes for a moment and think El Torito Hostess. Remember the way the staff dressed at that restaurant? Those shiteously bright colored peasant dresses with the white ruffles underneath and those big bold patterns that made you feel drunk even before you wrapped your lips around your first margarita. Well suffice to say that the only accessory missing from my brilliant ensemble were four menus and a pitcher of water. I have no idea what I was thinking when I made the choice to wear something so obnoxiously frilly. If this is the effect Jesus has on people than I am totally certain Christianity sucks.

The odd thing is, I’m relatively sure I looked cute when I stood in front of my bedroom mirror. And if memory serves, I don't seem to recall anyone laughing uncontrollably at me before I left the house. However, somewhere between my front door and my sister in laws car seat the outfit went from bohemian chic to really fucking stupid. In hindsight, I should have taken the hint that I had made a tragic fashion error when I got into my sister in laws car and the first thing she said was, “My! Don’t you look fancy!”

After I arrived at the church I quickly became aware that apparently NO ONE dresses up for bible study or church these days. It was all flip-flops and t-shirts. I looked around at the faces staring up at me with polite smiles and slow-to-blink eyes and thought, I have two choices here. One, I can make a joke about how stupid I look. Or two, I can make a joke about how stupid they look. I chose option one. “Hi!” I said. “No. It’s not my wedding day. I just really like ruffles.” They giggled politely. And truth be told I would have given my firstborn for any of their sandals or t-shirts. Did I mention I had on four inch closed toe heels? So hot. Literally.

So, I start doing the usual meet and greet and all the women seem nice enough, they brought lots of snacks, and talked about their children, the church, their lives, etc. And all was going reasonably okay. That is until they informed me that we were going to be playing Bunco. Bunco? For those of you who are not familiar with Bunco let me just tell you that my four year old could play Bunco. Scratch that. My TWO YEAR OLD could play Bunco. Yes, it is that simple. Absolutely no skill involved whatsoever. None. Having said that, that doesn’t mean that you cannot suck really badly at the game. And there is nothing quite like sucking at a game that requires no skill. Is there?

All of a sudden and out of nowhere tables are being converted, dice are being handed out, prizes are being discussed, and I even notice that some women are wearing special handmade Bunco bracelets! It appears that this is a very serious game and the ladies that play it-attack it with the kind of tenacity one would reserve for securing their survival out in the wilderness. It was all very National Geographic.

I cannot tell you how much I am hating my life at this point. But, it was like the louder they got the quieter I became. I could not for the life of me get what was so EXCITING about this game. My idea of hell would no doubt involve having to play Bunco for all of eternity with the neocons and any member of the Bush administration. In fact, I can think of about fifty other painful things I’d rather do than play Bunco while eating a sausage ball dressed like I’m at my Quincinerra. Did I mention that the entire time I was playing the game I was sweating profusely under the fluorescent lights?

However, the real highlight of my afternoon at bible study came when I sucked so badly at Bunco that I got to wear the BIG ORANGE HAT. Yes, they make you wear a plastic hat if you lose enough times in a row. It was great. And needless to say when it came time to say my goodbye's everyone hated me. Who wouldn’t? I ate all the sausage balls, barely talked, looked like a party favor, and couldn’t stay focused on the simple concept of Bunco. Hey, at least I don’t have to worry about being invited back. Right?

Thursday, May 29, 2008

It must be the Italian in him.

Charlie: Do I have a Luigi?
Me: A who?
Charlie: A LUIGI! You know when the underwear gets stuck in your butt.
Me: Oh! You mean a wedgie?
Charlie: Yeah, a Luigi.

My Uncle Vito would be so proud.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Sold exclusively at Gold's Gym.

Grandpa Alex (aka my dad) came to stay with us over the weekend. Grandpa is a cool cat from South America with a real penchant for barbecue and all things garlic. It’s a non-stop wave of fun from the moment of his arrival to departure, leaving our house imbued with garlic scent and littered with chocolate wrappers. The kids love having him here. I mean what’s not to love? Who wouldn’t enjoy having Ricky Ricardo chase you around the living room for four days while singing some Spanish song about Chocolate and La Cocina as you giggle yourself into oblivion?

And as I sit back and watch this fun loving, sensitive, carefree grandpa engage my offspring in a way that can only be described as adorable. I can’t help but think, who the hell is this guy? Could this be the same man that for YEARS publicly referred to me as Hemo and my brother as Roid? The man who told me not to be such a “candy ass” when I cried because Roid cut the hair off my favorite Barbie Doll?

Seriously, what happens to men as they get older? And does it happen to all men? Because whatever hormone is responsible for this type of increased sensitivity and overall playful kindness needs to be synthetically manufactured and placed in some kind of energy drink sold exclusively at male dominated gyms. We could call it Latino Genome Joy Juice for maximum restoration of neoteny and antidote for macho shit head equilibrium. Because I know there's an old man that’s just dying to get out and go soft on you.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Reason trumps Religion.

Well at least on my nightstand it does.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

The irrational road to rationality.

I am in graduate school. And so far, this program has been a huge lesson for me in "how to think rationally about being passionate." I just don't seem to have a penchant for tedious, mechanical, observational work. Because most of the time I am not good at being rational about my passions, science included. So if you ever want to dish to me about what it's like to feel intellectually inferior and completely out of your element, you are more than welcome to. In fact, I wrote the manual on it.

Step 1. Get into a program that you have absolutely no business being in.

Step 2. Once you' re there ask questions that apparently everyone else figured out in utero. I mean everyone knows that endogenous retroviruses reverse transcribe their RNA into DNA for integration into the hosts genome. Dah.

Step 3. When trying to make nice with these intellectual supreme beings of light, introduce yourself as as a stay-at-home mom. Then watch how quickly you vanish right before their very eyes! It's magical. What? You haven't published anything scientifically astounding? You spend your days doing what now? What's this poopie diaper effect you refer to? Is it testable?

Step 4. When you are working in a group with these people definitely try to tell a joke that doesn't involve some sort of witty pun told in a British accent. I have never heard such silence. I could hear crickets chirping in China.

My mother once fell into a very large hat rack in the middle of a crowded department store. Apparently she thought there was a seat behind her. Much to her dismay, there was not. Everyone stopped what they were doing and just stared at her. But, the worst thing was she didn't get up right away.Uh-uh. Instead she just laid there in a pile of hats muttering to herself, "Oh, I feel like such an ass."

Right now, I feel like I'm in a pile of hats.

I am the only SAHM in this program and one of only three or four females. And it's a shame too because there is so much we could learn from each other! Is it possible to stare into the contents of a loaded diaper and not think about the origin of the universe? Interested in primordial sludge? I got loads of it right here! We should talk. Pencil me in sometime.

Yesterday, I was supposed to be reading a research report on the link between Alzheimer's and fish oil. And after about an hour, I noticed that I had, on average, scratched my butt seven more times than sentences I read. That cannot be good. I absorbed nothing. However, my butt felt awesome.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

This is positively the last time we do "Martini Tuesday."


Sunday, May 18, 2008

My son is Jesus Christ.

Years ago I tried to be a loan officer. So I took a job as an assistant to this man that owned a mortgage company. Part of my job was to take these long pointless trips, seven to eight hour trips, in a car, alone, just my boss and me. And he was a troll, an absolute troll. Blue lips and everything. He use to enjoy telling me stories. Stories that always involved him being cast in either A) the role of the hero or B) The stud (Ew).

He had a son, a pudgy teenage boy who played in a band called Gods of Death. Their “band” consisted of two acrobats, a bassist, and a lead singer. They brought lots of props with them on stage, really nice props like clubs with spikes, over sized dog collars, chains, and a big banner with their name written in what looked like…blood? But the worst part was the “singing.” It was all

RA RA RA ROARRRRR!!! RA RA RA ROARRRRRRRR!!!

And those were the lyrics to every one of their songs. And what gets me is that real live human beings came to listen to them scream like this. I am not joking.

And excuse me but where was my microphone and amp when I was throwing up violently into the toilet those first months of pregnancy? Because had I recorded any of those bitchin jam session’s I would have been a legend among this crowd. A LEGEND I tell you.

So one day on the way back from yet another mind numbing “road trip” with the boss he asks “Say there, have you ever read Nostradamus?”

“No” I said and I’m already starting to get irritated because this is going on hour, oh I don’t know, one hundred and fifty-seven with this man. During which time I have been served an ENDLESS supply of old war stories, and stories about his sexy times with countless Asian women while he was overseas and “you know those Vietnamese women really know how to serve a man” sort of thing. And I was quickly reaching the point where I was contemplating throwing myself out of the car just so I didn’t have to listen to another word of his drivel.

“Well, do you read the bible?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I do, and I think it’s interesting that all the predictions for the end of days are coming true.”

“Is that right.”

“Let me ask you something. Who do you think our savior will be? Go ahead, guess, who do you think it will be?”

“Uh. I don’t know. Oprah?”

“Well, do you want to know who I think it is?”

Sure! I mean you’re paying me a whopping seven dollars an hour to listen to this right? That’s only fair. Go ahead. Please, rape my ears some more. Don’t let the fact that they're bleeding be any indicator that you should shut-up. No sir. You keep right on and do your thing.

“Well, I think it’s my son.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I think it’s my son.”

“You mean the one that plays in that band?”

“Yeah, him.”

“Uh-Huh.”

“Okay. So now that I told you, doesn’t that make sense?”

"If that’s the case, Oprah is going to be pissed.”


Okay good people of the earth, we are in serious trouble. If God listens to that kind of music…we’re screwed.

Saturday, May 17, 2008

How much you wanna bet Barack Obama wishes for the same thing during his debates with Hillary Clinton?

The other night we had Riley over for dinner. Riley is Charlie’s bestest friend in the entire world.

Me: Okay guys. What do you wish for?

Riley: I wish I could run faster than anyone.

Me: I wish the war would end.

Husband: I wish the economy were better.

Charlie: Ummm.

Me: Just make a wish Charlie…it is simple.

Charlie: Uhhhh.

Me: Perhaps you are over thinking this one son. Just close your eyes and say it. C’mon now.

Charlie: Ummm.

Me: Good Grief.

Charlie: Okay!

Me: Well?

Charlie: I really wish I could burp fire.

Me: That is very diplomatic of you son.

Okay? A tear. That’s my boy.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Big booth next to the bar please.

This is a response to a post from Pastor Dwayne Norman . Although I am thrilled that a pastor stopped by to comment on my blog, I’m not thrilled that I'm having to hide under my desk while I write this (just in case lightening strikes).


Although, I agree with you that there are some (perhaps
MANY) Christians who unfortunately hate gays, ignore science, deny reason, and
have a moral superiority....I would like to say that there are believers who relish in academia and would be considered great scholars. One that comes to mind is William Lane Craig.

Well, you’re certainly starting off on the right foot. It’s always a good choice to agree with me. Now, I would never want to imply that all Christians hate gays and suffer from moral superiority. And though many of the most atrocious acts in the history of the world were committed in the name of God, religion also has positive influences. There, I said it. Can I come out from under my desk now?

I will admit that there are atheists who think that religion is the root of all evil and incapable of doing good. This view seems to be shared by some current atheist leaders like Sam Harris and Christopher Hitchens. Although I highly respect these individuals, I tend not to agree on this issue. One could even make a case that they are just as intolerant as the religious right. Ok, they’re not as intolerant. However, I do see some issues Atheist should be conscious of. I don't think we should ever deny rights to individuals because we think we know better than they do. That's arrogant and arrogance is unattractive regardless of the reasoning behind it.

In his book, I don’t believe in atheists, Chris Hedges makes several good points. He believes that the reason humans participate in evil acts is simply because there is evil inherently inside of us (I have children, so he's preaching to the choir here). Religion, according to Hedges, is a vehicle used to carry out evil. I guess it’s similiar to saying that guns don’t kill people, people kill people. Hmmm, maybe the Brady Bill should be extended to cover Christians?

Now onto the issues of science and reason. My two favorite things followed closely by a stiff cocktail and a good rogering (in that order). I have heard people say that when scientific evidence differs from what the bible says we must believe that it is the scientific evidence that is wrong. Doesn’t this seem ludicrous? Truth is truth and if evidence doesn’t support something, how can it be the truth?

Most Christians shrug off the overwhelming evidence in support of evolution. So you can understand why I am skeptical when people advertise Christians as being proponents of science.

I think that when it comes to religion reason gets left at the door. For instance, is it only the non-religious who have trouble with many of the stories in the bible? When told about the talking snake do Christians ever think to themselves, whoa, I feel like I've been taking crazy pills. I mean, do they sit up at night wondering, how in the hell did Noah get all of those dinosaurs on that ark? When they read how Joshua prayed for the sun to stand still, do Christians think Einstein got it wrong with general relativity? I’ve heard many answers to these questions, but all of them require an abandonment of reason.

And it’s not only those stories, but also the attributes ascribed to God. Do they really make sense to Christians? Does it seem plausible that a perfect being could create something imperfect? When they hear the paradox about whether it’s possible for an omnipotent God to create a rock too big for him to lift, do Christians ever ponder this? Or the fact that an omni benevolent God allows all of the pain and suffering we see in the world do the religious ever think, WTF? And when God says that he’ll send all of the unsaved people to hell to suffer for eternity, can Christians honestly say they’ve reasoned this one out?

And if it is true that us non-believers are going straight to hell, who do I talk to about making reservations? Something close to the bar would be great. Not too close to the band. I hate when they put me next to the band. Am I right? I mean, I don't want to have to yell across the table when I'm talking to some of the greatest minds in the history of the world. Because that's just plain rude.


Thanks Pastor Norman for writing in.

Monday, May 12, 2008

Smart and Fart, they rhyme FOR reason.

Dear Science,

I just want to let you know that I really like you, Science. You are amazing, Science. Thank you for all your great research and your skeptical approach at debunking countless irrational claims, Science. And you're right! I really am happier no longer believing that coffee enemas prevent cancer (because that was getting weird). Life is better now that I can look at a coffee pot without the immediate tightening of my sphincter. However, there are things that trouble me about you.

First, are you always this uptight? Because I don't think it would kill you to lighten up a bit. I realize you're really smart and all, but nothing will ever change the fact that farts are funny. And if you're looking to really reach the public you should consider being a wee bit more generous with the jokes. The way I see it, it's either start being funny or buy a sports car. Cause honey you’re gonna need it.

And secondly, after I go out of my way to explain things that you really seem to think are important--how do you propose I deal with my newly formed "critically thinking" child? Because when my four year old says to me, "Mom, stop talking because your words are making my brain think thoughts that make my blood go into my muscles and my muscles are now too tired to listen!" Well, Science, I blame you!

But, I’m not mad. I just want your help. Because I know what the Bible would say. And right now I don’t have access to a rod for which I can unspoil my child.

Secularly yours,
GS

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Dude, Caller ID, that's all I'm saying.

My nephew just graduated from Bible college. And so we went over there to exchange large sums of money for a large plate of cheese casserole. Sounds like a fair deal, right?

And my nephew is the quintessential perfect christian kid, god bless him, and now (poor dear) he is trying desperately to figure out what he has been called to do.

"Okay, wait a minute." I said. "What does it mean called to do? And does it involve a telephone, or a cell phone, or both?

And he's like, "You're so silly Auntie, you sure are funny."

"Yeah, but I really am curious, what does it mean to be called? Who is calling you? Is it Jesus? Or God? Or both? Oh Balls! Tell me they don't put you on speaker phone? I HATE speaker phone."

Because it seems like there's an awful lot of people being "called" for things around here on planet earth. Could this be the same God calling everyone? Or, are there a couple of prank callers who pretend that they're God but then they give you some message like, "Go hairless. Totally. Hairless. And it will serve ye well." Beep! Because you know any decent God impersonation has to be done slowly and deeply and it will inevitably reach the end of the allotted recording time. And my prankster god theory would help explain the recent trend in deliberately hairless men and rise in the cost of wax.

So I'm listening to my nephew talk and he's really concerned about this phone call situation. And whether or not he should return gods call.

And I'm like, "Call him back, don't be such a puss. Just say I really appreciate the call. But I'm happy with my current situation and I'm probably gonna have to pass for right now. But, thanks? And...we'll be in touch?"

Then he looked at me, "You really don't get this do you?"

"Get what? If he's gonna get pissy about it just tell him you'll call him when you're ready to talk. Yeesh, I hope he doesn't get all 'psycho' on you. And hello? That's the beauty of caller I.D. You don't have to talk to anyone." And then I shoved another pile full of peanuts into my mouth. "Just don't sweat it so much. You're home from college! Get laid! Drink beer! Read a few good books!"

"Dude, you are so my favorite Aunt."

Friday, May 9, 2008

Most compelling clip of the day.

video

Thursday, May 8, 2008

Fossils are hot.

My husband had a conversation with a friend last night and while you enjoy the following dialogue please keep in mind that during this exchange I banished myself to the bedroom. Because God (a descriptive I have learned to live with) forbid I jeopardize the possibility of my husbands weekly beer ritual. Besides, no one wants to watch a thirty-two year old woman motion repeatedly to her crotch and ass every time you say something she doesn’t like. No one. And the rolling of the eyes has to stop too. But the worst is after you give me that third glass of wine I warned you about. Because then you are hit with the trifecta of my immaturity: the eye rolling, the ass slapping, and the faux jerk-off simulation. This is obviously no way of conducting myself in front of a creationist as it neither demonstrates my ability to tolerate adversity or my ability to reason.


Friend: My point is still and always will be, show me the fossils! There should be billions of them not just enough to fill a shoebox. As far as transitional fossils are concerned since natural selection happens so slowly, we should be able to piece together concrete evidence within the fossil bed from point a-z. Also we should be able to see a number of animals that are in this process right now.

Husband: We only have enough transitional fossils to fill a shoebox? That's outrageous! If we find a fossil that is in transition, creationist will either say that it was micro evolution, or if it's different enough, they will say it's a completely different species that God made. Can you see the game? What evidence could one ever provide that would make them doubt their faith? The answer is none. There is nothing that anyone can show that would cause a true believer to doubt. Because by definition, a true believer "believes" when all evidence is to the contrary. So, even if there was the evidence you ask for, which is impossible, it really wouldn't matter to a true believer anyway.

So enamored with my husband's lucid dialectic in defense of my immature passion, that by the time our bible-thumper friend left I immediately ripped off all his clothes, “Yeah baby, let's transition."

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Prickly little bitch

This is Sophie.

About a month ago she chased a bird (or a squirrel) into a cactus. We live in the desert so the succulents are abundant.
My son came running frantically up to the sliding glass door, “Mom! Mom! AMUR-GIN-C!”
And there was my husband walking up the trail with my little pincushion of a puppy.

The vet said: I have never seen this many thorns in one dog before.
My brain said: Shut yo’ ass!
My mouth said: Okay then, well, can you please help her, like, now?

The vet said: I will see what we can do.
My brain said: That’s right nipplefuck! You best see what you can do. Fucking Immediately!
My mouth said: Thank you. I appreciate your help. Do you still take Visa?


She had those vile thorns in her tongue and even in her gums.
It hurt just to hold her, never mind look at her.

She is okay now.

The End.

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

Talking sheet to mom

Me: So, what’s new?

Mom: Not much Dolling. (which sounds like Door-ling because she’s from Brooklyn).

Me: What are you up to?

Mom: Today was laundry day. And I like to hang my sheets outside so they have that fresh wind smell.

Me: Fresh. Wind. Smell?

Mom: Yes Doll. I like things blown really good until they smell like a nice wind.

Me: You like things blown really good until they smell like a nice wind?

Mom: Are you breaking my balls?

Me: No, just breaking the wind in all that sheet you like to blow.

Mom: I don’t get it.

I'll take a medium.


Sunday, May 4, 2008

I swear.

Like any respectable mother, I spend most of my free time reading other mom blogs. One of things I try to take note of are the commonalities among us. And while the differences at times can be as trivial as they are abundant, one observation remains constant. What the fuck is with all the cursing?

You can go to most any other mom blog and get your daily dose of the shits, fucks, and asses any one could ever hope for and so much more. While I’m far too big a fan to raise an eyebrow, it still strikes me as something worth noting. For generations men have been able to kick up their heels and guiltlessly let the expletives fly. However, for a woman to curse (nevermind a mom) it was considered verboten. After all, what kind of a mother would have such a foul tongue?

The primary reason that it remains more offensive for us moms to curse is that we are more likely to be in the presence of small children and small children, so it is believed, are highly impressionable. But before we get on our soapboxes about the link between feminism and free speech perhaps we should consider the evidence for why it has remained taboo for women (and especially mothers) to use profanity.

One of the arguments for why profanity remains taboo is that society suffers when things like casual sex and violence become more common within a culture. And it can be shown that acceptance of new modes of common language serve as a barometer for societal trends. For instance, if saying the word fuck as in, “what the fuck?” falls from the lips as easily as saying, “excuse me?” is this a sign that the act is becoming more casual too? Is our abundant use of expletives in our daily lives a symptom of a disintegrating civilization or one of the causes? And are we as moms adding to the social degradation of our offspring by making profanity less of a taboo? Some would say YES.

For me, freedom of speech is the hallmark of our society. I would do nothing to infringe upon anyone’s right of expression. But being such an advocate of free speech may make it harder for me to use the argument on my kids, you shouldn’t talk like that, when clearly I talk like that. And while talk is cheap there does appear to be some correlation between a potty mouth and a potty attitude.

I’m not going to deny the fact that I curse in front of my children, it happens. No job is more intense and hence more frustrating than parenting. And cursing having its primordial roots has always been a natural way of expressing oneself when one is put through intense situations. This is why I am not the slightest bit surprised by the amount of cursing that moms do--not at all actually.

Even though I am typically a proponent of lifting any irrational taboo, I cannot help but wonder if this rock is worth turning over. Will there come a day when I regret being so open, so liberal, and so free with my patterns of speech around my kids? Am I ready for my children to use their right to free speech as passionately as I use mine? And if the answer is no, then isn’t that hypocritical?

Wouldn’t I have to be somewhat of a lunatic (or an assiduous follower of the bible) if I thought it was “okay” for the rules to change based on the perceived threat of my authority? I will, as they say, “practice what I preach.” But, I’d be lying if I said I did not wonder about the consequences. And since I have never been one to blindly obey authority and definitely not someone who uses silly sugary substitutes for expletive phrases (sorry but “Oh Sugar!” is NOT the same as “Oh Shit!”) the idea that my kids are not going to hear authentic, organic, preservative-free profanity in my house is highly improbable.

The other night after I asked my son to give me his blanket and he said without hesitation, “But then I’m gonna freeze my ass off.” Despite the fact that we were both hysterical after the exchange, me because of the shock, him because of my reaction, I walked away thinking, is this going to be as funny when he’s fifteen?

Friday, May 2, 2008

Afternoon Delight

Charlie: Mom, why you don't you feed Henry from your boobies anymore?

Me: Why do you care?

Charlie: Because it was really cool.

Me: Why?

Charlie: Because it was like rockets shot out of your boobies.

Me: I guess my rockets all dried up.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

There Will Be Blood.

Grandma stopped by today to see the kids and not five minutes after she arrived Charlie stubbed his toe on the coffee table. It was the drama of the year.
I gave it two thumbs WAY up. Riveting performance by the cast. Charlie was mesmerizing. Tears. Screaming. Snot. The only thing missing was narration by Morgan Freeman.

Charlie crying, "Ohhhh. Maaaaaaaa. Gawwwwwwwwd!"

Grandma rushes over to him so the revival can begin, "Oh my word! Dear Jesus heal Charlie’s foot! Dear Jesus heal Charlie’s foot!"

And right about now I’m thinking, boy am I glad he didn’t hurt his heel cause THAT would be annoying. I immediatley try to calm him down and I do this by explaining things. I know, I know, what the hell is wrong with me?

"You are fine. Remember that book we read? About how the body is full of millions and millions of blood cells? Wasn’t that interesting?"

"Blah-oooooooood!"

"There, there, try not to get hysterical. Here, lets put this towel on your foot. Oh, you know what? I bet the platelets are hard at work trying to stop the bleeding. Isn’t the body amazing Charlie?"

Grandma now kneeling, "Dear Jesus heal Charlie’s foot! Oh Dear Jesus heal Charlie’s foot!"

Charlie is still a wreck at this point with the mixture of blood, snot, and tears (hey isn’t that an album or something?).

Charlie: Blah-oooooooooood!

"Yes. I know. And remember how those tiny little platelets work? They are helping to stop the bleeding even as we speak. Isn’t that cool? I bet you when I lift up this towel the bleeding will have already stopped. Would you like to see?"

And as I go to lift the towel Grandma is getting faster with her prayers. She now sounds similiar to a steam engine, “Dear Jesus heal Charlie’s foot, Dear Jesus heal Charlie’s foot, Dear Jesus heal Charlie’s foot, Whoo-Hooo!”

And somewhere between the prayers and my explanation, the bleeding stopped.
I think the real "miracle" is how I manage to survive the day with these people. They are CRA-HAY-ZEE people I tell ya. CRA-HAY-ZEE.

If your kids want the cool book about blood it's here. colorful graphics, lots of fun science facts. And the next time they get hurt they know what's going on because kids are all about keepin' it real yo'.