Excuse me, but can I interest you in a 'random gunman' rider for your car insurance policy?

This past Saturday I was out of town with my sisters at a wedding, leaving Dyl with the kids. Late that night, he texted me with the cryptic message that crazy stuff went down in the neighborhood but they were all safe. We were exhausted so I passed out without seeing the message, not getting it until Sunday morning.

Dyl went to bed around midnight and was just drifting off when he heard an explosion that seemed to come right outside our house. He looked out the window and saw a person running down the street but nothing else seemed awry. Figuring someone lit a fire cracker in a trashcan, he went downstairs to check more closely and saw another person running. About this time police cars started converging on our street where the only tension is over who parked in someone else's space. Then the search helicopter, SWAT armed with assault rifles and K-9 units showed up so shit got real. Still watching (because really, who could turn away), he saw another officer walking down the street shining his light into and under cars but when he got to Dyl's car he stopped and closely examined it. At this point, Dyl went outside, asking if he could be of assistance; did he need to open the car...? No, not that but sir, did you know that you have a bullet in your window? And there it was, in the small window on Noah's side. (Really, what was he going to say, 'Oh that? That's been there for ages; I was keeping it for sentimental reasons.') Miraculously, the kids slept through it all, even with the search teams heading behind our house to the marshy area backing to the highway.

Once the crime scene evidence gatherer type people showed up, they extracted the bullet but now we're left with a shattered window. The only thing left to do was punch the rest of it out and call the car insurance company in the morning to see about getting it repaired. Dyl started the process yesterday and today received an email (!) response that since "we don't carry physical damage on our insurance they are unable to cover the cost of fixing the car."

Wait. What?

If we had been in vehicular accident, would physical damage have been covered? Is this because it was stationary? For fuck's sake, our car had a bullet in it. A BULLET. In our car. That was parked in front of our house. At night. Because someone got all jacked up when someone else insulted his socks or something and ran down the street in a townhouse community randomly firing a gun and hit our car, we're on the hook for the repair cost since no one talks about the 'random-gunman insurance' rider and how it's money well spent. Just waiting now to hear that our rates have been jacked up due to residing in such a dangerous neighborhood. Those Boy Scouts are hard core, man.

'Murica. Fuck yeah.

Really, child? REALLY?!

On Friday morning I received one of the more bizarre phone calls in my life. Noelle's teacher was on the line sounding absolutely bewildered and flummoxed. She stammered something about Noelle and Justin and scissors and put Noelle on the phone. I asked Noelle what was wrong and her small voice came back, "Mommy, I cut my hand with scissors." Or at least that is what I thought she said. So I asked her if she was okay, was she bleeding, did she go to the nurse, etc. She reassured me she was okay as gave the phone back to Mrs. Richmond who then clarified it was not her HAND that she had cut but her HAIR.

Well. This put things in a completely different light so I asked to speak to Noelle again.

"Did you cut your HAIR?" (I may or may not have shrieked this at her.)

Small voice. "Yes."

"WHY?!"

Teary voice. "Because I wanted short hair like you  Mommy!"

Taking a couple of deep breaths I informed her that it was not acceptable behavior and that she was never, EVER to do anything like that again.

Mrs. Richmond got back on the line, still absolutely flabbergasted. This was so out of character. She turned to a different table for a minute and when she turned back to the sound of Justin calling her name, hunks of hair were on the ground beside Noelle, scissors in hand. And yet. Noelle is so afraid of not being good in school that for her to act in this impulsive manner was completely not like her at all. I explained to her teacher that I had just gotten my hair cut pretty short and Noelle had commented the previous evening she wanted her hair short too. To which I said yes but THE NEXT TIME SHE GOT A HAIRCUT. Of course then visions of massive chunks of missing hair danced in front of my eyes, imagining pixie cut management or should we go straight to the buzz? So I did what anyone would do under these circumstances. I told Twitter. And Dylan. And my coworkers. And the more I thought about it, the more upset I got. Not because she cut her hair; all kids do that and it grows back but 1) she used her school supplies for that which they were not intended, 2) she did not follow directions and I was certain that hair cutting 101 was not the class project that day and 3) she disrupted the class by her actions as her teacher needed to stop everything to call me.

It turned out that the damage wasn't truly noticeable and didn't affect my being able to pull her hair out of her face for dance class on Saturday but oh, the mental pictures and potential mean comments from kids danced in front of my eyes.

Dyl and I talked and decided the punishment was going to focus not on the act but on the effect of the actions. She received no treats or dessert on Friday (poor choices are not rewarded) and she had to write a letter to her teacher apologizing for her actions and promising to never do anything like that again. There were some tears as she was looking forward to ice cream on dessert (her usual Friday treat) but we reminded her that there are consequences for our decisions and actions and Sunday she sat down with me and we talked about what the letter should say and she painstakingly wrote it. She is required to not only give the letter to Mrs. Richmond but she has to read it to her too. And then no more shall be said about it. Until I need to hold something over her head because hey, parental prerogative and all that.

Cutting hair? In class? Really? GAH child. Just....GAH.

The curious incident of the pissed off priest

Sunday mornings. Church. These are supposed to be calm and peaceful, a sort of zen-centering exercise while your child eats donuts and learns about Jesus in Sunday School.  (What about Jesus? I don't know, but I hear he's a pretty neat guy. 8 months of this you guys and this was her big takeaway. Ahem.) Who knew that the very act of sitting in a pew could trigger such a rage in your spiritual leader? It was either that or his favorite vestments were at the cleaners; really hard to say.

Since we are still in the Easter season (which I believe runs through Pentecost at which point we revert back to Ordinary Time - cut me some slack; it's been a while) the Mass starts with the priest blessing the congregation with holy water using what looks to be a whisk.  Or a feather duster.  A light sprinkling, some signs of the cross and voila! Holy Spirits-R-Us.  Except yesterday when Father Hobbit wielded the Holy Featherduster with a grimness I've only seen in Lord of the Rings, those closest to his righteous rage received more along the lines of what we like to call 'a shower' because holy dripping feathers Batman.  I of course was sitting next to a friend and when the first deluge hit, we looked at each other with wide eyes, mouthing 'WTF'? (It's okay, we got a pass; it's like instant dispensation.) (I kid.) Father Hobbit stalked around the church blessing everyone with extreme prejudice before finally finding his center (or running out of water) and the service started.

He's one of those speakers who styles himself after the dearly departed Billy Mays: very loud and twice as excited.  I don't have to struggle to hear him as I do with the others who read from prepared notes in a very soft monotone so we take what we can get.  At the very least, there was no danger of dozing off so one less penance to do.  I'm all about looking on the bright side of life.

Mass was moving along, peace, goodwill and fellowship were flowing like a river until my friend abandoned me and the Holy Featherdustershowerhead was thrown into veritable insignificance by Father Hobbit ascending the pulpit and shouting in essence 'YOU PEOPLE ARE DOING COMMUNION WRONG!' followed closely by 'AND YOU NEVER, EVER, EVER GRAB THE HOST OUT OF MY HAND! THAT IS BAD, THAT IS WRONG, THAT IS DISRESPECTFUL AND I SHALL SMOTE YOU WITH MY RIGHTEOUS FURY.' (Yes, I'm paraphrasing a "bit" but the sentiment was there.) With us properly cowed, he strode back to his seat, turned around and said, "Everyone have a good week" the context clearly being 'I'm glad that we had this little talk'. 

We left, a bit stunned having been roundly chastised by an indignant hobbit over...something.  I assume that getting it out of his system made him feel better; I didn't stick around to find out.

Next week Father Mulcahy-Shatner is on the pulpit so we are guaranteed the dramatic interpretation of the Mass.  At least he won't yell at us. I hope.

Actual Conversations

Random conversation of the day:

Scene - Parking lot

Co-worker: Hi, how are you?

Me: Good, how're you doing?

Co-worker: Fine, fine.  Listen, I've got a weird question for you...

Me: Okay....

Co-worker: Are you a Pisces?

Me: *blink* Yes. Do I want to know why....?

Co-worker: I'm a Pisces too. *walks away*

Annnnd end scene.