Edgy Mama

One of the projects that has been occupying a lot of my time lately is raising funds for a new playground for my daughter’s school, Isaac Dickson Elementary School. The playground will provide a fun and age-appropriate outdoor space for our youngest students (K-2). It also will memorialize a beloved Kindergarten teacher who died in November 2005.

Seth Olson was only 22 when he died in his sleep. He had just started teaching Kindergarten at the school where his mother has taught K-2 students for many years. He was a remarkable and gifted young man, and his death has been a huge blow to the school and community.

One of my brilliant friends and fellow parents came up with the idea to sell wristbands in memory of Seth and to raise friends and funds for the playground. We’ve sold close to 500 wristbands in two weeks and have another 1,000 available (both adult and child sizes).

The wristbands read “Travel your own road”–a life lesson that Seth had written in one of his journals. After his death, his family compiled Seth’s Life Lessons and a copy accompanies each wristband.

The wristbands are $5 for adults, $2 for kids using their own money, and $30 for ten. If you’d like one, let me know. I’ve set up a Paypal account in my left-hand sidebar. Any donations or wristband purchases made on this blog will go to the Seth Olson Community Playground.

Thanks and big kisses.

Is the title of the first novel written by my friend and book club compatriot Valerie Ann Leff. The same novel that was recently purchased by NBC to be made into a television series.

How cool is that?

Here’s what the intimidable Liz Smith has to say about the deal:

Under duress from my co-editor, I published one of my own flash pieces on Flasheville. Warning: the story is R-rated. Happy weekend reading!

(Thanks to cousin Wozie for sending me the photos. Don’t I know the guy in the second photo?)

For a green Toyota Sequoia or 4Runner SUV with damage on the front right bumper. North Carolina tags, probably starting with a T. Operated by a white female in her late 20’s or early 30’s with short dark brown hair.

According to the witness, this is the person who hit my van and ran.

And, I learned from the police report that the witch was parked behind my van and hit me as she was leaving her parking spot.

Which brings up a very interesting question, particularly as the accident happened only minutes before I returned to my van. Was the culprit, perhaps, another mom who had been at the “Love Our Library” program with her preschooler?

I will be calling the downtown library tomorrow to find out which other preschools were represented that morning, and I will be scouring vehicles at my son’s preschool tomorrow morning. O, and I will be sending this post, as an e-mail, to everyone I know in Asheville.

Can you tell I’m still pissed?

Maybe I need to rename this blog Weird Animal Factoids. So far I’ve only ventured into squirrel, dog, cat, baboon, and of course, human behavior. However, when Hotrod made his appearance, mouthing off about my precious Edgy Devil Duck, I decided to stick my toe into the neighborhood lake.

So, to satisfy your ever-questing, curious minds, a few ducky delights:

1. Swans, geese and whistling ducks typically mate for life. Most other ducks pick a new mate once per year, though in the animal world, that’s considered monogamy (makes sense, really, to define monogamy as mating and sticking together long enough for the offspring’s birth before moving on–happens all the time with humans).

2. Though most ducks nest on the ground, Wood Ducks nest in trees, sometimes directly over water, but other times up to a mile away. After hatching, the ducklings jump down from the nest tree and make their way to water. The ducklings may jump from heights of up to 290 feet without hurting themselves.

3. Duck’s quacks do not echo. No one knows why.

4. Queen Elizabeth II of England has a rubber duckie in her private bathtub that has an inflatable crown.

5. If you have a child, at some point in his or her young life, he will yell: “Look Mom, a f**k. A f**k.”

6. Jacob M Braude said: “Always behave like a duck–keep calm and unruffled on the surface but paddle like the devil underneath.”

7. For the best duck, go to a Chinese restaurant, preferably one in London.

The reality TV show, Wife Swap, is looking for a family from Asheville or Western North Carolina to participate in their hot little money-maker.

Ashvegas recently wrote about our hometown newspaper columnist and wacky Southern belle, Susan Reinhardt, who was asked to be on the show. Her hubby dissed the idea, despite the offer of $20,000. Good $ for two weeks work, and, supposedly, only six actual days living with someone else’s family, but is that kind of cash worth risking your reputation, losing your self-respect, and airing your dirty laundry (and messy closets) on national TV? And, even if you wanted to, you don’t even get to share a bedroom with your surrogate hubby. Six days is a long time, boys and girls.

I don’t watch TV. In fact, we don’t have cable, which, in the mountains, means we don’t have access to TV, public or paid. For most of my life, TV has only served to put me to sleep. It’s dull, caters to the lowest common denominator, and commercials make me angry and irritable. So, I’ve never seen Wife Swap. But I don’t have to. I can imagine exactly how it works. How what you say and do is edited for maximum conflict, for maximum drama. How you’re pushed into unnatural and uncomfortable situations, while the camera pans in closer and closer. How every possible quirk and eccentricity is examined, sifted, weighed. How you come out the other side with the kind of fame that makes people embarrassed to be around you. Yeah, I’m a writer. I don’t need to see it. I can imagine it just fine.

But, if you need $20,000 and have the flexibility to take a couple weeks off, and you don’t mind pimping your family, I say go for it. And I know a couple of local psychologists who can help you pick up the pieces afterwards.

What’s up, punks? Hotrod the edgy devil duck here, ready to tell you like it tee-eye-is.

See, I’m the alter ego of that wimpy feather duster of a bird that Edgy Mama found a few weeks ago. Little did she know she was getting two for the price of one.

I’ll show up whenever EM needs to a little reality check, a little hotsauce with her scrambled eggs. When there’s a need to call “bulls**t” on something. Or just when things get a little boring (like this weekend.)

I can hear EM now. “F*** a duck!” Sorry, honey. Deal with it.

Speaking of sucking it up, I appreciated the discussion of baboon erections. But they ain’t got nuthin’ on me. Wanna see? Kay. Maybe later…

All that crap about plastic surgery, on the other hand, was just that - crap. It’s a waste of effing money. Don’t like your lips or your tits or your ass? Deal, honey.

Nice post on the biotch that tagged your ride. We’ll find her and make her pay. Sorta like how I’m makin’ James Frey pay right now, rubbin’ my butt in his face. What a punk.

All in all, way to keep it edgy, mama. You’re on the right track. I’m just here to keep you and your brazilliant little bloggy hot and honest.

Hotrod

…is up at Flasheville: A Day with Dick by Sam Kistler. Enjoy!

Dear Wicked Witch,

There are other names I’d like to call you, but this is a PG-13 blog (mostly). Truthfully, I don’t need to resort to name-calling to tell you how I feel about you. You suck. You have no integrity, decency or civility.

How did you think you could get away with hitting a car parked on a city street at 10:30 in the morning without someone reporting you? Which they did. A kind woman and her teenage son, horrified by the crash and that your callousness, wrote down your license plate number and a description of your gas-guzzling goliath. Unfortunately, the friendly and helpful police officer is not sure why the license number seems to belong to a Honda Civic in a town far from here. Either the sweet woman miswrote your tag number or you are driving a car with a stolen plate. For your sake, I hope it’s the former, because you are already on a slippery slope. A slope basted with gasoline, mud and broken plastic.

So, WW, how did you manage to hit a stationary object? Accidents happen. Maybe you spilled coffee in your lap. Maybe a squirrel ran in front of your car. When accidents happen, most people accept responsibility. They act out of integrity. But you? You didn’t even get out of your effing SUV. You hit the gas and took off.

I suppose I should be thankful that I wasn’t loading the two preschoolers I had with me into my van at the moment of impact. I suppose I should be thankful that the damage isn’t worse. I suppose I should be thankful that no one, not even you, was hurt. But I’m not thankful. I’m pissed.

Because while I was on a field trip to the library with my son’s preschool class, while I was watching goofy librarians sing and dance, you were ramming my primary mode of transportation and running away, without remorse. But with, I hope, fear. I hope you don’t sleep well tonight. I hope Officer Butch tracks you down. I hope you are woman enough to accept responsibility and apologize.

If you do apologize, I will accept it. With integrity. And your insurance information.

Sincerely,

Edgy Mama