McBummer

When I was a kid in elementary school, our principal held a contest. We had to dress up for St. Patrick’s Day. The winners got to go to McDonald’s with him. My childhood self was all over that challenge. McD’s over math? You betcha!

I dressed up like a leprechaun. I even made little gold coins out of construction paper and glitter and handed them out to other students. It was enough to win a spot with the principal!

Our McDonald’s treat was the smooth and dreamy Shamrock Shake—green minty goodness you can suck through a straw! After that, life was never quite the same. Strawberry just doesn’t cut it once you’ve had Shamrock.

Every year now in February or March, I go hunting for those sweet treats. For years, I lived in a more populated area and getting a shake wasn’t much of a problem. My sister and I would scout them out and let each other know where to find them. We each had to have at least one a year.

Well, now I live in a more remote area. Though an idyllic place to live, it is sadly Shamrock Shake impaired. Just last week I went to the McD’s closest to my home. Politely I asked if they were carrying the coveted item. “I don’t think so. Not this year,” was the clerk’s reply. Not this year? You didn’t do it last year, either! What’s wrong with you people?! Don't you know minty goodness when you see it?

I’m getting desperate. I even Googled “Shamrock Shake locator” and found this great website. Oh, those shakes are out there—but none have been spotted anywhere near me. I’d consider going to the next county over, but with gas at almost $4 a gallon…do you know how many Shamrock Shakes that would buy? Sigh.

Sis, make sure to have a Shamrock Shake for me. I’m counting on you!

Read more...

Darth Mom Strikes Back

Getting DSguy out of bed in the morning is rather like pulling something out of drying cement. It’s doable, but it’s not going to be easy.

DSguy inherited his mother’s early morning disposition—or rather, lack thereof. Getting up in the morning rates right up there with dentist drills and gynecology appointments. Almost. OK, maybe not gynecology appointments. Those are in a class all their own. I’ll stop there, before I make someone blush.

Most mornings start with a chirpy, “Time to get up, DSguy!” from me or The Man. (FYI, The Man is significantly less chirpy.) That works about as well as a lead balloon. About fifteen minutes later, we return to find DSguy curled up in his blankets, trying his best to ignore our cajoling. We rip the blankets off and try again. Nothing. Again and again, we try to rouse him, but the kid just won’t budge.

The Man gets tired of the endless encores and picks up DSguy, planting him firmly in his chair at the kitchen table. I tell the bleary-eyed DSguy to get dressed and I will give him some breakfast. Begrudgingly, DSguy obliges and shuffles toward his room. After he’s gone, we have a few moments to make some coffee and try to wake up ourselves.

We savor the sweet morning brew until we realize DSguy has not resurfaced. I return to his bedside, only to find him curled up in his blankets, out cold. This will not do. I am forced to get creative.

I leave the room and return with a loaded squirt bottle. Donning my best Sith Lord voice, I tell DSguy that Darth Mom has arrived and is ready to use the dark side of the force if he doesn’t get his Padawan posterior out of bed! A few Vader breaths later, a warning spritz gets DSguy on his feet.

Victory for Darth Mom! Good thing for the young Padawan. I would have called in Dad Sidious next.

Read more...