“Bumfuzzle!” Middle said.
“Huh?” I replied.
“What do you think that word means?” asked Middle.
“Umm. I can’t say. It’s inappropriate.”
“Try me any way.”
“The Yearbook crew has been going around school asking random people what they think it means.”
“It’s a real word,” said Middle.
“Okay. So what do you think it means?” I continue. This feels a lot like a 4th grade vocab lesson.
“I told them, I think it means when your butt falls asleep. You know that sensation? Like when your foot or leg falls asleep and it feels kind of like it’s on fire, or on needles?” says Middle.
“Ah yeah. Like TB….tired butt….when you take the ACT, or a Sage test.”
In comes Angel.
“How was testing?” she asks me.
“Hi. Don’t ask. It was pretty much the worst day ever. I got into trouble for my students being loud. What was your Sage prompt?”
“I’m sorry….I can’t tell you or I’ll have to kill you,” laughed Angel.
“You’re so ethical. Did they make you sign a promissory note before you logged on?”
“Okay. Thanks a lot! I’m invisible. I’m out in right field here,” interrupts Middle.
“Bumfuzzle. Well……..I would have to say……I better not say.”
“Come on mom! You know you want to!” says Middle.
“Don’t do it,” says Angel. “You’ll regret it.”
“Look it up on the internet,” says Middle.
So I do. I click on a hit about half way down the listings. It says …
“to confuse.” Cool.
I click another hit. It is a picture of pink, adult size footed pajamas. PINK!
Then I click another. BUMFUZZLE. Since 2003 this title has appeared boldly across the top of the page. It is a blog created by this guy and his wife who spotlight their two young children and their fantastic family adventures. Before the children, they sailed around the world on a catamaran. They sold the boat and bought a ’65 Porsche 356. Then they sold the race car and bought a ’58 VW bus, took a 60,000 mile road trip, and ended up pregnant in Chile. They sold the bus for a sailboat and sailed the gulf of Mexico for a couple of years and had American-Mexican babies. One baby is at the helm of the ship. I wonder if she knows port, stern, aft, and helm. I still wish I had gotten “Teacher at Sea.” Sad me. I bow to possibilities for adventure.
The toe head kids look about 2 and six years old in these pictures. They are likely teens or preteens now. I have no clue. We watch a brief video of the youngest playing in the snow. Then there is some very dramatic music to which tiny Tim is toddling around in in his snowsuit. The tune does not match the event in a kind of 300 Soundtrack meets Teletubby kind of way. Then I realize the music is not coming from the video. It is my Mac, MacChelle playing an audio book on itunes called the The Power by Rhonda Byrne.
This family is amazing. They look like they had so much fun just living and traveling together. Wow!
Meanwhile, Middle is demanding results. She wants me to weigh in on the gallop poll.
I start joking around, saying ridiculous things. I see a strange pictorial representation of some medical something on the side bar. A cartoon guy looks like he is heaving. Then the same guy is posing sickly with a white coated tongue. Finally the guy is showing and telling fungus toes.
“MOM!” Middle demands.
“It is a hairy tongue like how mouth cancer presents,” I say. Pause.
“Ewwww!” they gasp. I am bent over and can’t stop.
I see the fungus toe picture.
“It is toe fungus!” I shout. My gut is splitting with all the laughter. Ouch.
“Ewwwwww!” they gasp.
“No. Sorry. My mistake….that’s bunion fuzzle, I add, laughing uncontrollably.” Longer pause as I try to compose myself.
“Speaking of toe fungus. Do you remember S***** J**** , the swim teacher in elementary school? She had yellow fungus toes that looked like clarinet reeds protruding from her feet,” I remember out loud.
“Ewwwwww!” Eventually they join in, smiles and laughter. Then they turn suddenly stark sullen.
“I don’t want to remember that! Gross!” says Angel.
“Gross was the see through swim suit she used to wear. The butt crack one.”
For some reason I am thinking of one of those toddler chunky board books that the child clumsily opens, almost dropping it like a sippy cup. The books with the hidden something behind the flaps. I remember thinking…I could use more hidden.
“Yeah! We all had to play peek-a-boo with her BUTT CRACK!” said Middle. Whether we liked it or not!”
“Ewwwwww!” Angel and I concur in long aggreement.
“There you go! Bumfuzzle!” I say.
Sooner or later all conversations travel full circle and end up “bumfuzzled.”
“So true!” says Devon.
“Thanks for the vocab lesson.” I say smiling.
Next thing I know Middle is rambling on about a plan to buy matching promise rings for the boy she will some day fall in love with. Then we are nodding at how my Italian son and the hipster sweetheart, waiting at home, both have Frodo’s Lord of the Rings promise rings. Yep. Donavon wears his on his ring finger so we can see it when we Skype at Christmas. Sam wears her matching ring on a necklace.
“I thought she said she didn’t want to be tied down by any one person.”
“I don’t even pretend to know,” I say. “But in his last email, Anziano Prego confessed to the two of them writing faithfully every week. Wow. This took me a year to establish and it was not easy prying this information out either. I think of way too tight swim suits on overweight swim teachers. Attendance. Swimming roles. Ug!
I am so glad I saw Samantha at the high school last week and gave her a hug. Thats’ was when I questioned Mr. Henny.
“Are you alright with our public display of affection? I ask the high school principal.”
He gives me a bumfuzzled look. Ha ha. I can’t resist. He used to hone in on Donavon and Samantha regularly and break them up from their hug fest.
“Sure!” he says.
“Just checking..” I told the administrator. Then I invited him to our 4th grade opera.
Middle and Angel and I are busting up laughing. I think I miss hearing Donavon laugh. He tries to still laugh in his email, but it’s just not the same:
“Ha ha ha…ha ha ha haha ha.” Akso lots of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“Uh huh,” says Mark as he walk into the bedroom tripping over laundry baskets.
“I’m headed to training. Could somebody manage to unload and load the dishwasher besides me for a change?” he asks.
“Bye!!!” we chime, dispensing of that altogether.
“Bye dad,”says Angel and gives him a hug.
Mark is heard going down the stairs….clomp, clomp, clomp.
Next thing I know Middle is hitting me up to go to a Japanese Cultural Festival in Salt Lake City, on April 26. This is a good omen, I think. This is…
none other than Donavon’s 20th birthday. Wow! Twenty years. Where has the time gone. I am bumfuzzled, but this is smoove! Almost as smoove as my just shaved legs.
I think it’s time to go to bed now. I herd my sweet girls out of my bedroom. It’s time for Mark to be gettting home. It’s time to be tucked in. It’s time to dream bumfuzzled dreams. 🙂 It’s time to make my dream of all my students passing the Sage test a reality. I have a good feeling about tomorrow.
“What’s that word mean?” asks one of my students. I can not tell her. Sad. We may have had a good laugh.
Coming soon…. to a ridiculous blog near you:
“The Emperor’s New Clothes And the Fear of Mentioning One Whose Name Must Not be Spoken:…Volda…MORE T … tttttesting Opt Out” This is the title of another blog I will write some day. No it is not written in disappearing ink under a snake like faucet spewing boiling water! Tonight I just practice Slitherin on Rossetta Stone with the volumn turned to low. The read aloud option is disactivated. Ha ha. I am not so good at the Language, in spite of being a brave Griffindore girl.
I think I hear voices…. but No, It is just one of my Dear boys saying,
To which I replied….”I must disagree. The only thing stupid, is that you refer to so many things as STUPID.” This stupid word is a trigger for me, like “Dear” and “interesting.” Hm.
“Change your thinking!!!!” the class chimes out in chorus.
I think I have taught my disrespectful bunch something after all. 🙂