R2D2: The Anti-Rover

One of the major benefits of having dogs is that reassuring feeling when you arrive alone, back to your house. Yes...the warm welcome of wagging tails cannot be beat but more than that...I can tell instantly if my house is in order. A nervous, jittery dog changes the way that I look at my home.

Yesterday...my rottweiler was nervous and jittery. While the dachshund threw herself into my arms with her usual wild abandon, Juno's ears were laid back, her back was concaved, and she was pacing...her front paws jumping simultaneously each time she turned. Think circus pony.

My eyes flitted about the dining room as I moved cautiously through the house, pausing in the kitchen to quietly remove the butcher knife from its block. Juno urged me on, hugging my leg and whining while Chloe just looked confused. The bathroom door was ajar and I noted with detached amusement that I was experiencing the POV perspective that cinematic audiences enjoy in horror films as I watched my outstretched arm reach forward, my hand moving the door slowly open. Naturally, it creaked.

Juno lunged forward and I barely repressed a scream. We had reached the scene of her distress. My guard dog...my rottweiler...was in a semi-paralytic, hysterical state because her R2D2 dog toy had fallen into her food bowl. I can't reach my food, she seemed to be saying, her dark eyes pleading, R2D2 is holding my kibble captive."

"Really?" I asked her, letting out a sigh of relief that an intruder was not going to inevitably wrestle my butcher's knife from my inept hands and stab me to death for not being smart enough to wait outside until Brad got home. "Are you really telling me that you're not smart enough to remove a dog toy from your own food bowl?" There are dolphins that use sponges to stir up the sand to uncover their prey. Orangutans that use sticks to dig out ant hills. Don't even get me started on otters! Juno was back to doing her circus pony trick. "Can I at least put my knife down first," I asked.

As soon as I removed the robot, the rototiller dove into her still-full bowl. "Poor, baby," I soothed, now realizing that that darn droid had caused Juno a full day of stress. Chlo, to her credit, maintained her air of disgust. I watched the dachshund grab R2D2 and head to the living room.

and I wondered...

Desert/Dessert OR A redwood's bark isn't red but a sequoia's is

My only frame of reference, when it comes to the desert setting, has to do with Looney Tunes. I am a daughter of the Great Lakes. The closest I get to sand is the occasional kitty litter box. So when my eldest daughter called me, en-route across the Mojave, I admit I panicked a little bit. "Do you have enough water," I asked anxiously. "It's just a four hour trip," Savannah sighed. "You should be drinking 2 to 3 liters a day," I advised, "It's hot where you are. Your body is made up of 65% water. What if you break down?" I felt my heart begin to race. Brad silently handed me some water to sip and began looking for a small paper bag into which I could breath. I heard another sigh from the phone. "I have plenty of water. The car is air-conditioned. I have my phone fully charged. Sam is waiting for me. You do NOT need to worry."

Sure. Right. And then she sends her father a picture of a coyote hungrily stalking her. "Why didn't she send ME this picture," I wondered, studying the creature who was regarding my child with the chilling intensity of a serial killer. "Maybe because the only thing you can picture right now is Savannah crawling across the desert, gasping for water...spotting mirages only to be hopelessly disappointed each time she reaches it." Brad explained.

"Wait! She's doing what," I yelled incredulously, later that day. "Camping in Death Valley," Brad winced, trying to hide his jealousy. "Amongst the skulls and the scorpions," I hissed at him. AND out of cell phone range. "They call it Death Valley for a reason, Savannah," I lectured later when she, somehow, had survived the experience. This was AFTER exploring a ghost town. "It's like she's on the Brady Bunch or in a Scooby-Doo episode," I complained to my husband who tried to nod sympathetically but was, under his breath, humming Neil Young's Horse With No Name.

It was relief when we left Wile E Coyote behind to be greeted by Yogi. The Mosimans are Forest-Dwellers. "When is the last time that you were actually IN a forest?" Brad asked me.

Never-mind.

"Look at the redwood," I marveled over the phone, having viewed the majesty of the great tree as it towered over my lovely daughter. "Mom...it's a sequoia," Savannah corrected me with annoyance. "Potato, patato..." I murmured. "The sequoia in the picture is the largest tree in the world," Savannah informed me. "It may be the largest," I retorted, "but a redwood is the TALLEST."

By the way...never drop the mic using your husband's fancy phone. 

After days of stealing glances at Brad and Sydney's phones to see the pictures that Savannah kept sending THEM...I FINALLY received one of my own. I finally felt my fear subside and, I admit it, a little jealousy crept up. Chocolate molten lava cake with fudge sauce, fresh raspberries, and whipped cream. This was a dessert worthy of a trek across the desert!

"Th-th-th-tha-tha-tha-that's all, folks!"

Half of One Hundred Shades of Batman

After he loudly dropped his seat mat to the floor, not once but twice, during a speaker's presentation in class, I strongly encouraged a 4th grader to come sit next to me NOW. "I'm sorry that I'm so obnoxious, Mrs. Mosiman," he whispered in a voice that carried easily to the other side of the room, "but I'm hyped up on cough syrup and my dad is taking me to the Lego Batman movie after school!" He shivered excitedly like a terrier. I couldn't help but grin and offer a quick hug. "I'm going to the movies tonight too," I whispered in a voice that did not carry to the opposite end of the room. "Are you going to see the Lego Batman movie?" he asked. "Kind of," I answered.

Hours later, daughter Sydney and I walked into the movie theater. "Please be cool about this," she begged as I approached the ticket window. "We're here to see the smutty movie," I whispered in a voice that carried well over to the popcorn stand. Sydney stood immobile, maintaining an impressive air of dignity as I spotted my friend Vicki in concessions and told her, with implied air quotes, that Syd and I were off to see the Lego Batman movie.

I don't want to spoil the smutty movie for you but, my goodness, it was exciting. This poor little couple just wants to have (insert whisper here) s-e-x (resume normal conversational tone) but must endure great hardships...gun threats, helicopter crashes, stalkers, picking out just-the-right $10,000 ball gown to wear to a party, work-place harassment, a boyfriend who insists on depositing $24,000 into your bank account (that b@$t@rd), car vandalism, learning the difficult skill of steering a boat...Believe me...it was QUITE the adrenaline rush.

"How was the Lego movie," Vicki asked, smiling, as we emerged two hours later from the darkened theater. "It definitely inspired me to install a pommel horse in my house," I answered (See the movie and you'll understand why). I'm steeling myself for when my 4th grader asks how I enjoyed my movie. In actuality, the two films really aren't all that different. Both involve latex, use a lot of fancy gadgets, and the main characters wear masks. I guess the biggest difference (other than content and rating) is that an adult can walk into one movie with his/her head held high while that same adult, while walking into the OTHER movie, might want to wear a disguise to prevent recognition, feels the need to use an alias, and experiences dark feelings of guilt, shame, and self-loathing. Oh my goodness! Just like Batman! I'm Batman!

The Making of Turkish (not-such-a) Delight OR How to make edible rubber cement

When I was a little girl, I eagerly awaited the weekly arrival of our subscription to the TV Guide. Which also gives you some sad keen insight to what I was like as a little girl. No...I wasn't in a rush to complete the crossword (It was too hard). No...I was not busy highlighting the times of my favorite shows (We only had three channels). No...what I was so looking forward to was peeling the address sticker off of the cover of that pint-sized periodical. 

The talcum powder of its day, rubber cement fell out of fashion when the public discovered that it might be killing us. Wait...I just re-read that. I don't mean to say that the people of the 70s/80s dusted their babies' bottoms with rubber cement. That's just sick. I am, of course, referring to the recent discovery that the raw form of talc contains asbestos which I was cleverly correlating with the devastating news back in my day that rubber cement also could possibly cause health problems.  

Now that that's cleared up...I think you...fellow children of the 70s and 80s, know where I'm going. You remember the surgical precision of peeling that rectangular adhesion off of the face of an easily recognizable television icon, say...The Fonz, Vinny Barbarino, Jeannie, Gilligan and the Skipper. And then, using the pad of your thumb to slowly roll the rubber cement into little balls. I'm a-twitter just thinking about it! And those little balls would remain a-fixed to your fingers forever. A finger-to-finger transfer was possible but it would take minutes, sometimes lasting into hours, to successfully launch a finger-to-trash can landing. Which is why the sofas and armchairs of that era were upholstered in such gaudy fabric. Our's was a Revolutionary marvel of Liberty Bells, Old North Church spires and Betsy Ross spinning wheels. And beneath said furniture, thousands of small rubber cement balls clung to the tacked fabric underlining.  

Yesterday, I was transported back to that idyllic time when I decided to make my 4th graders Turkish Delight as part of the culmination of our reading of C.S. Lewis's The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. Naturally, I first tried taking the easy way out and simply buying it but the sticker shock sent me scrambling down the gelatin aisle of my supermarket. Twenty dollars a pound for an exotic taste of the Middle East and Narnia? Or six dollars worth of Jell-O? Hmmmm....which way should I go?

I was a little concerned with ratios as I stirred my one cup of boiling water into my 6 three ounce packages of lime Jell-O. "These are going to be some really non-jiggly Jigglers," I thought to myself. I tossed the the mixture into the fridge and slept the sleep of an educator devoted to the enrichment of her students while still staying in range of her tight budget. 

But it was a rough awakening when I realized that I'd created my own version of edible rubber cement.

I first poked the pan with a careful finger. I was right...no jiggling. I prodded the gelatinous green block with a butter knife. Nothing. Every incision I made immediately self-healed. Even my frantic stabbing with an upgraded steak knife. I wish I had researched this a bit better. In writing about "How to Make the Perfect Turkish Delight," Felicity Cloake warned me that, "It is hard to slice wobbly jelly without also cutting off a fingertip." A little late there, Felicity. 

It was time to pull out the big guns. "I'm going to be late for work," Brad grumbled, sawing away at my snack. Turns out...it DOES take two. He'd start a cut line, I'd grab the end, brace my legs against the cupboards and pull...pull...pull that long green strip out of the pan. "Now what are you going to do," Brad asked, as we paused to take a breath from our strenuous labor, taking in the six ruler-sized strips. "I'll use scissors," I shouted excitedly. But I needed help again as each strip would adhere to my fingers so that I couldn't hold it steady to cut. It evaded my scissors, swaying like a pectin pendulum. "I have another idea," I announced, reaching into the cupboard. "I'm late," Brad said in disgust as he held a plastic bag beneath my fingers to catch green rubber cement cubes that were now coated in powdered sugar. Brad and I were also now covered in powdered sugar. 

"We did it," I cried happily as the last piece dropped into the bag. Brad stood up and dusted himself off before heading to the door. "I'm glad that's over," he said in relief. "Well...until next year..." I paused at the incredulous look on my husband's face as he spun back at me..."but now we know what to do," I reassured him. "Yeah," my formally budget-conscious guy growled before slamming the door behind him, "buy it for twenty bucks a pound."