Atomic Dare

I got an e-mail from my sister-in-law the other day relating the following story about Connor and his older cousin Tanner who is always trying to make a game out of every situation:

"Last night I dropped Tanner and Connor off at the youth fireside at the church. Tanner just happened to have two ATOMIC fireball candies in his pocket.

Just before the meeting started, Tanner says to Connor, "Let's put these in our mouths during the fireside and see who can keep it there the whole time."  

It was decided that the LOSER would have to stand up and stretch right in the middle of the meeting.  Connor was game.

Little did Tanner realize that Connor has a bionic tolerance for spice and heat! According to Nick who was sitting with them, Connor sat calmly with the fireball in his mouth, as if he was sucking on Cheerios. But Tanner looked visibly uncomfortable.  Tanner fidgeted, his face turned red, and he even broke into a SWEAT!!!!  All the while, Connor sucked on his fireball as if nothing was unusual.

In Tanner's words, "CONNOR PONED ME!"

(Tanner suffered through the entire fireball so he wouldn't have to stand up and stretch. He said it was one of the most horrible experiences of his life!)"

Perhaps the subject that sermon-filled evening should have been  
"Thou Shalt Not Propose a Dare at Church".  It's too bad Tanner didn't realize that since the age of two, Connor's favorite snacks have been Hot Cheetos & Hot Tamales.  Poor Tanner, a little "Know Thy Cousin" may have prevented the "hellfire and damnation" he experienced there on that church pew! 

Sealed for Freshness

Another prank inside the fridge.  This one was especially creepy.  Yes, even more lurid than being goosed by the thing just a few days ago.

This time Mitchell thought it would be extra disturbing to set it conspicuously on the top shelf after putting it in a Tupperware as if it were a piece of fried chicken he was saving to eat later.

While I'm used to seeing our infamous hand GUARDING leftovers in the fridge, I was definitely caught off guard to see the loathsome thing put in the refrigerator disguised as a leftover.

This was the grisly scene:

Seriously creepy.

He got me pretty good this time.  I actually let out an "AHHHH!"  (Thank goodness he didn't embellish it with salsa.)  After catching my breath from the initial shock, I let out a laugh and decided that after previous hand incident I posted last week, it was quite appropriate that Mitchell sealed it in a Tupperware for freshness.  Because the hand has certainly gotten mighty fresh these days. 

Groped by a Fridge

Mitchell's fake foam hand is at it again.  Somehow it found a new spot in the fridge in which to hide and wait for some unsuspecting victim to prank.  That victim turned out to be me.

I opened the fridge door and as I rummaged through the top shelf looking for some particular something the door slowly swung back into me.  That's when it happened.  I suddenly felt a hand on my, uhhh, how shall I say it, tush!  Hello Mr. Fridge!

Another creepy hand prank, only this time I feel slightly violated.  Never been groped by a fridge before.

Gee, thanks Mr. Fridge, I kinda like you too.
Now kindly remove your hand.

Uh, I CAN Read You Know

On a recent Skype call I suffered a couple of technical difficulties.

The first being that while I could see video, I couldn't hear any sound.

The second being that the technicality was being blamed on my supposed old age.

I was trying to Skype with my granddaughter Kendra, as I often do.  She sits in her high chair while I try to amuse her with peek-a-boo and finger puppets--really important grandma stuff.  The problem was that while she could hear me, I couldn't hear anything on my end.  Admittedly, this was no major disaster since she's not even one yet and can't speak.  But my daughter Cheyenne likes to walk in and out of the room and join the conversation at times and she was certain the problem must be something idiotic on my end.  Determined to fix my little sound snafu, she began writing notes and then held them up to her computer's camera so I could read them.
Notes like:

• Mom check your volume setting
• Are you sure you checked your volume setting?
• Do you even know where your volume button is?

And even though I couldn't hear her, she could hear me so I responded out loud with answers like:

• Yes, I've checked it.
• Yes, I'm totally sure I checked it.
• Of course I know where the stupid volume button is.
• Chey, do you realize your texting me the hard way?

Cheyenne finally got exasperated and I heard the phone ring downstairs.  Soon Mitchell, my resident computer whiz, was tromping up the stairs--Chey had called him on his cell phone.  With his phone to his ear, talking to his sister, he came to my computer and peered at the screen.

That was when Cheyenne held up this scribbled bit:

In case it's too blurry, her note says:

"Hi Mitch Mom's getting Old"

Uh, hello, I'm right here and I can read!

Mitchell audibly responds (with me sitting right there) by saying "Yeah, I know" then scoots me off my chair, sits in front of my computer and clicks a few buttons and then suddenly all communication is miraculously restored.  

Unfortunately, what was not restored was my dignity as my age was harshly called into question and completely bludgeoned in the inquest.  

But at least now Cheyenne can hear me. 

So I wait for Mitch to head back down stairs and then I smile real wide.  I look at Chey on my computer screen and I move my mouth...

...I just don't make any sounds.
(score one for the old people.)