Inspiring the drag queen

I know . . . . weird post title, but it's true.

I mentioned before that I had the supreme privilege of getting my sister to myself (sort-of) for three days. I had a weekend road trip with her during her one week stay in the States, to the lovely town of Fayetteville. Oh, that I could live there someday and hike and bike and like like like. Anyway, on Monday morning Mel had 3 meetings starting at 6:30am. ( I was still asleep . . . but please, let me tell you this one mortifying detail. AJ and Sarah - dear friends and super easy to be with - let Mel and I stay in their house. They gave me the master bedroom with my little Vera. They slept in their son's room. Sons's. they have 3. Seriously . . . so nice. In an effort to keep my daughter from waking the whole house, I nursed her at some odd hour and she still wouldn't keep quiet so I cuddled with her and we both fell back to sleep. When I DID wake in the morning, I realized I had forgotten to cover the milk source. The door was open enough that someone passing would have seen much more than they wanted. Oops.)

Back to Monday morning. I, instead, had one lovely long meeting with my dear old friend Erin. We went to little Bread Company, I think it's called. Also one of my sister's favorites. As I was getting out of the car, this unusually thin, swanky man, with a long cigarette between his spindly fingers and a very very serious swagger says, (and forgive me, but you have to read this with your best gay man voice), "Oh my, sister. LOVE the hair. WORK IT GIRL!" Reminder. I'm not at a bar, it's 9:30 am on Monday morning and I'm with my friend and small children at a bakery.

Moments later, when little ones are in hand, he loudly says this as he squares up to us in the middle of the street, "You've inspired me. Tonight, I'm going to be YOU." I wait for the explanation. " I'm a drag queen. You know what a drag queen is?" I smile, he continues. "I have all sorts of wigs. REAL hair. I get them at this place up north of town." He gestures with his whole skinny self. "You ever been there?" Do I look like I need a wig? At one point in my life, my hair was the widest part of me. "Anyway, tonight I'm going to be you. I have a BIG wig that looks just like your hair . . . . " etc... etc.... "21 inch waste, working real hard on it." etc..... etc..... something about silicone injections. Lord thank you that my child doesn't understand that kind of English. I didn't know about all this stuff until college.

Anyway. An unusual encounter. Noteworthy. He also thanked both of us for loving our kids cause he lost his mom when he was 6. I was sad for him. And thankful for my hair at the same time.

Another shorter noteworthy incident. I nearly seriously injured myself last night trying to rescue a baby bunny from my mother-in-law's cat. I have no idea what possessed me, but I was unwilling to watch it, or to let my son watch "Mookie" eat this sweet baby bunny. I literally was tackling and diving all over the yard and yelling with fury at this animal. You would have thought it was trying to eat MY baby. I didn't rescue it the first round. Warrick started screaming crying out of fear. Probably because he'd never seen me move like that. I almost started crying. My sister-in-law, Val, also never having seen me move like that, probably thought it was the most ridiculous display of violence . . . . maybe it was.

BUT, I did make the rescue and took the bunny, after several little pets from Warrick and Whitley, to a more remote part of the neighborhood and let him go. Definitely had some surface wounds, but all four tiny legs were definitely hopping strong.

Okay . . . . last thing. I mentioned this before on Facebook, but someone told me to document it a little more permanently. I guess that's what this is . . . .

Warrick and I are in the baby food aisle at the grocery store and I'm counting 6 carrots and 6 green beans and so on (I made all Warrick's food. Sorry Vera) For whatever reason, I thought it logical to let Warrick get out of the cart and "walk". Really??? Brilliant, Bets.

Up ahead, Warrick and I see, at the same time, some downed items in the middle of the aisle. He goes to inspect and I wait and watch. For the record, moms with boys, never say to your son when you clearly visualize what he will do next, "Warrick, don't kick the maxi pad packages." Also for the record, I DID NOT say this before he actually did it. I have a vivid imagination and don't need to pass on all of my great ideas to my children. Unfortunately, they can think up enough silly things on their own. Bless 'em.

So, one kick. Giggles and turning to look at me. "You saw that I did, Mom?" "Don't do that again, son." I'm getting up, but not fast enough to prevent the second kick . . . . .. or the third. All the while coaxing him unsuccessfully to obey. I was kind of laughing until I realized he was actually going to kick it into the highly trafficked area right in front of the check out lanes. Which of course, he did, effortlessly landing it right in front of an employee coming in from break, looking the other way, and then nearly tripping on the maxi pad package. Quizzically looking at the package, then the child, then the mother who cannot hide her smile.

It's funny, right? You can't control your kids half the time either, so . . . . lighten up. . . .

And the pictures.