Category Archives: Laura Grimes

‘Rocky Horror’ and the finer points of parenting

The midnight movie of choice

My younger Large Smelly Boy plans birthday parties with the frightening precision of an engineer. Felix Unger? Meet Martha Stewart.

He begins months in advance, poring over magazines and listing all the activities he wants to do and all the recipes he wants to make. He redoes his lists. He designs his invitations. He insists it won’t rain and that he will be the one to splay open the pita. What he doesn’t do on a spreadsheet he makes up for with a timeline.

So it went that on a recent day when my calendar was crammed to the gills I found myself in Craft Store Hell tracking down adorable sparkly gold drawstring bags that he insisted meant everything to his idea of Party Perfection.

Before that, it was Household Goods Box Store Hell and a phone conversation that went something like this:

Me: They have piñatas, which means we don’t have to make one from papier mache, right? Do you want one?

Him: (Evasive mumble mumble.)

Wait ... aren't pinatas from Mexico? Stan Shebs/Wikimedia CommonsMe: They have a pirate, a fish, a parrot, a mermaid and … let’s see … a penguin. Which one do you want?

Him:
(Evasive mumble mumble.)

Me: Do you want a piñata?

Me: This is your chance to get a piñata.

Me: You realize I’m not going to have time to do the papier mache, right?

Me: Do you want a penguin?

Me: I’m going to have to leave now.

Him: Wait! What do they have again?

Me: A pirate, a fish, a parrot, a mermaid and a penguin.

Him: What?

Me: A pirate, a fish, a parrot, a mermaid and a penguin.

I loaded a penguin in the back end of the Large Smelly Boymobile.

***

We bought three large bags of candy
for the piñata and for Halloween night. I casually say bought, for picking out just the right packages required a frenzied fit of worry. I’m still sort of amazed we didn’t spend the night surrounded by Snickers Bars and Butterfingers.

They only come in a package deal ...Who knew small packages of Reese’s Pieces don’t come in individual bags? They can only be bought in a mixture of candy. We discovered this only after looking over Every. Single. Box. Of. Candy. In. The. Aisle. Candy mixtures that include distasteful candies apparently do not equal Party Perfection. This is a problem. This requires looking through all the mixture bags to find one with the most Reese’s Pieces and the fewest distasteful candies.

A few days before the party I came home and the penguin was sitting on the dining table and the large bags were nearly empty of candy. The LSB had pawed through the bags, picked out his favorite pieces and stuffed them all in the piñata. Only the Twizzlers and Milk Duds were left.

This had been a giant mound of candy I had envisioned would be doled out among many dozen trick-or-treaters who could rampage at will through the neighborhood stoked up on high-fructose corn syrup.

Instead, now most of it was in the butt of a penguin that would be whacked open, and it would be divvied up among six Large Smelly Tweenagers who would be confined to my living room for several hours.

Continue reading ‘Rocky Horror’ and the finer points of parenting

Schlepping high culture in the Large Smelly Boymobile

Haiqiong Deng, zheng (but not Dungeons & Dragons) virtuoso

Haiqiong Deng, zheng (but not Dungeons & Dragons) virtuoso.

While my brain has been on sizzle
in other realms of the arts world, apparently a blog has been going on in my own house. The entire world can check in on what my current first husband has been up to, but I’m afraid to say I’ve been rather ignorant about it.

I feel a little sheepish about writing, actually. Recently, Mr. Scatter wisely and broadly covered America’s current fascination with Chinese culture, Martha Ullman West (otherwise known as Art Scatter’s highest paid correspondent) boldly encompassed the week’s vast dance scene and … me? Well, let me tell you about Cheez-Its.

***

A week ago Monday, Haiqiong Deng took a break from her concert tour to fly in from Boston and perform in Third Angle‘s China Music Now concerts.

United Airlines Boieng 767-300/Wikimedia CommonsHaiqiong (hiCHONG) is a virtuoso on the zheng (chung), an ancient Chinese instrument similar to a zither. Hers has 21 strings, each with a bridge that can be moved. For weeks it had been the big mystery instrument to me. I knew it was big, but I didn’t know how big. I couldn’t wait to hear what it sounded like.

When the Third Angle staff (I’m the managing director) were figuring who could pick her up from the airport, we had two questions to consider: Who wasn’t playing in the symphony that night, and who has a vehicle long enough to fit a zheng in it.

Guess what? I won.

A prime example of low cultureI was thrilled. And then panic set in. Did I have enough time to clean up the Cheez-Its?

Once a week, Mr. Scatter picks up six Large Smelly Sixth-Graders and schleps them to Dungeons and Dragons. You’ve heard of Soccer Moms? He’s a D&D Dad.

The boys pile in and then immediately grab for snacks and juice boxes. They’re usually pretty good about stuffing the trash into the garbage sack, but it’s six boisterous boys and crumbs fly.

A few hours before I was to meet Haiqiong at the airport, I realized I wouldn’t have time to get the van cleaned, but I had a few minutes to give it a once-over and open up the cargo hold. It was dusk and getting hard to see, but as soon as I plunked the back seat down one brilliant-orange square Cheez-It practically glowed.

I picked it up, noticed the van’s bulging trash sack and then threw it all in a garbage can. I took note that I didn’t have a replacement bag, but I told myself I’d worry about it later.

***

The baggage claim area at Portland International Airport has a sign: “Many bags look alike, please check tags.”

Haiqiong and I were chatty nonstop. People were everywhere, lots of luggage was going around the conveyer belt and we were chatty chatty chatty. She stopped at one point and grabbed a big suitcase off the belt and then we went on chatting. I occasionally eyed the conveyer belt for what I knew must be a hard-to-miss large something. I was curious. This was an important piece of Third Angle’s program. We flew her in specially to play it. What did it look like?

The crowd got thinner and thinner. The luggage disappeared bit by bit. And we continued to chat.

Dungeons & Dragons miniatures: NOT high culture/Wikimedia CommonsAnd then after a while, I got this eerie feeling. I looked around. Nobody was there and not a single piece of luggage was going around the belt. Where was it?

As I tried to quell this horribly unsettled feeling, I looked everywhere and then looked some more. I finally noticed a corral of luggage in a restricted area in a far corner. I got closer. No weird overlarge bag. I got closer. Nothing but rising panic. I got closer. And finally … it came into view: Behind a mound of luggage one really long green bag sat by itself. Relief washed over me.

When I told a uniformed worker the green bag was ours, she pointed to a green suitcase and said, “You mean that one?”

“No,” I said, pointing, “THAT one.” She took one look at the bag — about one foot by two feet by six feet plus — and waved me around the barrier to get it myself.

The zheng was surprisingly light.

***

On Thursday morning I fired up the van, started to pull out of the driveway and then hit the brakes. I pulled back into the driveway, walked into the house and stood in front of Mr. Scatter. He looked up.

The Large Smelly Boymobile (or reasonable facsimile)“You need the van. It’s D&D day. And by the way, it doesn’t have any gas. Sorry. Gotta go.”

But early in the afternoon in the office it hit me. The van had a bunch of boxes in it that I needed, including one very important sign for the concert that night. Mr. Scatter probably wouldn’t be back from D&D in time for me to get it. And I had left the back seat folded down so that there weren’t enough seats for the Large Smelly D&D Boys.

I made a phone call. How to get the boxes? Mr. Scatter had just filled the van with gas, he had put the back seat up and would drop by the office. Gawd, I love this man.

***

This is not Haiqiong Deng's zheng. It's the one on Wikimedia Commons.“Can you schlep the zheng?” the Not-So-Mysterious Jane said after the concert late Friday night. “It needs to get back to the hotel.”

“Schlep the zheng? Sure.”

I walked to get the van, my heels clicking on the sidewalk. When I opened it and looked around I suddenly remembered I had never replaced the garbage sack and the whole D&D gang had been in the van the day before. The back seat was littered with empty Cheez-It bags and juice cartons. I quickly stuffed it all in the snack bag and stashed it under a console.

It would have to do. It was time to schlep the zheng and one world-class virtuoso.

— Laura Grimes

Lookin’ for a religious experience over here …

 Luca Signorelli - "Resurrection of the Flesh" (1499-1502). Chapel of San Brizio, Duomo, Orvieto/Wikimedia Commons

Luca Signorelli, “Resurrection of the Flesh” (1499-1502). Chapel of San Brizio, Duomo, Orvieto/Wikimedia Commons.

—————————

Labor Day’s gone. School’s on. Summer’s over. First day of fall. Just like that.

With renewed academic rigor now that classes are in session, we turn to more serious matters. We turn to Heaven above and seek the answers to the really big questions.

To do that, we’re resurrecting a conversation we had here on Art Scatter more than a year ago. And adding a little juice that’s been specially blessed.

The original post and comments were in July 2008. I wrote a comment but was too timid to post it. I stashed it away and let the great scroll of blog parchment roll up and pass me by.

But come the wee hours of Christmas eve/Christmas morn, Mr. Scatter and I were hangin’ in the living room sipping wine with family and the same topic came up. We started throwing around barbs and I fetched my laptop, called up the post, read through the comments and we laughed and laughed. And then I said, “You know, I have something I wrote that I never posted here.”

"Salome With the Head of John the Baptist," Caravaggio (157-1610), from Web Gallery of Art / Wikimedia CommonsI called it up. And read it aloud. We laughed some more. And everyone urged me to post it as a comment. I still wasn’t sure, but the wine was flowing and the tree was sparkling and the company was cheery and did I mention the wine?

So I copied it into the comment field and clicked. It was comment No. 26. I told everyone that nobody would see it anyway except a pingback e-mail would go to the original poster: Barry Johnson. Remember him?

And then I realized it was Christmas, the comment was sorta about religion, and it was perfect timing. Merry Christmas, Barry.

The big question: If we raise our kids in a secular household and they grow up in public schools with no exposure to theology, how are they to understand the very basics and historic underpinnings of culture? Sure, we’re laughing here, but it’s a serious question. Please help us answer it.
Continue reading Lookin’ for a religious experience over here …

Now I’ve got that job: a back-breaker before it begins

The Crooked Man, Project Gutenberg

Bent beneath the weight of sudden responsibilities and an uncooperative lower back, Mrs. Scatter staggers to the first meeting of her Important New Job. Drawing: “The Crooked Man,” from Project Gutenberg.

————————————————

Did you hear I got a new job? If you missed the first two installments, read …

Part 1: The short-lived dream of running for president.
Part 2: The bizarre, twisted tale of how the job found me.

A brief recap:

  • Blissful summer.
  • No job and no plans for a job.
  • Alvin and the Chipmunks.
  • A mysterious Jane nominates me for president.
  • White House hopes dashed.
  • Two Large Smelly Liabilities.
  • Love Jane.
  • Love Third Angle.
  • Love Ron.
  • Earflap hats.
  • Flying rockets.
  • Killer water fights.
  • Trick-or-treat.
  • Urinating dog.
  • FaceBook.
  • Frozen Music – City Dance.
  • Date night.
  • Sunny beach.
  • Typing into phone.
  • Junior Rose Parade.
  • Auto parts store.
  • Pickles!

I made the big announcement on FaceBook:

Say hello to the new managing director of Third Angle New Music Ensemble! I’m excited to work with my old friend Ron Blessinger. It’s the one job that could have lured me back to the work world before I had planned.

And then I had a little exchange with one of my “friends.”


Mighty Toy Cannon:
“Hey congratulations. Welcome to the arts administrators’ club.”

Miss Laura: “Will you show me the secret handshake?”

MTC:
“Once I’ve learned the handshake for the League of Tough-Guy Arts Observers! I’d also be happy to pass along the code book and the secret map to hidden treasures.”

Miss Laura: “I hope finding the secret treasures doesn’t involve dark passageways filled with giant spiders and booby-trapped blades that take heads off.”

OK, so I didn’t fully disclose on my resume that I had once worked as a clerk in an auto parts store.

I really don’t think that’s any excuse not to be up front about the booby-trapped blades.

Everything amazingly clicked into place. My grand scheme was to take the summer off, then come up with a whole new career. So I went on vacation, drove home on Labor Day and went to a meeting that night.

It was to be my first job duty. My first impression. My first official act of my Whole New Career.

But first … the day before my big debut I woke up in a nice cottage in Ashland, walked across the hall, stepped on the cold tile floor of the bathroom and suddenly went HOLY MOTHER OF GOD I’M SORRY I WAS BORN WITH LEGS!

My entire lower back seized up and wouldn’t let go. I could hardly walk.

I thought a nice warm shower would take care of it. No such luck. I took a couple of ibuprofen. Mildly better.
Continue reading Now I’ve got that job: a back-breaker before it begins

How did I get that job? Alvin and the Chipmunks (Part 2)

Frozen Music II: The City Dance of Lawrence & Anna Halprin. Photo: Alicia J. RoseSo sorry. Art Scatter has been experiencing technical difficulties. Mr. Scatter was in the far-flung parts of the state hanging with people who raise peacocks and donkeys. His absence meant he couldn’t run interference with the Large Smelly Boys, who at times can be chihuahuas for attention.

Then Mr. Scatter got back and wrote about mules (note a trend?) and other thinky things like the League of Tough-Guy Arts Observers. There’s just no way I’m going to get in the middle of that, especially when I have upper respiratory yuck and I’m busy hamstering to get out front of my new job.

Oh, did I tell you I got a new job? How did I get it, you wonder? Let’s see … the story so far, posted way last week:

  • Blissful summer.
  • No job and no plans for a job.
  • Alvin and the Chipmunks.
  • A mysterious Jane nominates me for president.
  • White House hopes dashed.
  • Two Large Smelly Liabilities.

At this point in the story, the mysterious Jane didn’t know this (and I didn’t know her), but I now considered her my new best friend.

In the meantime … on Aug. 13, Mr. Scatter posted something brainy about the National Endowment for the Arts and its new leader, Rocco Landesman. The post got a lot of thoughtful comments and then the mysterious Jane popped up again.

She said, “I think we should invite Chairman Landesman out to the provinces for a look-see. I’d be delighted to have him hear a Third Angle concert.”

I immediately put on my Sherlock Holmes hat, went to the website for Third Angle New Music Ensemble and checked out its list of board members. Sure enough, there was a Jane.

This is the point of the story where I should divulge Jane’s last name, but I think I’ve dropped enough clues that you can put on your own fancy earflaps and find out for yourself. You don’t even have to light your pipe, because I’ll make it easy for you. Here’s a link.

Sherlock Holmes statue in Edinburgh, Scotland. Photo: Siddharth Krish/Wikimedia CommonsWhen I spied Third Angle in mysterious Jane’s comments, my ears pricked up. Or at least they would have if I hadn’t been wearing the fancy earflaps. I love Third Angle. And I love Ron Blessinger, the company’s artistic director, who happens to be an old friend. We used to live a few houses apart. Our kids used to swing around in trees together.

Ron once wandered down to our house to check on his two kids and they were lined up with my two in the side yard. As I aimed a plastic hose, the four of them were taking turns jumping on an air pad that would send a plastic rocket sailing down the end of our driveway where I had parked the van sideways and opened the door. Ron looked at us and his eyes followed another flying rocket down to the van. He asked if we were trying to hit it through the door. We all nodded and grinned as another kid jumped on the air pad with both feet.

Our kids went swimming together, played on the beach together, watched parades together, had killer water fights together. Ron and I have trailed behind our trick-or-treating kids on Halloween drinking bad red wine. When he and his family were out of town, I occasionally watched their dog. She once urinated in our basement. So Ron and I were like that.

In fact, we were so close we recently became FaceBook friends.

A few days after the now-not-so-mysterious Jane weighed in on the NEA post on Art Scatter, Ron posted a status update on FaceBook that he was “wrapping up a grant while on vacation … how stupid.”

I almost posted a comment saying that he needed me. And I meant it.

Continue reading How did I get that job? Alvin and the Chipmunks (Part 2)

How did I get that job? Alvin and the Chipmunks

Seriously. That’s how it all started.

I was minding my own business, blissfully enjoying the summer sunshine and occasionally writing goofy off-topic stuff for a blog that isn’t even mine.

The little choristers who stated me on my musical career.Sure, I had plans. Big plans. I had planned to apply for unemployment benefits just as soon as summer ended.

But before then I was going to be on the road, lapping up low tides, making pickles and hitting all the plays in Ashland.

I had mapped out my summer weeks ago and it didn’t involve getting a new job. No resume to fill out. No cover letter to write. No strategic plan whatsoever that didn’t involve swimming or hunting for agates.

But then the weirdest little chain of events started – events that were so perfect in their orderliness and happenstance that it was as if every tumbler in a vault lock had magically clicked into place.

How weird? Remember that post about Alvin and the Chipmunks?

Innocuous. Silly.

But someone named Jane made this comment: “First, I’d like to nominate Laura Grimes for president.”

Mr. Scatter and I briefly considered this exciting possibility. We imagined lining up push-polls and flying all over the country. We imagined using political party money to buy whole new wardrobes.

What’s not to like?

We imagined Art Scatter as the Mouthpiece of America to get the Good Word out about how art is, like, a really great thing, you know? We would stump on the Cultah Platform and hone sharp talking points using clever mottoes like:

Make art, not war.

By George: Mrs. Scatter plots to move the LSBs into the White HouseAs Mr. Scatter reached for his BlackBerry to call the League of Tough-Guy Arts Observers for a recommendation about a campaign manager, a hairy head poked around the corner and said, “What’s for dinner?” Followed closely by, “We’re outta milk.”

Mr. Scatter and I looked at each other and suddenly realized we had a slight liability. Two, actually.

And let’s just come straight out with it and say they’re really not very slight. Because they’re Large. And Smelly. And they happen to be our Boys.

When Mr. Scatter said months ago that he didn’t mind if the boys shagged out for the summer, I said, “Please tell me you’re talking about their hair.” Fortunately, he was. I wasn’t keen on the idea, but, alas, I consented. The boys now look like total mopheads. How were we to know they might have to be paraded before the adoring American public?

But then I realized that chauffeured limousines and a security detail would mean our sons wouldn’t need driver’s licenses for several years, and I immediately picked up my BlackBerry and punched in “barber” as my brain started running through which significant cultural site would make the best photo op to make the big announcement. The Portland Center for the Performing Arts? The Armory? Portlandia? That really nifty sculpture of Three Groins in a Fountain in front of the Standard Insurance building?

My index finger was poised to hit SEND when I realized we had even bigger trouble on our hands. It wasn’t just the hair. It wasn’t just because the Large Smelly Boys occasionally need reminders to brush their teeth and shampoo their hair.

Our high hopes for the White House were dashed when I realized that not one, but both of our sons have the great misfortune of not being pregnant.

But the real clincher? The one that made us put aside our BlackBerries and rethink our dreams of sticking an Eames chair in the Lincoln Bedroom? We could not imagine the Large Smelly Boys standing on stage at the inauguration wearing adorable coats from J. Crew.

Colorful ribbons in their hair? Matching socks that haven’t been shredded? Not gonna happen.

Mr. Scatter and I sighed. I got up to rummage in the cheese bin in the fridge to figure out a dinner plan while Mr. Scatter picked up his car keys to go buy milk. As he opened the front door, I called after him, “Who’s this Jane person?”

He hollered back, “I dunno. Beats me. How many gallons should I buy? Three or four?”

TO BE CONTINUED …

Next time: The weird happenstances and who is this mysterious Jane?

— Laura Grimes

Pants on fire: advice for the uncommon parent

 Independent No. 2-Fire Dept., Long Branch, N.J./Edward F. Thomas Collection/from www.historiclongbranch.org

A visit from the local fire department is always a highlight of a six-year-old boy’s day at home.

——————————–
As the parent of two Large Smelly Boys, I come by my cynicism honestly.

Tips to prove it:

  • Contractions will start in the middle of the night and will last for weeks.
  • While having contractions, it’s not wise to read about a Caesarian section without anesthesia.
  • When fathers-to-be are asked to get a light, entertaining comedy at the video store to distract from contractions, it’s not a good idea to come home with a foreign film with subtitles.
  • It’s not a good idea to schedule the installation of a major appliance near a due date.
  • Fathers-to-be should not try to convince their wives that a good baby name would be Homer Horatio Hicks.
  • Mothers-to-be should tell their husbands that baby names should not have initials that look like a cow brand.
  • The appeal of naming children after exotic geographical places where they were conceived loses a little cachet with “Chevy.”
  • Sometimes babies smell better than Large Smelly Boys, but sometimes they don’t.
  • Husbands can sleep through wailing cries that are a higher decibel level than a jet engine.
  • Parents will wonder why paint colors are not called “applesauce” and “Cheerios.”
  • Memorize this physics formula: Distance = Poop Squared x Zippo Extra Clothes. Translation: The distance from home is directly proportional to how big a diaper will be blown out times no extra clothes.
  • Children throw up in cars.
  • Children throw up on planes.
  • Children throw up on you.
  • Memorize this physics formula: Distance = Vomit Squared x Zippo Extra Clothes.
  • If children get an ear infection, it will be on a Friday night.
  • If children are scheduled for an adenoidectomy, they will come down with chicken pox late the night before.
  • Toddlers will not tell Mommys when they create a waterfall from a bathroom sink.
  • Toddlers will not understand why Mommys have to clean up floods on three floors.
  • Six-year-olds will put beans in their ears.
  • Beans in the ears of six-year-olds will have to be pulled out by doctors.
  • Three-year-old little brothers will then put beans in their ears.
  • Beans in the ears of three-year-old little brothers will have to be pulled out by doctors who will tell parents that their children are not allowed in the kitchen anymore.
  • Six-year-olds will be ticked when they are told they can’t have the millionth cooked egg that week.
  • The minute Daddys go upstairs six-year-olds will try to cook an egg in a Winnie-the-Pooh acrylic dish.
  • Six-year-olds will think that punching a lot of 3s on the microwave will be enough time to cook an egg.
  • Daddys who sing along with little brothers in the tub will not hear the smoke alarm blaring.
  • Daddys who sing along with little brothers in the tub will not hear the phone ringing in order to reassure the security company.
  • By the time Daddys hear the smoke alarm blaring and the phone ringing the Winnie-the-Pooh acrylic dish will be a charred molten mess.
  • While Daddys open all the windows in the house they will be shocked that a new alarm comes with a very loud rumble from a very red truck.
  • Six-year-olds do not have a problem with standing on the front porch wearing only skivvies and being thrilled at the sight of a very red truck … and with men in heavy coats, helmets and axes.
  • Six-year-olds will attempt to do damage control by calling Mommys at work and complaining that they hurt their head when they knocked over a lamp and broke it and … oh yeah, a fire truck showed up today … and my head really hurts.
  • Mommys will say, “Wait a minute, back up. What was that part about the fire truck?”
  • Six-year-olds already in the doghouse will not have a problem jumping on an elevator in a high-rise hotel and letting the doors close before Mommys or Daddys can get there.
  • When eight-year-olds can’t find Mommys who are around the corner counting squirrels with kindergarteners for homework, they don’t have a problem calling 9-1-1.
  • Eight-year-olds will explain that it was important because they wanted to do a computer game.
  • Ten-year-old boys tell jokes about only one subject that starts with F-A-R-T.
  • When little boys turn into milk-guzzling teenagers, buy a cow. It’ll be cheaper.
  • Hairy-leg-infested teenagers will tease that their moms are just worried about having competition.
  • Hairy-leg-infested teenagers will call their moms “The Old Gray Hair.”
  • Hairy-leg-infested teenagers will call their moms “Backbeard.”
  • Parents will be surprised that teenage boys can still smell despite the fact that they take really long showers.
  • Between really long showers, the recipe for cleaning Large Smelly Boys: Throw them in the cargo hold of a semi truck, drive to the beach, dunk them in the ocean, rinse with bleach, repeat.
  • Pray for the day Large Smelly Boys fall in love with Lithe and Leggy Girls.
  • Don’t care that Lithe and Leggy Girls will break the hearts of Large Smelly Boys as long as the boys take a shower. And use shampoo.
  • When teenagers start asking about learning to drive tell them two words: Bus Pass.

— Laura Grimes, with the real-life assistance of the Large Smelly Boys

Baby Fire Truck (Jan, 1952), Mechanix Illustrated

If I grow up, I want to be a firefighter!

De Gaulle was a rock. But probably not a wolf eel.

Wolf eel, Alaska Fisheries Science Center/Wikimedia Commons

Mrs. Scatter is feeling a little high on the Google Glue. Hence, the third person. She did a search for “Large Smelly Boys” to find art for her last post and the bra story came up as the No. 1 hit. The Alvin and the Chipmunks post was a close second.

WWII portrait of General Charles de Gaulle, about 1942/Wikimedia CommonsJust imagine, if you will, bras and Alvin and the Chipmunks.

I thought as much.

So back to our regularly scheduled mis-programming …

Today we leave behind the bay where we come for a week every summer. We rent a small condo and visit with family who live close by.

Crab pots scuttle back and forth on butt-busting boats at the changing of the tide. Fruit flies are thick on the bananas on the counter. The small gratuity hair-cleaning products say “Hello Hydration.”

Most nights, Mr. Scatter and I pour a little wine and traipse out to sit on logs to watch the sunset. On the last night, it was just cloud cover. Little boats bobbed on the water. I picked up rocks that were flat on one side and lined them up next to me on the log. I imagined how they.d look in mosaics.

Mr. Scatter picked up a rock …

Mr. Scatter: It looks like Charles de Gaulle.

Mrs. Scatter: How’s that?

Mr. Scatter (pointing to pin-dot holes): See. Here are the eyes. And here’s the long nose.

Mrs. Scatter: It looks like a wolf eel to me.

Mr. Scatter: Well, De Gaulle sort of looked like a wolf eel.

If the man can lead the Free French Forces during World War II and have an airport named after him, he can look any way he wants.

Whadya think? Separated at birth?

Ludicrous Stinkin’ Bottom-fill: A call for help!

The Smellovision machine!

The Large Smelly Boys hit the road again, this time with technological diversion.

——————————–

Someone told us in all seriousness (hard to believe, we know) that word games are good for Large Smelly Boys and their ilk. We know all about ilk. We go through gallons (many plurals) of it every week.

So as a little surprise for the Large Smelly Boys and their many gallons of ilk, we have a new word game. Tired of them yet? Sorry if you are, but the truth is we need another cargo hold game. We’ll be on the road again tomorrow.

We’ll be the Scatter/Condiment Family Plus One. No, the Plus One won’t be an Extra Large Smelly Boy, part of our warped parenting mentality to keep the peace in the backseat. It’ll be a Doting Aunt who’s a veteran at traveling with us: Her iPod is always just an earbud away.

We’ll also have a new weapon this time: A working car stereo system. Ours conked out years ago, and I told Mr. Scatter that I wasn’t going one more mile with the bickering boys without an audio salve. We made sure to squeeze in a trip to the cartoy store last week between pickle preparations. Audio books are da bomb! We’re finally making our way through Lloyd Alexander‘s Prydain Chronicles.

But before we click on the dial, cue up the cargo hold game …

Oh, but wait! The game has a new twist this time. I’ve written only the top of the post. I need help with the bottom-fill.

Could you please? We need words that start with … LSB!

Lucky Sons a Britches
Luxurious Slimy Bananas
Laughing Silly Belches

Get the picture? C’mon and surprise the Large Smelly Boys. Provide some bottom-fill.

Lloyd Alexander's Chronicles of Prydain

— Laura Grimes, without the LSBs

Venti Smelly Boys go wild: Mysterious Unruly Whinings

Circus Parade, Albany, NY, ca. 1910

The Scatter Family hits the road, Mostly Unaware of Wrinkles.

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The Scatter/Condiment Family is on the move again. The pickles have been stacked in the pantry and the beach toys have been packed in the cargo hold.

This week: Points North.

Next week: Points South.

To get from here to there: Get on I-5, go south, drive 10 hours, turn right.

Special instructions: Time trip to drive through Seattle at 3 a.m.

Special aside: When driving through Seattle, Large Smelly Boys mysteriously morph into Venti Smelly Boys.

Parenting tips: Remove sharp implements from cargo hold. Soundproof. Stock with water, snacks and car games. Toss in Large Smelly Boys. Toss in tree air freshener. Lock tight.

Tell Large/Venti Smelly Boys the cargo hold will be unlocked if they produce a blog post. Not surprisingly, they obligingly spill the bounty from their latest car game (cargo hold game?) … coming up with words that start with MUW. They take over the keyboard …

Mystery Under Wear
Mighty Underpants Woman
Merry Uppity Weasel

muw-2Mousy Undulating Waves
Mini Upstanding Wafer
Minor Unthinking Whuppass

Masterfully Uppity Women
Mayonnaise Usually Withers
Most Unusual Week

muw-1Missing Ugly Whale
Misanthropic Unruly Witch
Morbid Urpish Whittler

Malicious Uneasy Win
Men’s Underwear Weekly
Making Urban Weirdness

muw-3Malevolent Ugly Wench
Magnificent Ursine Whiskers
Making Ursula Whimper

Morticians Usually Win
Mainly Upsetting Wigs
Masticating Uncooperative Worms

Martha’s Uncle Whistles
Mighty Uncouth World
Munching Unusual Weed

Merry Urologists of Windsor
Making Unlikely Whoopie
Mighty Useless Winnebago

They typed nearly letter-perfect! I made only one change: I added the “S” in “Ursine.”

— Laura Grimes and the Venti Smelly Boys