The Scribe and The Fallout (Part 1)

Note: For those of you who watched the video prior to this post and are still reading my blog, bless you! I can't figure why I called my Pung Chu actions "grammar" instead of "punctuation," or why I said "air grammar" would help with literacy and public schools. All I know is that Bootsie is a doll; the poor man who inspired the video (and constantly talks with "air punctuation") seems to have found my blog, and my hangover is finally gone.  

In addition, I would like to offer a public apology to the offended party.  I've made a mistake--even the rock stars do that and here I am just a mommy blogger--so please forgive me.

 

Dear Mr. . . . ummm Mot, 
    I am deeply sorry if I hurt your feelings, but no one is safe from my blogging madness.  Even my family, my pets, the neighbors and God are all involved in my ridiculous posts.  
    At least I did say that "air grammar" is a great way to get girls--if you're interested in women.  I looked more the fool than you ever seemed, and after all, I'm the one who posted a silly video of myself.
    Please take my vlog as a compliment.  I chose to showcase your actions (which speak louder than your words) and I didn't mean any harm.
Sincerely,
E



Now, on to the business of today, my very late daily post.


This week was busy because The Scribe and I fell into some drama.  Do you remember the story about "The Kick-me Kid?"  Well, months ago, The Scribe put a "kick me" note on a girl's back.  I made them have a playdate and the two have been best friends since.  It hasn't been easy though, and last week was no exception.  

Thursday night The Scribe cried in my arms.  I wondered again if I'd done the right thing by making them have a playdate and be friends.  

"My best friend said I can't have any other friends but her.  If I don't tell everyone else that I won't be their friends, especially Kellie, then my best friend won't hang out with me anymore."  The Scribe wiped tears from her cheeks.  "But Kellie said if I stayed friends with her, then I can be friends with everyone."

"Kellie sounds like a good friend."  

"I know, but I still don't know what to do, Mom.  I don't want to lose my best friend."

I breathed in and 1 Kings 3:16-38 popped into my mind.  Maybe it wasn't a good story to share, especially after how The Hippie handled Hansel and Gretel, but I figured it was worth a try.  

"Once upon a time," I said, telling a story from the Bible, "there were two women who each had a baby.  The women were both beautiful.  They always dressed fancy and had the nicest hair with flowers in it and nice conditioners.  But no matter how much one tried, she was ugly inside.  Her heart smelled like old steak and hatred grew in her soul."

The Scribe hung onto the story.  

"Well, one day, the evil one's baby died."


"Like Zeke?" The Scribe asked.


"Well kinda."  I cleared my throat.  "Except that the woman with the ugly innerds was so upset, she claimed her baby was the one who was still alive."


"No way!  That's horrible."


"I know," I said.  "That's why the problem was brought before the king.  He asked who the baby belonged to.  'Me,' both women yelled.  The king suddenly knew he'd have to take desperate measures.  He took the baby, pulled out a sword and said, 'Fine, then we'll cut the baby in half and then you can each have part of the baby'."

"What?!" The Scribe's face tore with concern.  "Why in thee heck are you telling me such a terrible story?  I'm gonna have nightmares now.  Gesh!"

"Hold up."  I stopped her from leaving the room.  "There is a point to this."  We sat down again.  "So, one woman said they could cut the baby in half, but the other woman screamed, saying she'd rather give the baby up, than see any harm done. 

"The king saw her actions then and gave the baby to her--the real mother--the one who didn't want her baby boy to get hurt."

"The baby was a boy?  I knew it!"

"Yes, but that's beside the point.  What I'm trying to say is that your friends are like the two women in the story and you're the baby."

"I'm the baby?  I am NOT the baby.  I want to be the pretty mother who wasn't evil." 


I hid a sigh.  "If you went before the king and he said, 'we can split the Scribe in half,' I bet Kellie would say 'no' and your best friend would say 'yes.' What I'm trying to say is that I think your best friend is being so selfish she can't understand what's best for you.  A good friend wouldn't care how many friends you have.  They'd be happy for you."

"You're right," The Scribe answered and I felt good about our conversation.  But apparently she didn't completely listen because the next day I got a bad phone call from school. 

"Mom?" The Scribe sobbed.  "I need to talk to you.  Things went really bad.  I just want to get out of here and buy those fake nails."


"Calm down, honey.  What happened?"


"Well . . . it's terrible!  So, I had a talk with the teacher.  I told her you said my best friend would be the one to cut the baby in half."


I coughed, choking on my coke.  "You ummm . . . told your teacher what?"


"That you said my best friend would cut a baby in half.  Anyway, I'm in big trouble, Mom.  Can you come get me?"


I hung up the phone and as I slid into the car, I felt like The Scribe wasn't the only person in big trouble.